At 18, I loved a poem by Lawerence Ferlinghetti: “I Am Waiting.”
I was waiting for a way out
And for someone to hold me
for despair to take a hike
for the tears to stop
for the sun to rise
for somebody to tell me who I am
for an apology and an explanation
for something to fill the void
for a language of feelings
for someone to understand
for someone who wouldn’t let go
for a rainbow without the rain
for a place to scream
for the guts to keep going
for purpose
At 20, I began to wait for Jesus.
I am still waiting.