Leash Straining Waitfulness

Leash straining, she pulls as I walk her in the early light. I smile at her antics, her eagerness to make the journey, to arrive at our destination.

When we get to the grass-covered hills, she sees them,

what she hoped for--waited at the door for me to take her for a walk for--

Birds. Hungry birds feasting on winter grass seed.

She bounds forward on sprinkler-wet slopes while I run behind, pinching my toes to keep flip flops on flying feet.

The birds take flight, landing on tree branches far above us.

Undeterred, she crouches low,

Motionless, but for wagging tail, waiting for another sighting, so she can run forward again and again, a dozen times, day after day.

What do you do when hope unfurls its wings and flies beyond your grasp?

When you find yourself facing the impossible? The unseen-ness of faith?

Romans 8:24-25 says, if we can see it, if we can catch it, it is not hope.

Romans puts it like this, "...but hope that is seen is not hope; for why does one also hope for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, with perseverance we wait eagerly for it."

per·se·ver·ance: nounˌpər-sə-ˈvir-ən(t)s: continued effort to do or achieve something despite difficulties, failure, or opposition

wait: verbˈwāt: to stay in place in expectation of

With perseverance we wait eagerly for it. Perseverance and waiting. Two words that don't seem to go together in the same sentence.

So how do I wait? How do I persevere? How to I hope when it seems beyond my grasp? Is it possible that with leash-straining waitfulness, I can pull forward, again and again, around another sidewalk bend?