A Mystery Unfolding

I am not a patient person.

       Resting, trusting, waiting…to me those words often conjure images of agonizing boredom and stalled frustration. I think of the times I’ve spent waiting in a lonely place for someone to pick me up. There is a twist of anxiety in my stomach. I lean against the wall, stare out the window, slouch on the bench, afraid to walk away lest I miss the coming of my ride. When are they going to get here? I might pull out my notebook and jot a few words, but they tend to be dull. My stomach is a knot getting pulled tighter and tighter as I stare toward the road, watching for the car. Did they forget about me?

I’m an impatient artist. If a painting or a piece of writing isn’t turning out how I want, or if it’s coming slow, my first impulse is to say, “Well, this must be the wrong thing to be working on.” Then I scrap it and start over. To me, fast, quick, smooth, flowing, and instant are all blessed words. If I had my way, life and art would be microwaveable. Put in the dish, press a few buttons. Whiiiirrrrr, DING! Instant results.

      God has different ideas.

Lately, I’ve been working on the same old novel. The same old fantasy novel I started about three (or was it four? Or five?) years ago. The same old novel that has gone through multiple rewrites, dramatic changes to characters, and has seen my writing style blossom. That same old novel that’s still somewhere in the middle of creation.

       It started trying my patience a long time ago. I even gave up on it for a few months. I had serious doubts that this book was God’s will for me. I sometimes seethed with hatred toward the stupid thing—because it would not leave me alone.
       There have been shining moments, too: just recently, I prayed desperately for an inspired new plot-point to replace a snarly mess in the middle of the story. I went to bed musing…and woke up with a fresh vision that fit the characters better and tied up more strings. Thank You Lord. Even more recently, in a flare of creativity, I cranked out a mound of new scenes, most of which I thought were pretty good, even in first draft. Thank You Lord, again. Then I ran face first into another wall. Whump.
       The scenes started reading flatter than a pancake—a wet pancake, with mold—and I realized what the problem was. I had a whole culture and a handful of secondary characters in this part of the book that needed more thought and planning. Back to background information—again. I could fill a book-size volume (or at a least a novelette) with the reams of character profiles, history (yes, fantasy worlds have that too), and assorted scribblings that will not appear in the actual novel.
        Just when I think I’ve got this book figured out and can plough full speed ahead toward completion, I get another—

NOT SO FAST.

And I have to sit down and write another stupid character profile. Sometimes I wonder if this book is destined to perpetually be “in progress”, but never getting there.

Similarly, there are situations in my life that are trying my patience. Things are not moving fast enough for me. I’m not getting what I want, when I want it, how I want it. Just when I think I’ve got God’s plotline figured out, I get another—

            NOT SO FAST. WAIT. TRUST ME.

“I want to trust You,” I cry through frustrated tears, “but it’s so hard to wait!”
       Then God surprises me. Little gifts are sometimes the ones that have the biggest impact. An unexpected Kleenex shows up in my pocket when I’ve been crying. A CD I wanted appears on a thrift store shelf for a dollar. I love you, He whispers to my heart. Trust Me. And one time, when the frustration of waiting came to a head, and I felt like the tension inside was going to rip me apart, all I could do was say, “I’m giving this burden over to You, Lord. I still choose to trust You.” In that moment, He surprised me with overwhelming peace. The weight lifted in an instant.
       “Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.” (Matt. 12:28-30)

 When I finally submit to patience, and let it have its perfect work in me, my eyes begin to open up to things I had not imagined.

 This last week, me and my grudging attitude sat down to plan fictional history and culture, and write the backstories of several minor characters. But as I did it, the knotted mysteries of the same-old-novel began to loosen, and by the end of the week, I was amazed by how the disjointed, random ideas from the first draft were finally coming together, taking their proper form, and making sense. It was as if someone other than me had been planning this story all along.

The novel is not done yet. And my struggles to be patient in life and art will probably not end until I get the call to leave this world. But I know that the Lord is trustworthy. I know His story is worth waiting for. I know if I obey Him, waiting will be far from boring.

It can feel like forever as I wait for my ride to come. If I stare too long at the road, every distant car begins to look the same. They all pass by. Leaves rustle and shadows dance.

Suddenly, it’s here. The car pulls up.

Joy fills me, the knot unwinding in an instant, a smile bursting on my face. I run forward, slide in, and fasten my seat belt. As we drive away, I can look back and see the place where I was waiting. From the window of my long-awaited ride, I watch the scenery spread out, and the waiting place becomes a beautiful piece of the mystery unfolding.