We eagerly wait with steadfast expectation and patient perseverance for the hope we cannot see. (Romans 8:25 Becky’s No-nonsense Paraphrase)

Luke is adorable, but he’s kind of an idiot. (Before you start quoting Matthew 5:22 at me, Luke is our German Shepherd.) We have a routine. This is how it goes. Every morning, he nudges me awake. Barely able to navigate pre-coffee, I stumble to the back door and usher him outside. 

“Do your business. Then wait. I’ll be back.” 

Luke speaks English—or, at least, understands it. Any other time of day, at the command, “Wait. I’ll be back,” he plops to the ground. When I return, he’s in the same spot, the perfect portrait of a patient pup. 

Mornings are a different story. 

Worried Wait

The fenced portion of our back yard is right outside my window. Sometimes I watch him head straight to a corner, complete his morning task, then beeline for the back door. There, he barks. And barks. 

To my knowledge, I’ve never forgotten him in the back yard. I’m not sure why he worries I’ll neglect to bring him back inside for breakfast. Most mornings, I open my window and poke my head out. “Hey.”

He trots over to face me. 

“Enjoy the morning. Look—did you see the squirrels? At least six of them. Go chase.” 

(In case you’re concerned, he’s never actually caught one.) He gazes up at me, then points his nose at the back door. With emphasis. 

Restless Wait

“I need to brush my teeth. Go roll in the grass. The sun is shining. Feel the breeze? Listen to the birds. I’ve given you the gift of time without cats. Take a deep breath and appreciate the peace.” 

He flicks an ear, unimpressed. 

“Wait. I’ll be back.” 

As I work through my own morning routine, he barks. I peek out the window. Sure enough, he’s sitting on the pavers at the bottom of the step, eyes trained on the back door. 

I knock on the window. He glances over his shoulder. “Stop making a racket. I haven’t forgotten you. Go sniff something. Wait. I’ll be back.” 

He doesn’t waver. Bark, bark, bark. 

Every. Single. Day. 

One recent morning, frustrated, I ran to the back door and brought him in. “Fine. You win. I tried to let you enjoy the morning, and instead, you’re making me crazy. Rest on your bed.” 

I’ll admit, I grumbled. “When have you ever missed a meal? I always take care of you. Why can’t you relax for a little while? It’s so nice outside. Just trust I’ll take care of you. Wait. I’ll be back.” 

Steadfast Wait

And then, of course, I felt a little nudge. Could almost hear a heavenly chuckle in the whisper.

“Yes. When have you ever missed a meal? I’ve always taken care of you. I surround you with beauty, but instead of enjoying the gift, you refuse to relax. You forget to look around. You overlook opportunities for peace. You’re so focused on the future. Why not take time to see—really see—the current situation? Choose patient hope and steadfast expectation. It’s better for your heart health, both physical and spiritual. Wait. I’ll be back.” 

Choose to Wait

Whether we’re dealing with chronic illness, a difficult child, the absence of children, a bad boss, discrimination, exhaustion, depression, family issues, or any number of other difficulties, enduring a sustained wait erodes our hope. We want relief—and we want it now. But whether the solution we seek is temporal or eternal, everything falls in God’s timing, and his plan is best. When we can’t see, we can hope. Let’s choose to appreciate the beauty he’s provided for this moment. Rest in his promises. Be patient. Wait. He’ll be back.