I’ve had incredible opportunities presented to me in 2019, but we’re now well into 2020 and I’m still waiting for them to happen.

I’ve wanted to get a mega phone (fell down a mega phone rabbit hole on Amazon, in fact), to shout my good news to the world! Or at least my neighbors who will call the police on the crazy woman with the mega phone.

But I can’t, because I’m still waiting.

I don’t wait well. I wait badly, actually. I think if there was a patience scale, I would be clustered in the red area with the toddlers and 16 year olds.

I’m moody. Edgy. Extra sarcastic. And like Poppy when I didn’t let her brush her teeth for the 6th time before noon, I’m half tempted to throw myself on my bed and cry until I realize no one cares.

Here’s what I do when I’m waiting – it’s really bad. Know what it is?


I just sit there. Because this thing SHOULD happen NOW (even though it’s not), so I’m just going to SIT HERE and wait until it DOES.

And then it doesn’t.

It’s depressing.

There’s a passage in the bible that says, “I will send you rain in its season, and the ground will yield its crops and the trees of the field their fruit.” (Lev 26:4)

“It’s season” really popped out at me in neon lights.

See the rain WILL come. The question is, will I be ready when it does?

Or am I just sitting here … waiting … about to just get … wet?

I have scrubbed clean the terrifying dust ball desert behind the toilet when I think there’s a small chance a friend might stop by …

… yet, I don’t feel a need to start cleaning house for a dream?

When I was pregnant, I at least had enough sense not to sit there with my cankles propped up the entire 9 months without nary a butt cream in sight. I had everything we would need and then some. It was like a Pottery Barn Kids showroom! I had shelves installed with books on them! Babies don’t even read!

I guess my point is – if you’re waiting on something and getting REAL bored, all I can tell you is that God promises rain in it’s season, but he’s not gonna till our soil. He isn’t out there planting our seeds. Threshing. Shoveling. Weeding. Or all those things famers do that I’m totally sure about.

That’s our job.

And when are we supposed to do it?

While we’re waiting for the rain.

So I can sit here. Or prepare …

… so when the rain does come we bust out a harvest that has us dropping off fruit and veg baskets to the whole neighborhood.

Since no one seems to care I’m crying in my room, I guess I’ll pick the latter.