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Sometimes a wait has to come to an end before we realize we’ve been waiting. Sometimes the wait is deeply buried, and the outcome seemingly hopeless.
My father died long ago, suddenly and unexpectedly, much too young. One of the most profound sadnesses of my life is that he never got to know his grandchildren. My father loved babies and little kids, and he would have had so much fun with my children. He would have taken them to Putt-Putt and the state fair and the beach, and they would have asked to go see him. He would have adored them, and they would have known that they made him happy.
This summer I came across some of my father’s things that I had saved. Among them was an old cartridge pen (remember those?), with the dried-up cartridge still in it. I thought of my daughter, a gifted writer who has described herself as “an office supply nerd.” I gave her the pen, and it touched my heart to see her holding something that my dad had held. We didn’t know if she would be able to use the pen, since it was clogged with decades of dried ink, but she said she would see what she could do.
A few days later I got a text from my daughter: “I got Grandaddy’s pen to work!” I had to put the phone down and sit down. I did not realize that I have been waiting nearly 50 years to hear my father called Grandaddy, and when the wait was finally over, the joy and relief and renewed sadness were almost more than I could bear. In this Advent season, when we are all waiting for something, may we be blessed with joy when our wait is over, and peace and comfort if we’re still waiting.
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