Late Saturday nights I find myself watching the reruns of a British sit-com called “Waiting for God.” It takes place in an assisted living facility run by a self-absorbed, penny pinching ego maniac who has no regard for the residents. Although the title implies that the residents are semi-senile men and women who sit in rocking chairs telling their beads, and that they resign themselves to the bullying of facility director, the truth is that the residents go about trying to live their lives within, and sometimes breaking out, of their present circumstances, often to the frustration of the self-absorbed director. None the less, each resident is resigned to the fact that he/she is in the last eighth of earthly existence. Nostalgically, each resident, in his or her own way, makes the best of the situation – most of the time.
With my husband of 35 years gone for over a year and a half, my son moving out three months ago, my publishers discontinuing my book and my play this fiscal year, I feel as if I am “waiting for God”. Not that I made any money on any of my publications, the fact that they were out there gave me a little satisfaction, especially since my husband’s illness and death I have not been able to write any fiction. Actually, I started this blog a few months ago to force myself to write at least once a week. No, I am not writing fiction, but I am putting words on paper. That no one is reading those words is irrelevant. The words are out there in the ether. They, too, are “waiting for God”.
Last evening in church, Longfellow’s words, “They also serve who only stand and wait”, came to mind, along with a quiet but recognized, “Just wait. Things will happen.” What things, I have no idea. They could be anything from having brain cancer to writing a prize winning novel. The answer, like most answers, is probably somewhere in between.
The problem is, that unlike my beloved husband who over stuffed his life with music, art, travel, listening to peoples’ problems, buying CD’s and anything that caught his fancy, I have pared down my life to the essentials – not quite the basic essentials, but close enough for me to find myself with hours to reminisce about things long asleep in memory. This state is not what I pared down my life to do. I have prepared myself for a person or a project that will offer him/herself as my last meaningful encounter to love/help; or task to start/complete before my last long sleep. I will ask Job and my sainted Mother to pray that I might be patient in my wait.