My neighbor caught me the other day sitting on my front stoop counting the infant blades of grass. Other than water, all I can do is wait; helpless in my wish for new grass to grow any sooner than it sees fit.
As I laughed with my observant neighbor, I realized the metaphor in full display just outside my front door. How often do we want something and it just isn’t happening? How many times have we prepared the symbolic soil of our lives in hopes the dream comes to fruition? Despite the desire to “make it happen” or manifest an aspiration into reality, the truth is that sometimes we just need to settle into the reality of waiting.
Now, in my case, I know the grass will eventually grow (I think), but I can also provide a litany of times when my most fervent wishes blew away in the wind like dandelion seeds. That brings forth a whole new definition of waiting.
When my children are going through challenging times, I find myself offering my go-to word of wisdom. Trust. Trust, I tell them, and be present to the graces that surround you in this time of waiting. Although i know this is ultimately true, such platitudes might fall on frustrated ears. I get it.
One of my very favorite authors is Sue Monk Kidd. In her book, When The Heart Waits, she writes, “When you’re waiting, you’re not doing nothing. You’re doing the most important something there is. You’re allowing your soul to grow up.”
Now, I realize waiting for grass to grow is nothing compared to other kinds of waiting. Waiting to become pregnant, waiting for a new move to feel right, waiting for a good report after a tough medical battle, or waiting for a loved one to return are all heart wrenching. But I do think Kidd was on to something when she wrote that waiting allows your soul to grow up. I’m not sure how many of us would ever choose a path where the byproduct is angst.
But, I’ve had enough of those soul growing opportunities to recognize the challenge in allowing ourselves to be led by something greater than doubt or pain. In my case, each morning the birds’ serenade reminds me to appreciate this time of pause, even when full of longing.
As the sun welcomes us to a new day, you can find either my husband or me outside with the hose giving a nourishing drink to our new baby grass seeds. This is my favorite time to water as the birds’ songs pierce the morning breeze with reminders that the world is much bigger than my hope for some new grass.
The surrounding tree branches, now filled with newness, sway with grace as the wind give breath to the new day. The morning wonders are plentiful. If not for my time of waiting, I probably would be missing out on the treasures of the new dawn. And for that, I’m grateful for stubborn grass seeds.
Anne Marie Romer lives in Centerville and is author of the book “Just Give Me the Road.” Follow her on Instagram @romerannemarie. Her email address is Romeranne319@gmail.com.
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