At 3:30 my daughter creeps into our bedroom, softly, and awakens me. It startles me and I jump awake, startling her back and causing her to laugh a little and say, “Sorry, Mom.”
“Becca threw up,” she says. Our nine-year old niece and cousin, visiting from Ohio, is sick. Poor girl. Away from home. Away from Mom. Sick. NO FUN.
“She’s taking a shower,” my daughter continues, “I thought I’d better get you.”
I climb from bed and head upstairs. I’m thankful for my daughter. She’s so much help. We clean up and help get the poor sickie girl settled on the couch. I send my daughter back to bed and smooth back my niece’s hair.
And we wait together. Sick stomachs are no fun. The relief right after throwing up and then that awful restless feeling as the bug bothers and builds again.
We wait for it to pass and for improvement.
I watch her and whisper a prayer and hope she can soon get some solid sleep.
So we wait.
“Nine times,” she sighs. Her stomach just rebels even though it’s really empty.
She’s brave and sweet and I feel so sorry for her. Sick is oh, so not fun. And then, that away from home, away from mom.
Grandpa’s are getting Gatorade. We wait for them to come.
They bring blue Gatorade and red roses from Becca’s mama. Her mama, who would like to come pick up her sick girlie and take her home to snuggle down on her own couch.
But our basement and our couch and our blankets are second best and we make do and we wait.
This too shall pass.
I think how grateful I am for a warm home and hot water and a washing machine and Digize and Thieves and a diffuser and Lysol and willing hands and a helpful daughter and pillows and indoor plumbing and socks and toast and ponytail holders and clean towels.
I pull out my computer and I bring up Five Minute Friday and I type and my niece sleeps and the wait continues.
The wait to get well and the wait and wondering if one of us or all of us will get sick too.
I’ve learned a little about waiting in the last nine months and I continue to be a pupil in the School of Wait.
I wouldn’t really choose it, but there are good lessons and fruits and I’m learning some things. Bit by bit.
Waiting grows my trust. Waiting teaches me to keep trading in all the weight on my shoulders for the yoke that is easy.
She sips Gatorade and I pull her hair back in a ponytail and the Gatorade comes back up and we wait some more.
This isn’t what I thought the day would hold. This isn’t the plans we had in mind.
Yet, this is the cadence of life. It always carries the unexpected, the plans changed, the moments when we wait.