His eyes gazed towards the ceiling; fixed as if watching a never ending reel of a lifetime of memories only he could see. The view more often than not that he would have liked. The past 13 years, a debilitating stroke took the life he once enjoyed,.. and twisted it… mercilessly.

Yet despite this new  life he faced, my dad was an encourager in the midst of many hours of life, staring towards the ceiling.

As I entered his room on one of my night shifts with my dad after my mom had passed away,  the familiar sounds of Alan Jackson, Dolly Parton, and so many more signature names, crooned out Christmas, one hit after another.

It was the month of July, but that didn’t matter to my dad.
Memories of my mom embedded in these songs carried my dad through the days and nights through different seasons since my mom had passed away. The sounds of Christmas filled the darkened room as my dad lay tucked in his bed by the evening shift. I stood in the doorway, taking in the moment as my eyes got accustomed to the darkness, seeing my dad’s figure slowly appearing…gazing at the ceiling.

“Hi dad, it’s me.” I said in a louder than I wanted to voice, but it was necessary as the volume of the music and my dad’s declining hearing made it a necessity. He turned his head towards the sound of my voice and answered in his beautiful bass voice… “Is this my first born?” I chuckled, he chuckled, and I answered, “Yes, dad, it’s your first born:)”…a new  way of speaking dad had taken on after his stroke. So much had changed, yet underneath the layers of his stroke…dad  was still my dad… climbing through ever so often.

“How are your kids doing? How was the house reno coming along? Are the grandkids taking swimming lessons yet? You know it’s important… Are they taking piano lessons like you did?  Keep it up being a good Grandma. I had a dream about mom last night… It was so real…” My eyes glistened as I listened to his encouragement and dreams.

Wasn’t I the one to be my dad’s encourager? I did try, but my dad always seemed to cover those first thing as he’d stare at the ceiling…like he did  now in the blackness of the room.

For almost 13 years now, he had waited for his miracle to walk again.. buy a camper and truck and join us for our camping weeks at the Lake. and so much more. He was just 62 when life hit him hard, and retirement had been rudely interrupted so cruely for mom and dad both. Dad and mom had  missed a lot in the  waiting  as they both continued to look to the miracle of my dad. Walking had not come to pass… . He always still had hope, but in the meanwhile, he encouraged, he told stories, he lived his spiritual life on his sleeve… now more than ever.

He told me many times he was not afraid to die. He knew Heaven would be his eternal home with his Jesus and mom and so many others who had gone on ahead….. I don’t know that I could have waited that well, praying for a miracle he so longed and waited for..

Those times he lay staring at the ceiling, became his waiting room, waiting… waiting for his miracle. Yet while he was waiting, he blessed others, encouraged, dreamed of camping again with his children and waited to meet  mom, the love of his life, in his dreams as he listened to the timeless Christmas songs him and mom had enjoyed. From where I sat looking at his life… dad waited well.

Today he is walking! Walking the streets of gold!. His prayers have been answered, walking on the streets of gold with mom, I love to imagine, and his Jesus of course! I miss him so much, but I’m so incredibly glad hiis seasons in his waiting room are over forever… He waited well.

How well have I waited in my own waiting room on this planet? I’ve had many opportunities to practice the wait and still do until I leave for my forever home! And have joys forever more! Never more to wait!

We all have a choice while we wait in our own waiting rooms. Will we wait with hope, contentment, peace, encouragement, and more? We all want/ need miracles in our lives. but how we wait can be the hope and blessing someone else may be needing.

My prayer is that I will make my waiting room count as I keep praying for my miracles in my lifetime.

Be encouraged! My dad’s Jesus was with him every moment of every day, and most of all, in the darkness of the night when all he could do was gaze at the ceiling.

He promises to be with us as we wait for our miracles in our waiting room.

Make it count. Wait well, somebody may need your blessing…

in YOUR waiting room..