Painting of angels surrounding the Earth
Artist: Anonymous

I waited patiently for the Lord;
    They inclined to me and heard my cry.

– –

I asked him if he’d meet me for coffee
On a cold day, cold for California
As the leaves were just beginning to crisp on gray asphalt

I wanted to talk about us
About our connection, or lack thereof
He took one month to respond, and the answer was yes, but no

– –

I was a child; I wanted to play Monopoly
With my uncle visiting from out of town
My father showed off our new grand piano, the one I was not to touch

I brought the box out of the closet
Sat on the floor and heard a beautiful sonata
I set up the game, chose the terrier, and then I put it away

– –

I ate so many persimmons that autumn
The carotene should have tinted my skin
The color of the setting sun on Halloween, which we spent at church

I kept the golden brown seeds in a cup
And planted them all in the yard
It took until spring for me to realize I was watering only weeds

– –

We went to the elders with a petition
Can we just talk? (Talk about where we’re going?)
We’re all adults here, yes? There are issues we need to discuss in the open

Apparently for the family of God
There is no good time in the span of a year
To gather and discuss the problem child drawing rainbows on the wall

Selah

I don’t always feel like I’m waiting
But when I do, it is the worst
It’s the worst, it’s the worst, it’s the worst, it’s the worst

I am told to meditate
Patience is longsuffering
I’m suffering, I’m suffering, I’m suffering, I’m suffocating

I am told that all of creation waits
With eager longing and with labor pains
Surely that’s a metaphor? Nature waits for nothing and no one

Nature breathes.

The earth cycles in and out of seasons
If she’s waited for six thousand years
She’s done so with unbroken respiration

If she’s waited for six billion years
She’s watched everything turn to dust
Time and time again, for eons

I waited for an hour, a month,
A season, a year. I’d wait a lifetime
And she’ll wait for six billion more

The closest I’ll get to breathing
Is the waiting itself. The end is near
The day will dawn, the Son will arrive

A revolution will occur.                                                                                    Selah.

And we will begin again. Next year.
Advent is a held breath:
In, hold, out. In, hold, out. In, out, toward, away, before, after, until eternity

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  • Virginia (she/her) is an author/writer and incapable of writing in brief. She swears. A lot. She discusses the deeply uncomfortable and humiliating with biting humor and glimpses of grace; loves the injudicious use of ALLCAPS; is #teamoxfordcomma; and always stans BTS. You can find her work on various sites like Romper, Mom.com, and Mochi Magazine. She's the Entertainment Section Editor and a Staff Writer at Mochi Magazine, and the Living Justice Section Editor at Diverging Magazine.