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The Waiting Room
@journeytodiscovery
After years of uncertainty of purpose, I was finally there as directed by the man by the wayside. A really queer fellow with little words that spoke volumes-unforgettable, his words.
He had said get to the little door down the street and around the corner and you'll be told what to do. And there I stood, at the little door, rough, bristly, and hardened by years of hardship, waiting to be let in. after what seemed to be hours, I impatiently pushed and felt the slightest movement beneath my hands: it was open! Still annoyed at with myself for waiting so long, I stepped in about a half-yard inside with a hand on the door to keep it open.
It was dark, gloomy, and hazy; quietly strange, and could barely hold three men-two would be comfortable. It smelled of tears, blood,and sweat, so pungent that I could taste and feel the smell in my being.No chair, desk, pen, paper, or stationary of any kind. No lighting, no gadgets, or electrical appliance lay nearby. The only furniture was a small rounded rug at the center of the room. The room looked like a stolen shack from the sixteenth century-old and hardy.
I wondered why I was directed here and a Voice like thunder beneath rolling waves of the sea called out, bidding me come.
Suddenly, the room burst with light; not from any source but from within-it was as if the builders had installed length and width-wide panels of light within the walls, causing them to swell with light and illuminate the little room. Talk about over kill, this was more than the room could carry. Anyone outside would be engulfed in the light even from ten feet afar off.
I was drawn inside, not just for the voice, but for the little form on the rug, a curled figure on the ground, unmoving except for the slow huffs and puffs coming from it, like a crying rag doll.
I moved on towards the figure, reached and touched it rather tentatively, curious but not scared. I just wasn't sure I wanted to see more. But touch it I did and it turned around. To my shock, it was the fellow by the wayside, but with eyes almost gauged out from crying, and with cheeks sunken from sweat. At the floor where his head rested on his hands were drops of blood, dried and fresh, and his body trembled with weeping.
I had to ask, "Lord is this you?"
"Yes, it is I," came the answer.
"But Lord," I asked, "what are you doing hear? I came as directed and there is nothing but this abandoned shack. Why bring me hear with nothing to do?"
He smiled at me, "Nothing," he said.
"I am ready to do as you say, just tell me what to do."
"That's the point,"he smiled back,"I've been hear for two thousand years, waiting while you worked your way out. Now you are here to wait."
I wasn't satisfied,"Dear Lord, you said at the cross that you've called me for signs and wonders for your name's sake. Why make me useless till after I've gotten this far?"
I was getting disappointed, and I knew he could see it, but I couldn't help it. "Isn't this whole thing useless if all I get is this rundown shack after a long, difficult journey of faith?"
I had upset the Master, and I knew it. But instead of reacting, with all the love in infinite universes, and compassion so explicit, the Saviour looked me in the eye, smiled and said,"The journey was to be easy, but you made it tough with your strivings to please me and perform great things in my house. You weren't on a journey of faith, but a race of strength, and even the young will faint and horses grow weary when using strength.
But those that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up on wings as eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.
"Dear son, stop moving and start waiting. The cross led you here and here you must wait on me.
I waited patiently two thousand years while you strived with your power, now you must wait and watch me move things for you.
Stop having your way and let me have my way. Only then will this journey be easier to undertake."
I understood then the whole reason for my detour; to see the place where I would wait for the Master. "What is this place called?" I asked him.
"It is called the Waiting Room if God."
Now I sit still, like a dog at its master's feet, at the feet of Love, and like a child weaned off his mother I wait quietly, to hear the Voice of One.
As for the room, I have no need for earthly comforts, they can distract me from hearing correctly.
As I wait, He visits often, Love, that is, comes to see me and teach me more of eternity, making me more focused on things above. I don't need to always be on the move, because my Saviour is now the one moving.
Nothing is sweeter and more satisfying than waiting on the Lord, and I learn more of that truth everyday in the waiting room.
© Daniel Don-Ogwudu
After years of uncertainty of purpose, I was finally there as directed by the man by the wayside. A really queer fellow with little words that spoke volumes-unforgettable, his words.
He had said get to the little door down the street and around the corner and you'll be told what to do. And there I stood, at the little door, rough, bristly, and hardened by years of hardship, waiting to be let in. after what seemed to be hours, I impatiently pushed and felt the slightest movement beneath my hands: it was open! Still annoyed at with myself for waiting so long, I stepped in about a half-yard inside with a hand on the door to keep it open.
It was dark, gloomy, and hazy; quietly strange, and could barely hold three men-two would be comfortable. It smelled of tears, blood,and sweat, so pungent that I could taste and feel the smell in my being.No chair, desk, pen, paper, or stationary of any kind. No lighting, no gadgets, or electrical appliance lay nearby. The only furniture was a small rounded rug at the center of the room. The room looked like a stolen shack from the sixteenth century-old and hardy.
I wondered why I was directed here and a Voice like thunder beneath rolling waves of the sea called out, bidding me come.
Suddenly, the room burst with light; not from any source but from within-it was as if the builders had installed length and width-wide panels of light within the walls, causing them to swell with light and illuminate the little room. Talk about over kill, this was more than the room could carry. Anyone outside would be engulfed in the light even from ten feet afar off.
I was drawn inside, not just for the voice, but for the little form on the rug, a curled figure on the ground, unmoving except for the slow huffs and puffs coming from it, like a crying rag doll.
I moved on towards the figure, reached and touched it rather tentatively, curious but not scared. I just wasn't sure I wanted to see more. But touch it I did and it turned around. To my shock, it was the fellow by the wayside, but with eyes almost gauged out from crying, and with cheeks sunken from sweat. At the floor where his head rested on his hands were drops of blood, dried and fresh, and his body trembled with weeping.
I had to ask, "Lord is this you?"
"Yes, it is I," came the answer.
"But Lord," I asked, "what are you doing hear? I came as directed and there is nothing but this abandoned shack. Why bring me hear with nothing to do?"
He smiled at me, "Nothing," he said.
"I am ready to do as you say, just tell me what to do."
"That's the point,"he smiled back,"I've been hear for two thousand years, waiting while you worked your way out. Now you are here to wait."
I wasn't satisfied,"Dear Lord, you said at the cross that you've called me for signs and wonders for your name's sake. Why make me useless till after I've gotten this far?"
I was getting disappointed, and I knew he could see it, but I couldn't help it. "Isn't this whole thing useless if all I get is this rundown shack after a long, difficult journey of faith?"
I had upset the Master, and I knew it. But instead of reacting, with all the love in infinite universes, and compassion so explicit, the Saviour looked me in the eye, smiled and said,"The journey was to be easy, but you made it tough with your strivings to please me and perform great things in my house. You weren't on a journey of faith, but a race of strength, and even the young will faint and horses grow weary when using strength.
But those that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up on wings as eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.
"Dear son, stop moving and start waiting. The cross led you here and here you must wait on me.
I waited patiently two thousand years while you strived with your power, now you must wait and watch me move things for you.
Stop having your way and let me have my way. Only then will this journey be easier to undertake."
I understood then the whole reason for my detour; to see the place where I would wait for the Master. "What is this place called?" I asked him.
"It is called the Waiting Room if God."
Now I sit still, like a dog at its master's feet, at the feet of Love, and like a child weaned off his mother I wait quietly, to hear the Voice of One.
As for the room, I have no need for earthly comforts, they can distract me from hearing correctly.
As I wait, He visits often, Love, that is, comes to see me and teach me more of eternity, making me more focused on things above. I don't need to always be on the move, because my Saviour is now the one moving.
Nothing is sweeter and more satisfying than waiting on the Lord, and I learn more of that truth everyday in the waiting room.
© Daniel Don-Ogwudu
