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My mom turned 60 a couple weeks ago. (If you know my mother even a little, this will probably surprise you.) What affected me the most about my mother’s birthday was realizing how much she wants to be a grandmother and how long she has been waiting for grandchildren. My mom was a young bride of 21 and a mother herself at 22. Since Dave and I left the nest, she has been waiting. To her credit, my mother waits quietly. She is not one for guilt trips or passive aggression. But how long will she have to wait?

For the past couple weeks, I have found myself crying out to God, “How long?”

How long will my brother lead our church in prayer for other people’s pregnant wives?
How long will my sister-in-law pour herself out for other people’s children?
How long will I have to sigh and nod appropriately when girls 10 years younger than me are showing off their engagement rings?
How long will my parents have to congratulate their peers when their kids get married and have babies?

It comforts me to know that David, a man after God’s own heart, asked the same question (for entirely different reasons!).

My soul is in anguish. 

How long, O LORD, how long? Psalm 6:3

My family has been here for a long time. We’ve been here so long that I stopped asking God about it. I took for granted that this was our lot and my job was to be OK with it. What if where we are is not OK, though?

We hear a lot of talk in the church about suffering, as we should. Christians are called to take part in Christ’s suffering. I’ve always thought of suffering as big, painful events. A marriage ends. Someone dies unexpectedly. You are a victim of a crime. A levy breaks and your life is underwater for a time, but eventually, the flood dries up and you return to normal—albeit a new normal.

It occurs to me that suffering is more than a levy breaking. Suffering can come as a steady, impatient drip. You can try to ignore it. You can put a bucket under it and hope for the best, but the end result is the same. Those who suffer in this quiet, persistent way also find themselves underwater.

It’s been a like a light bulb coming on for me—a realization that that’s what this is! This season of endless waiting isn’t normal; this is suffering! It’s OK if I’m not OK with it. God doesn’t want me to be at rest here, He doesn’t want us to stop talking about it.

Having such a realization is one thing. Knowing what to do with it is another. Today, I only know that I am here and I don’t know for how long.