The waiting room’s a weary place,
though we’ve become accustomed.
Something unsettling lurks. A rising sea.
In hospitals long ago, the smell of ether.
Shouting on the other side of the door.
We all feel alone,
as if we haven’t been gathered.
We work our worry beads.
We endure the unbearable wait.
Free of our hope or despair
of what’s in the other room,
you come alongside, belonging,
here, now, in this shabby room.
You make a home with us, wrap us
in a huge but silent presence
that absorbs our longing.
We want to be inside it;
we’re glad to be here.
Regardless of what will come,
you redeem this present time.
__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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