Hope deferred. Not what we had in mind.
Dreamer and I finally saw the cardiologist. For 3 long weeks we have awaited The Plan.
Remember the classic parental non-answer “We’ll see”?
Hopefully, 8 weeks hence, we’ll know more. A definitive word will be spoken.
Meanwhile: more meds.
A fellow wordsmith reminded me that poet Emily Dickinson eagerly awaited the enlivening glow of words, her eyes, ears and soul cocked, her pen poised.
Playwright William Luce says Dickinson relished words worth lifting a hat to. Like phosphorescence.
I long to lift my hat to one of those words.
Hope deferred makes the heart sick, Solomon tell us.
Hope, however, also muscles up—via delay. Long after the disciples went home, Mary Magdalene hung around the tomb, waiting.
Who heard Easter’s enlivening word straight from the angels?
Who heard first, that day, from the Word, himself?
One who waited.
Hope deferred makes the heart sick,
but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.
What are you waiting for? May I come alongside you in prayer?