Being held tight under the Iron Boot

Waiting and religious suffering are not that far apart. The book of Revelation is steeped in and originates within this attitude - How long, O Lord? Waiting is the present martyrdom of the past. Waiting is like a military invasion or the arrival of a police state, the buildings and familiar landmarks of daily life are changed but unchanged. In your mind they buck and roll with the shock of some new situation; but in reality they are the same. And that is just it: the same coming up in contact with the radically new, this is absolutely unpleasant and this is what waiting is all about. Waiting comes in uninvited and eats all the sweets! Waiting is the fever lingering on the third day of your illness. Waiting is uncomfortable shoes at the beginning of the workday. Waiting is a devil's holiday; angels not invited. Waiting is for lesser people. Waiting is das Nicht from which modernity runs. Waiting is a mosquito loose in your bedroom at night. Waiting is a toll bridge; airplane air at 20,000 feet; humidity; chafing during a walking tour of Paris; the spider you can't find; and everything to do with medicine. Waiting is a buildup to hospice; getting your breath knocked out too early in a fight; chewing your nails too close and the fear of motion sickness on public transportation. Waiting is the highlight to every form of suffering and expiration, and no one likes to do it. Yet, this is the way it is around the house waiting until Caleb is born. Poor Lynn-nore is worried every minute to death with waiting's incessant harassments. And I suppose I don't have to mention my own experience with waiting.