Martha Greene

Waiting rooms. We’re all familiar with them. We “can’t wait” but there we sit—at the doctor’s office, emergency room, or surgical unit. And then there’s the waiting room we walk out with—the impending call about a myriad of other tests that seems to take forever.

We’ve waited for ourselves. We’ve waited for kids, spouses, parents, friends, and neighbors. We’ve read outdated magazines, talked to strangers, stared out windows, looked for distractions, cried, and prayed. For the most part, I hate waiting rooms. I hate sitting there feeling uneasy and helpless, being anxious about the news to come.

I sat in a waiting room just this week while a friend had surgery for breast cancer. The room was packed, so I went to another waiting area. It was less crowded, but the noisy chatter was annoying. Longing for some silence, I went down the hall to the chapel. The quiet enveloped me and a beautiful stained glass window shone before me. Still. . . all I could do was wait.

Are you sitting in a waiting room?

Sometimes it’s all we can do. Whether it’s something physical, relational, financial or spiritual, sometimes waiting is our only option. We don’t like it, but we don’t have any other options. Fussing and fretting don’t count and they won’t help.

David ended his Psalm of fearless trust in God with these words:

Wait for the Lord;
Be strong, and let your heart take courage;
Yes, wait for the Lord.

Psalm 27:14 NASB

As I was sitting in the chapel, I remembered those words. Wait for the Lord. Be strong—even though you feel weak, and let your heart take courage—even though you are afraid. Yes, wait for the Lord.

As I was waiting, I thought to myself, “What is the opposite of wait? A memory surfaced and I smiled. I recalled my daughter’s experience skydiving. Before the jump, she and her friend received detailed instructions about the equipment and procedure. Paramount in those instructions was the part about the rip chord—where it was located and when it needed to be pulled.

She jumped with a huge smile on her face and all was well—until it was time to pull her rip chord. In the video you can see the instructor, parachuting tandem with her, pointing to the altimeter that it was time to pull. Then you can see my daughter struggling against the wind resistance to reach the rip chord. As her mom, I believe her adrenaline would have kicked in and she would have gotten to it, but the instructor wasn’t waiting. He reached down, pulled the rip chord, and they shot up with the parachute.

Are you needing to pull the rip chord?

Sometimes with physical, relational, financial or spiritual things, we need to “pull the rip chord.” We need to act, to do something. It’s easy for me to get mixed up—waiting when I need to act and acting when I need to wait. So far, reversing them hasn’t worked well for me.

Sometimes we need to sit in the waiting room—praying, comforting others, or just being still. Sometimes we need to act—calling 911, confronting an addicted friend, or asking for forgiveness.

Waiting rooms are for waiting. Rip chords are for pulling. Waiting rooms may or may not be serious. Rip chords always are.

Do you need to pull up a chair?
Or do you need to pull the rip chord?

PS: If you need someone to wait with or someone to pull for you—reach out to someone.

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When I was sixteen years old, my dad helped me build a stereo set. I remember carefully soldering all the transistors and potentiometers into the amplifier, drilling holes in my bedroom walls, mounting the two speakers, and running all the wires. But what I remember most is the music—lying on my bed listening to the Beatles and gazing at the 8 X 10 glossy prints of Paul, John, Ringo, and George taped on my dresser mirror.

It was my first experience with wiring and also my easiest. Today, each of the flat screens in my home has five speakers, and I have to write on blue tape and attach it to each wire to know where it goes. Underneath my screens looks like an ocean—little waves of blue tape curling up everywhere. Amplifiers, speakers, cable boxes, and computers all “wired” for connection to something.

We are “wired” for connection. . . to God.

Long before he laid down earth’s foundations, he had us in mind, had settled on us as the focus of his love, to be made whole and holy by his love.

Ephesians 1:4 MSG

God created us to have a love relationship with Him. He hardwired us for connection to Him. Before He laid the foundations of the earth, He had you, and me, in mind. We are the focus of His love and by His love we are made whole—complete, and holy—set apart. God continues to pursue us to that end. . . no matter where we are, where we’ve been, or where we’re headed.

We are “wired” for connection . . . to each other.

God also created us to have relationship with one another. He hardwired us to be connected to each other as well—to be involved in the process of becoming whole and holy together.

It’s a perfect plan, but it’s not as neat and tidy as the pieces of blue tape on my wires. There is always the possibility of a disconnect on either end. If I involve you in my process of becoming whole and holy, then I also have to involve you in my broken and messy self.

Everything within me resists doing that. In fact, I’m actually afraid of doing that. What if I reveal a broken or messy part of myself, and you judge me, you label me, you reject me, you think I’m not good enough, and you decide I’m not worthy of connection?

In order to be connected with you, to have you involved in my process of becoming whole and holy, I have to stop managing my image and start allowing you to see the real me. I have to be authentic. I have to be vulnerable! The word vulnerable comes from the Latin “to wound,” which means, if I am vulnerable with you, I am opening myself up to be wounded by you. But, I am also opening myself up to be healed by you, to be made whole and holy by my connection with you.

We are wired for connection with God—who settled on us as the focus of His love, to be made whole and holy by His love.
And we are wired to be connected to each other—to be involved in the process of becoming whole and holy together.

Are you hearing the music?
If not, where is your disconnect?

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