I’m always in a hurry. I hate to wait. That whole patience thing is a train I can hear whistling in the distance but can never seem to catch. I watch it going by on a trestle far above my head and think, “well, that’s really majestic and beautiful….and unreachable. I wonder where it’s going.”
This is how I feel about Orthodoxy today. I just can’t seem to get to a service. I keep thinking that if I can’t even make it to a service then how on earth can I even consider this tradition? Isn’t that like telling people I am planning to marry someone I have never met. Is Orthodoxy just a crush I have? Do we just have a penpal relationship that I’ve romanticized?
So my impatience today probably isn’t about being there already but more about being afraid that “there” is not where I’m going to want to be when the time comes. I’m filled with the “what if’s” this week.
What if I can’t stand up that long?
What if I’m bored?
What if I really really hate it?
What if I spin out all this energy and decide this isn’t my way to go?
What if I pursue this and it is exactly my way to go….and I’m too afraid to go forward…and I’m too afraid of offending my family….and I’m too afraid of failure…
Perhaps that is what this time of waiting is designed to be…
a space created to house all the fear,
to give it time to shake itself out of my clothing and onto the floor,
so that I can stand apart from it
“ah, so this is what we’re dealing with…”