There are those feelings. The ones that make you sigh deep and press your eyelids tightly shut, to maybe shut out the knowing that you’ve come up zeros again.
And goodness gracious, how much you’ve tried. Tried to put legs on that vision that’s vague and veiled. Tried to put features on it, to add color to it, to put words to it, to create it.
You’ve tried to make hope become. That house. That job. That title. That bank account. That child. That.
But instead, nothing.
Instead, all you have is what you have, ragged and insufficient, it seems. Zeros, nearly.
How could this be right? It doesn’t seem that when there’s hope and vision and, yes, even need, that it should take so dang long.
You glance up hesitantly, and see your dusty road stretching endlessly ahead, barren of even a road sign.
That’s all now.
That’s all you can do.
Wait. There, on that barren road, with what you have, ragged and insufficient as it seems.
And all the beautiful people will go whizzing by on their fancy fast-moving rides, the wind billowing their hair, the sunset on their horizon.
And you must wait.
May I just say something, friend?
Be willing there, for the wait. Hold that pause. Hold it.
Lay the vision there. The hope and the dream? Lay them there. The ragged and insufficient, too.
For in your willingness to wait, you are relieved of being the master, becoming a simple steward instead–a merciful exchange if ever there was one.
And there, covered by the brooding pause, the vision ripens and matures, becoming intricate, whole, and complete.
And in that expectant moment, when grace meets your open hands, you’ll see the vision in full light, all this time having been nurtured by progress unseen.
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