I make a big fuss about waiting. Waiting on God. I whine and
moan and complain. Pretend like I’m dying. I’m such a mellow dramatic martyr.
It’s mostly for show.
Because at the end of the day I know that in that time of
waiting God blesses me in ways I could never understand if I got everything I
wanted right when I wanted it.
He uses the waiting time to sift through my motives. Check
my heart. Test my foundation. To wriggle my utmost desires out of my tight, clenched
fist. Sometimes He takes them, shines them up, and places them back in my (reluctantly
opened) palm. Sometimes He takes them away and doesn’t give them back.
He’s good to me like that.
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