the wait-er

Please read Psalm 130:1-8

Everything I need to know about waiting I learned from Dusty.

There's anticipation, as he stands frozen like a statue - not a twitch, not a sound, not a frozen breath into the air - as he waits, waits, and waits for the squirrel to drop out of the tree, run over, and jump into his mouth. There's patience, as he slowly lies down and stretches into a comfortable pose, settling into that long winter nap, while I stop to chat with someone on our walk.

There's expectation as he comes down from his post on our bed, gets up on the couch, and begins to stare out the window. When his ears begin to rise and his tail begins to twitch, I know it is just about time, and about 30 seconds later, Bonnie's car pulls into the driveway. There's excitement as he runs back and forth from the table in front of the living room window to the front door, when he hears one of us answer the phone and say, "Hi, Heather!"

There is the hope evidenced as he raises first one eyebrow and then the other, almost as if he is sending some sort of morse code to me, as the clock moves closer and closer to dinner time. And there is the pure, leaping-into-the-air, all four paws off the ground and the tail brushing the ceiling joy, as I get up out of the chair and move towards the dog chow bucket.

There is that trust, as we sit in the exam room waiting for the vet to come in, Dusty curled underneath the bench, as close to my feet as he can get. And there is the sheer ecstasy that comes with his head stuck out the back window, tongue and ears flying in the wind, as he strains to get his first glimpse of Teddy as we pull into the front of the Broadview building.

There are all sorts of waiting . . . each and every one of them is perfect for Advent.

Just ask Dusty.

(c) 2008 Thom M. Shuman