Waiting

Our life is full of waiting.  I thought it would be the hardest part of this life-style, but I’ve found that it feels more like a promise than a burden.

Today I made granola bars.  I discovered that our stock was out and the kids eat granola bars and cottage cheese most every day for snack.  The granola bars I made today won't be ready to eat until tomorrow.  We’ll wait.

Christina and the calf, who we call beefy, moved to the east pasture today.  Our acre pasture is divided in half so they eat one half while the other grows.  The book says to give the grass six weeks to grow, but after three weeks their other pasture looked pretty mowed down.  Moving them means that we have some work to do in the west pasture — cutting down any weeds they didn’t eat and breaking up or scooping up the cow pies.  Cows won’t eat anything near a cow pie for three years.  Pretty smart.  But, if we break them up good, the irrigation will pull them into the soil and they will be absorbed as just good fertilizer.  The last time we moved Christina to a new pasture, the fresh grass gave her a little spike in milk production.  This time, there will be no spike.  She is dry.  While she grows strong on fresh grass, we wait.

When my in-laws built this house, they put in a mechanic’s pit.  It’s been concealed under oil-covered boards as long as I’ve known this place.  My husband is converting it into a root cellar.  He cleaned it out and cut new boards to cover the top.  Something about those fresh-cut boards makes it look and smell like a cellar now.  We have potatoes and onions ready to go down there.  Soon squash will be ready too.  It will all sit there through the winter and wait.

Last spring we planted nine rhubarb plants.  Nine is really a crazy amount.  A single full grown plant is usually more than a family can eat.  We love rhubarb and when I was ordering plants, I put it out to the family, “should we buy one or three?”  Their response was, "can we get more?"  "Well, they have a bundle of nine."   We watched the plants come up this spring, knowing that if we touch them it will hurt long-term growth.  So we stayed back and waited.  Next year we’ll harvest a little and the following year I think we’ll be market growers of rhubarb!  But for now, we wait.

I’ve always hated waiting.  The week before Christmas was painful.  The time before vacation was agony.  It took monumentous will power to wait until payday for something I wanted to buy.

This waiting is new.  I’m not waiting until I can get something, I’m waiting until God gets it ready for us.  I’m not wishing time to go faster, suffering from the self-denial.   Instead I enjoy the quiet delight of somebody getting a surprise ready for me. While I wait, I find myself savoring the hunger gently growing and knowing that the satiation will be sweeter.  Our I-want-what-want-when-I-want-it culture takes away specialness.  When I ate apples everyday, they were plain.  Now when I only eat them in October and November they are a special.  When I had dessert every day, it was just another part of dinner.  Now when we only have dessert for celebrations, it is special.

So today I wait with a goofy grin on my face while God gets things ready.