the discovery happens
in the waiting
years pass (merely minutes)
i trudge along looking for distractions
there is an unveiling of sorts
in the waiting, in the weighting…
frustration, overwhelm, confusion
impatience, disappointment, worry
raw, restless memories of soggy oatmeal
pushing up my throat
a strange aftertaste lingers in my mouth
when the urge has passed,
when it’s okay to unbuckle
it tastes something like regret
for time i cannot recover
it tastes like grief for a little girl
who had no other means of protection
and in the waiting there He is
in the waiting there i find Him
and i suspect it is in this place
He has been waiting for me
all along
Tasting Freedom 