And waited.
And waited.
My hamstrings started to burn from the position I was standing in.
My hands started to shake from holding my phone in one position (watching the time lapse afterward made me feel quite dizzy).
More seconds and then minutes dragged by and all I saw were the slits in the outer green shell becoming a bit longer, making more visible the bright yellow petals underneath, and a very slight thickening of the bud and as it stretched its shell until its petals were prepared to burst forth. But overall very little indication of progress.
And yet I waited longer, because I knew at any moment the shell would burst open, the yellow petals would escape and the beauty of the blossom would be revealed. Knew it could happen in the blink of an eye and I could miss it.
Waited in anticipation. As the seconds dragged into minutes, waited with impatience. Every moment was a battle of, "Give up, it's still going to be forever. Find a new bud with better hopes of a quick blossoming" vs. "You've persevered so long, you can't give up on the eternity (minutes) you've spent because the miracle is going to happen at any moment. Your energy will have been wasted."
Any moment, any moment... and yet not yet...
And as I waited I pondered how long and how patiently I wait for the blooming in my own life. When I know God is stirring something, sometimes aware of what it is and sometimes not. In the process of waiting, wrestling with "that thing" I don't want to lay down, "that lie" to overcome, "that truth" to sink deep, "that habit" to die, "that transformation" to take place... waiting for God to bring forth something new and freeing and glorious.
It's an active waiting; realizing that at points I've done what I can, fought what I know, surrendered to the point that I am able. And in the current waiting with God have the active expectation that he is doing a transformation internally that I can't do on my own. But I'm often impatient in the waiting, the seeming lack of progress. My body grows weary, my perseverance and hope runs thin, my mind struggles to remain steadfast. But I have to press on, stand steadfast in the midst of weary physical and mental muscles, realizing that in the "being" he changes me. And at some point, whether it's a transformational moment like the evening primrose or a more gradual process, there is going to be a blossoming. In the meantime there's a preparation happening - an expanding and solidifying of a base that will allow this flower to blossom fully into its glory, made beautiful in its time.
What do I do in the waiting? I listen. I commune. I worship. I wait longing for the glorious transformation to happen. I wait with the hope of something beautiful. I wait in trust, knowing I can't force it prematurely. I wait with anticipation of the joy in the moment when the blossom will burst forth. I'm persistent in the waiting, in the faith that it will happen, in not giving up.
I wait longer, and longer still...
And in a moment it happens. And it's beautiful.
