Waiting while being washed in the Blood of the Lamb

As far back as I can remember, my heart has yearned towards God. I began wanting to join the church when I was nine years old. My father would not let me until I was twelve because he wanted me to be sure I knew what I was doing... the age of reason for Baptists. I remember walking the aisle and shaking hands with Brother Kannon, telling him I wanted to become a Christian and join the church. He asked the age old question... Do you believe Jesus died for your sins and are you willing to confess Him as your Lord and Savior? My feeling memory of that time of public confession and baptism is one of rejoicing. My church family welcomed me warmly, my parents were proud and I was on my way in the joy of my salvation, to paraphrase the Psalmist.
That was over fifty years ago and I am so grateful still for a place and a people who taught me about God, loved me into the kingdom of God and helped me identify some of the gifts I had been given by God.
During this Lenten season, I hear old familiar words and my church sings the old “blood” hymns. My heart skips back to my beginnings in the faith and I ponder the new wine skins for the wine I now drink as a Christian. There is still so much depth and richness in the old words for me... sacrifice, death, resurrection. During this holy time, I find myself being washed in the soul cleansing Blood of the Lamb every where I turn.
As I sit with my Gratitude Group, I find myself speaking of this season of my soul as a transition time, a fallow time. I have not been writing or creating art. It is as if I am holding my creative breath...waiting. Good social worker and pastoral counselor that they are, Cannan and Mary ask all the right questions. Are you angry? Depressed? Weary? None of these apply. I am waiting.
Too often we rush from one thing to another. We go from work to home to children to church to work to laundry to work to choir ad infinitum and we forget the value of waiting. Our culture is programmed for instant gratification and we have all bought into the rightness of immediate satisfaction. Lent is a season of waiting much like late winter and early spring. Resurrection does not come quickly or without some struggle.
The wind skips through the clover and leaves waves of multicolored greens in its wake. The time of the robin and bluebird is nigh and the pussy willow buds turn silver grey green. Red bud and pear and peach and apple trees blossom while oaks and maples and beeches stand bleak and barren, anchored in a sea of brilliant green grass. All creation is holding its breath as small signs of the new life coming burst forth into glorious bloom.
I am waiting, Lord, becoming your dwelling place once again as I breathe in the joy of a new salvation. I trust in resurrection, Lord, and I know you are at work in me under the surface of what can be seen. I will wait on you and dream while I am waiting for new life to come. Thanks be to God for the gift of waiting.