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UMC20250615 - Holy Waiting Part 2

Last year, I wrote about the idea of Holy Waiting—a state of trust and expectation. At the time, I was between roles at work, navigating long stretches of silence, unsure whether to wind down one season or prepare for the next. Eventually, I stepped into a new role at school. But it was the waiting that shaped me most. I learned—imperfectly but meaningfully—to trust that God’s hand is in my life. That even when the future is unclear, I can expect Him to work all things for good.

Now, I find myself in another kind of waiting.

Baby is less than a month away, and no matter how many nappies, cots, or prams we’ve bought, it doesn’t feel like enough preparation to become a parent. How does one even prepare for that? Is there a specific number of books to read, classes to take, or purchases to make that will finally make you feel ready?

So much of our anxiety about the future comes from what-ifs and worst-case scenarios.
What if I’m not enough?
What if something goes wrong?
What if we’re not ready?

But Jesus offers another way:

“Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”
(Matthew 6:34)

This isn’t about pretending tomorrow doesn’t exist. It’s about recognizing that obligation is relentless. There will always be more to do—another email, another meeting, another mess to clean. The inbox will never be empty. The to-do list will never be blank.

If we’re waiting for life to slow down before we start living, we’ll wait forever.

So we must choose presence over paralysis. We give of ourselves each day and trust that it’s enough. We plan, prepare, do our best—and then, at some point, we let go and let what happens, happen.

That’s what Holy Waiting is becoming for me:
Not waiting for a single moment to arrive, but learning to wait on God all the time.
To live with the deep awareness that God will move—
and is already moving—
even if I don’t know how or when.

Because here’s the truth:
You don’t wait for something you’re not expecting.
You don’t wait for a train that isn’t coming.
Holy Waiting assumes movement.
It assumes that something real is on the horizon.

So I wait. With diapers and deadlines and dreams.
Not idly. Not fearfully.
But hopefully.

Love, Cliff

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