By Pastor Brian Wahl
Isaiah 40:31 says that “those who wait upon the Lord will renew their strength.” Beautiful, isn’t it? Except I’m pretty sure Isaiah wasn’t talking about waiting upon the hospital system. Because let’s be honest — that kind of waiting doesn’t renew much of anything. Unless you count the renewal of your patience, your paperwork, and your blood samples.
After nearly a month in this hospital bed, I’ve learned that waiting here doesn’t make you soar like eagles; it makes you lie there like roadkill. My muscles are in full vacation mode. The only thing getting stronger is my ability to roll from side to side without setting off the IV alarm. I’m being fed a steady diet of “hurry up and wait” — the hospital’s version of fine dining — served with a side of mystery meal and random midnight vital checks.
And then there’s the hospital mosquitoes (also known as nurses with needles), who buzz in at ungodly hours to draw “just a little more blood.” Between that and my glucose checks, I’m practically on a first-name basis with every drop in my bloodstream.
Waiting for surgery is like waiting in the long lines of Disneyland — except without the rides, churros, or smiles. It’s all the anticipation of adventure, followed by a three-second thrill when the doctor finally appears, only to say, “We’ll check again tomorrow… and tomorrow… and tomorrow that never comes.”
But then I remember: Isaiah didn’t say, “Those who wait in line will renew their strength.” He said, “Those who wait upon the Lord.”
Waiting upon the Lord is a whole different kind of waiting. It’s not passive. It’s not endless bureaucracy. It’s the kind of waiting where your soul breathes again — where prayer, reflection, and a simple Scripture can become your physical therapy.
It’s amazing how spiritual muscle starts to form when you trade anxiety for quiet trust. When you stop scrolling the mental newsfeed of “what ifs,” and instead, read — pray — and then read again. Waiting upon the Lord renews the inside of you, even when the outside is still waiting for the next doctor’s note.
As to my foot, the amputation seems to have jumped on well and is healing. As to my heart — it’s full of love, overflowing with friendship and God’s grace. It may be sick, but it’s happy — full of joy.
So maybe this is the longest Disneyland lineup of my life — but somewhere in the queue, I’m finding joy, grace, and even laughter. And that’s the real thrill ride.
Isaiah 40:31 has taught me even when the body is waiting, the soul can dance.