Waiting, while Working and Writing
Therefore, the Lord longs to be gracious to you, and therefore He waits on high to have compassion on you. For the Lord is a God of justice; how blessed are those who long for Him. Isaiah 30:18 (NASB)
God waits to have compassion on me, while I live and work and write.
What? God waits? He’s a God who speaks and thing happen. He slows down and waits for me?
I’m familiar with waiting as part of a successful writing journey. Waiting while I work is part of never giving up. Keeping at it is considered perseverance. I was tempted at times, but I didn’t stop writing for long. A prolific writing life consists of several stories in various stages simultaneously. When one story is finished and in the mail, another project is in the works.
Writers do a lot of waiting in all stages of the process.
I’ve had days a session at the keyboard ended with multiple pages, and I’ve had times I produced one page or a single paragraph. I’ve submitted a story and not heard a word back from the publisher for months on end.
I didn’t grow up in an instant-gratification society. I’ve waited in the valleys of life when a circumstance, problem, situation, or trial seemed to go on forever. There are things I still wait for, such as answers to my father’s forty-year-old unsolved homicide.
Waiting on my part can be a continual blessing, an eager expectation, as long as I relax my impatience to focus on God. As Zoe M. McCarthy claims, the Lord is my Co-Author, so I better enter projects with Him at my side. He is a sojourner right along with me. He waits to bless me at the right time. His time.
Longing goes hand in hand with waiting, on my side and on God’s side. I wait and long for results of my labor. God waits for a faith moment, an Aha moment on my part, from my heart to His. This waiting on both our parts is to shape me so I’m fit for the place He has prepared for my eternal home (John 14:2).
As He waits for me, I continue to work. If I invite Him along, He grants me grace for the journey. My goal is to bring Him glory.
I can’t do this, whatever “this” may be in life, or writing, without Him.
Oh, my gracious, patient Father. You are the Author of creation, the embodiment of all the writers compiled in the Bible. Increase in me a longing for you, while at the same time You grace my writing for your glory. I thank You eternally, in the Name of Jesus. Amen.
Christian romance author LoRee Peery writes to feel alive, as a way of contributing, and to pass forward the hope of rescue from sin. She writes of redeeming grace with a sense of place. LoRee clings to I John 5:4 and prays her family sees that faith. She has authored the Frivolities Series and other e-books. Her desire for readers, the same as for her characters, is to discover where they fit in this life journey to best work out the Lord’s life plan. She is who she is by the grace of God: Christian, country girl, wife, mother, grandmother, sister, friend, and author. She’s been a reader since before kindergarten. One day she slapped a story in her lap. “I could write better than this.” (Lofty assumption, eh?) Her dear hubby challenged, “Why don’t you?” Thus her writing journey began many moons ago. Connect with LoRee through these links: www.loreepeery.com https://twitter.com/LoreePeery https://www.facebook.com/LoReePeery
Shattered by the loss of her parents, Deena pours her love into her patients at an assisted living facility. When the son of one her charges starts showing up to spend time with his mother, Deena's wary heart is warmed by his attention to his mother...and to her. Simon is plagued by his ex-wife's disappearance years before. When he meets Deena, who closely resembles the woman, he fears his attraction is based only on Deena's looks. But she exhibits a warmth his ex-wife never had. Dare he risk his once broken heart? As two lonely souls pursue a tentative, budding love, secrets and lies come forward to tear them apart. Can Simon and Deena overcome loss and allow their hearts to mend?
Where Hearts Meet
Deena strained to catch what he’d said. “I’m sorry. I should have been more sensitive to your reunion with Angelina. I don’t mean to pry.”
“You aren’t prying at all. I consider you close enough to confide in. We’ve already shared a lot of who we are. And my ex is no longer my focus. You came into my life because of my mother. You mean something to me now, aside from that professional service, based on your own merit.”
She’d think about all that later, when she was alone. Then she’d dwell on the subject of her growing love for Simon.
But wait. A short time ago she’d thought of friendship as her only option. She had to sort this out. Later. Right now she was blessed by a few moments of time spent with this wonderful man.
Their walk had gone fast.
She pointed to the full color poster outside the yogurt shop window in front of them. “I’m all for paying attention to food, as in a banana split. How about you?”
“Double fudge sundae with all the trimmings has my mouth watering. Shall we sit outside?”
At her nod, he pulled out a wire back ice cream chair for her and went in to place their orders.
Her mind drifted while he was inside.
Giggling teen girls circled one table and a dark-complexioned girl of mixed race sat across the table from a woman Deena took for a grandmother.
Simon would be the only male seated outside when he joined her.
She observed him through the window as he stood at the counter. Her gaze traversed the caramel colored leather boots, the casual fitting light denim jeans topped by a tangerine button-down shirt with rolled cuffs, past the corded neck and whisker shaded jaw on up to his finger grooved hair. Her heart beat ever faster and her chest visibly rose and fell.
Then he turned and caught her eye, slanting a smile that turned her blood molten.
She needed ice-cold yogurt to cool her down. No doubt about it, she had it bad. Oh, if she could shout to the world that Simon Hart was her one true love!
He used the back of his hand to push through the door. Every female watched him approach her table. His wide shouldered swagger, his pure physical appeal probably had them salivating and inwardly sighing. But the macho man was with her.
She cleared her throat, focused on the cherry atop her banana split, and willed her system to simmer down. “This looks delectable. Thank you so much.”
“You’re very welcome. I almost gobbled up that whipped cream topping.”
“Hey, you’ve got enough chocolate there to coat your arteries.” She set the cherry aside to savor last. “And it looks like a handful of pecans.”
“Reminds me of your lips,” he said, leaning low across the small table to place paper napkins near her hand.
“Uhm…Hmm?” she murmured around a bite of banana.
“The cherry is the color of your lipstick. You know it just begs for me to taste it and make it fade.”
“My lipstick wore off hours ago. But you’ve got chocolate on the corner of your mouth.” She pointed with her black plastic spoon.
“Want to kiss it off for me?”
“You are talking way too crazy, unless you want to give those girls at the far table something to drool over.”
“No thanks. There’s only one girl out here I want to drool over me.”
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