Waiting for a Chance at Love

I started off 2014 thinking about love. Despite bringing in the New Year listening to Jill Scott live at Radio City Music Hall, I was surprisingly not overcome with an aching for someone to love me especially different. Instead, I was calmly pondering Luther Vandross’s advice to wait for love.

It started in New Jersey, where I visited family for a few days after partying it up in NYC. The night before I was scheduled to head home, Mother Nature dumped about 8 inches of snow on the area, and even more on points north.

Weather-related delays were not on my agenda. After staying at four homes in about 10 days, I wanted my own bed. I also needed to run errands, clean, and rest before returning to work. I ended 2013 frazzled, and hoped to start 2014 relaxed.

So I did the only thing I could do – said a simple prayer as calmly as I knew how: “Lord, please work this out so I can get home safely and with as little inconvenience as possible.” No specifics on why, no gentle nudging on how, just a basic petition to do His thing.

The following day I sat in the waiting area at Newark Penn Station, watching interesting people, ready to go. With the train originating only a few miles away in New York, I couldn’t get much notice on how late it would be. I watched as the departure time was delayed 15 minutes, then 30. I made my way toward the track, but stopped when it was delayed again. Having abandoned my seat, I stood. Sigh.

An hour after the scheduled time, I was on the train. I was annoyed by the constant changes, but relieved to be leaving within a reasonable amount of time.

I would be thankful for that delay when I arrived in D.C. hours later. Back in the District, I hopped a local Metro train to my sister’s neighborhood. However, she was not there to pick me up. I had poorly estimated the length of my Metro ride, and she was caught up at work and daycare. So I waited.

It was bitterly cold. I was standing outside, shivering despite layers of clothing, for five bone-chilling minutes. Oh, the agony.

As I waited, I realized that I could potentially have been standing in these arctic temps for an hour – if my Amtrak train had left New Jersey on time. By waiting on the front end of my trip, I had spent my idle time sipping hot chocolate inside Newark Penn Station, rather than outside in the unbearable cold in D.C.

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