WAIT AND HOPE

Chris and me 1965

Today is St. Patrick’s Day, a time when we celebrate a fifth-century British monk who brought Christianity to Ireland. However, his story did not begin with strength and success—it began with suffering. At just sixteen, Saint Patrick was captured in Britain and taken to Ireland as a slave, where he lived for six long years.

During that difficult season, something remarkable happened. In isolation and hardship, he drew close to God—talking to Him, trusting Him, and learning to wait. Day after day, he held on in faith until, at last, an opportunity to escape came.

After returning home, Patrick did not simply move on with his life. Instead, he became a monk. Then, in time, he had a dream—one that called him back to the very place of his suffering. In obedience to that call, he returned to Ireland, this time not as a captive, but as a messenger of hope, ultimately helping bring Christianity to the nation.

In a different way, I see how God works through seasons of waiting in my own life as well.

War, for example, shaped much of Chris’s life and mine. We were born during World War II, and later, during the Cold War, hiding under our school desks became a normal part of childhood. Then, as young adults, we were married during the Vietnam War. At that time, Chris was in the Army Reserve and could have been sent away at any moment.

So we waited. We worked, paid our bills and taxes, and lived with the quiet uncertainty of not knowing what would come next. Fortunately, he was never activated, but the waiting itself was real.

Even today, life can feel like a holding pattern—waiting for the next shoe to drop. At any moment, circumstances can change: war, illness, financial struggles, or difficult relationships can enter without warning.

Looking back, I realize my life, like Patrick’s, has been marked by waiting. I waited to grow up. I waited to have a boyfriend. I waited to get married. When we finally became engaged, it felt like stepping off a cliff into the unknown.

Yet in that moment of uncertainty, God gave me comfort through a poem by Ruth Bell Graham:

Dear God, I prayed, all unafraid
(as we’re inclined to do),
I do not need a handsome man
but let him be like You;
I do not need one big and strong
nor yet so very tall,
nor need he be some genius,
or wealthy, Lord, at all;
but let his head be high, dear God,
and let his eye be clear,
his shoulders straight, whate’er his state,
whate’re his earthly sphere;
and let his face have character,
a ruggedness of soul,
and let his whole life show, dear God,
a singleness of goal;
then when he comes
(as he will come)
with quiet eyes aglow,
I’ll understand that he’s the man
I prayed for long ago.

— Ruth Bell Graham

And so, as I reflect on both Patrick’s life and my own, I see a common thread: waiting is not wasted time. Rather, it is often where God does His deepest work. In the waiting, our faith is shaped, our trust is strengthened, and our hearts are prepared for what comes next.

Perhaps the real lesson of St. Patrick’s story—and of our own—is this: the very seasons we would never choose may be the ones God uses most powerfully. And in the waiting, He is never absent—He is quietly at work, leading us, just as He always has, toward His purpose.

“Never forget that, until the day comes when God will deign to reveal the future to man, all human wisdom is contained in these words: Wait and hope!” Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo

HOW TECHNOLOGY GAVE MY WORDS A VOICE

 

Dorothy and me EWU 1961

Setting off for college in 1961 was exciting; but college was not going to be easy. My high school English teacher said that I would never be able to make it through college because I couldn't write. My typing teacher said I would never be able to work as a secretary because I couldn't type more than 23 words a minute and I couldn't spell. According to them, writing was simply not going to be part of my future. 

Even so, I did make it through college as a PE major. I did no writing for any of my classes. Mostly it was memorization and physical activity. Because of this, I was able to get campus jobs cleaning offices, running the switchboard, and working in the library. Up to that point, no writing or typing was needed.

After graduation, I worked for three years as a first-grade teacher. That involved running off mimeograph copies. Once again, no typing or writing was required. However, in 1984 when I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia, these jobs were no longer possible for me. I prayed and asked God what I could do for a job. Everybody needs a job. Even in the Garden of Eden Adam tended the garden.

During that time, God put on my heart that I could pray and I could write. Yet from a human standpoint, my ability in the area of typing and actually writing profound words seemed impossible. I would never be able to send in perfectly typed pages for publication. I would never be able to put words together in a meaningful way.

Then something unexpected happened. A computer appeared in our house. I could type slowly, spell atrociously, and have everything corrected. Encouraged by that, I signed up for writing correspondence courses. I took writing courses at the vocational college. I joined a senior citizens writing group. Even so, nothing was accepted for publication except one column, which my husband rewrote before I sent it in.

Meanwhile, prayer groups did not require wonderful words. I learned how to pray God's Word back to Him. Fortunately people in prayer groups are not critical, and God isn't either. I know God loves me, and the people in the prayer group are commanded to love me. So in that sense, I was set.

That still left one question: what about editing my thoughts as I form them? I have found that AI is a good partner. It helps me organize my ideas and shape the words I want to say.

Of course, I now hear that AI is using too much power and too much water. But I believe people will solve those problems. Human beings have always found ways to improve the tools they create. New power sources will be discovered, water will be conserved, and perhaps—like the Israelis—more water will be desalinated from the sea. Sorry to hear that teachers have to run papers through an AI checker to be sure it was not used. That is one drawback.

What matters most is this: God can use whatever tools are available. Long ago it was pen and paper. Then it was the typewriter. Later it was the computer. Now it may even be AI.

For someone who was told she could not write, could not type, and could not spell, it is remarkable that God has provided ways for me to do all three. The tools changed, but the calling did not.

And so I keep writing—not perfectly, but faithfully.

“Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men.”
Colossians 3:23