Watch and Wait

So often, the most pertinent questions come in a child's voice. This morning, on the way to school, I heard from the back seat, "Mom, when will it not be January anymore?"

When, indeed. This has been the Januariest of Januaries for me. I feel that I've stumbled into the new year and then, instead of recovering, fell flat on my face. The month is (finally?) almost gone and the Christmas tree is still the centerpiece of the living room. I've been sick since the holiday, coughing and sniffling and doing the bare minimum to keep functioning. What day is it? I have a vague idea. What's happening tomorrow? Uh, let me think... I have a nagging feeling of being just a bit behind on everything, that there are things I'm forgetting, and of barely staying afloat. I have said more than a few times - when will I catch up?  How can I get on top of things? I just need to find my stride!

What I am really desiring can probably be narrowed down to two things, in the end: productivity and control. We all love these things, do we not? It feels so good to make a list and then cross things off, to know what's going on, and to solve problems before they start. It makes us feel like smart, capable people. But, what happens when you simply can't do all that? Sometimes life circumstances are such that we just cannot get everything done that we'd like.

I like to talk about limits and understanding humanity in the context of technology and design, but it is just as important to accept and understand limits in the work of our daily lives. Those limits are not fixed, they contract and expand with life seasons, which can be... frustrating. And, because we are human, limited in time, energy, and capacity, each decision carries with it an opportunity cost, something given up in favor of what we choose. For a simple example, when I suddenly realized that every time I watched a show or scrolled my phone, I was giving up reading time, that decision became easy. I would rather read.

When I was experiencing the first symptoms of arthritis, I had a lot of physical pain. But, on top of that, I experienced mental anguish: the pain of seeing there was something to be done and knowing that I couldn't do it. Teaching in a classroom, tending to my children, keeping a clean and functioning house, chopping vegetables for dinner -- all those things that I knew were good and important work -- I couldn't do them. I had found value in my active work, and it was incredibly difficult to accept new limitations and redefine my worth.

During that time, I sat in church, physically unable to stand for songs, and heard a sermon in which the pastor said an aside that was something like this: included in our task is to work, to watch, and to wait. But sometimes, he said, it is simply our job to watch and to wait.

I knew those words were for me. I could no longer work like I used to. Now, my job was to watch and to wait, and I was motivated to try to pay attention and to recognize the value in that. I began to notice the birds and to name the flowers in my garden. I listened to my children's stories and actually watched them jump off the couch into a pile of stuffed animals again, and again, and again. I saw neighbors zipping by my house on their bicycles and, instead of bitterly wishing I could do the same, I attempted to look at them as image-bearers, appreciating their beauty and worth.

We all have within us a spark of the divine, a longing that tells us that there is more, that things could be better, and it spurs us on. This is a good thing -- it keeps us moving and growing and striving to bring forth the kingdom. But watching and waiting are important too -- not just nice, if you can, or as a second place option; these activities have value, and much more value than we are used to assigning them. They can even be priorities in our lives, as reinforced by the throughlines that my kids learn about at school: discipleship directives that include the watching-and-waiting practices of creation enjoying, beauty creating, order discovering, and image reflecting. These practices are not distractions from our more important work; they are worthy of our time, and evidence of a life well lived.

So, when it's been January for months in both directions, it's ok. When our limits start to feel restrictive and frustrating, there is still great value in what we can do. Look out the window, laugh with a child, read a poem, connect with a friend. Pay attention, contemplate, learn, reflect. Watch, and wait.