I thirst for God, the living God. When can I come and appear before God? ~Psalm 42:2
Mrs. Sands was my fourth-grade teacher. A soft-spoken lady, a lovely person, with lots of experience, she was my first teacher in a new school. I remember her being especially tender toward this frightened nine-year-old boy. But the most vivid memories I have of fourth grade were not of Mrs. Sands or Whittier School. They were not of our classroom with its squeaky wooden floors and lift-top desks to hold all our school supplies. What I remember most about fourth grade is waiting.
For some reason, during that year of my life, three o’clock never came. Almost every day, around one o’clock, I can remember glancing at the huge, round timepiece on the wall above Mrs. Sands’s desk. My heart would sink, knowing I had to sit there for two more hours—two long hours. And there was nothing I could do about it except wait.
A lot of childhood is about not getting what you want when you want it. Do you remember what it was like to be told, “You can’t have that now. It’ll spoil your dinner.” “Not now. You have to wait for Christmas morning.” “Sit quietly at your desks until the bell rings.”
When was the last time you really wanted something, but you couldn’t have it. You couldn’t get it, buy it, or even put it on a credit card?
With waiting comes wonder, hope, the thrill of receiving what we’ve so desperately anticipated. Dinner tasted so much better because I was hungry. Christmas morning held such awe because I didn’t shake the packages. My mother’s after-school open arms were what this lonely nine-year-old boy desperately wanted.
The writer of today’s psalm knew all about this. He drew us a picture of a thirsty deer, longing—panting—for a cool stream to satisfy him. Then he told us that his soul, the most intimate part of his life, couldn’t wait for God’s tender presence. God has become the satisfaction of his deepest hunger, and the day has arrived—the day to enjoy a lavish feast, to open the brightest packages, to melt into the embrace of a mother.
Have you lost this wonder? Do you pride yourself in getting what you want, when you want it—in never having to wait?
If you have found yourself leaning toward the cliff of instant gratification, watch your child; no, in fact, become your waiting child. Remember the wide eyes and pounding heart, knowing that the big day is right around the corner. Then ask God to fill your own heart with the kind of love for your heavenly Father that mysteriously draws you to want more—more of His love, more of His forgiveness, more of His guidance, more of Him.
I’ll bet you can hardly wait.