Waiting
05/08/25 02:46
As far as we know, time is a human construct. It is a way of describing an observable reality. Light travels through the universe, and careful observation allows measurement of its speed of travel. Interactions with other elements and decay transform the elements of the universe over a measurable span. However, humans seem to be the only creatures we know of that measure and track time. There is evidence that other creatures have memory and perhaps can recognize the difference between past and present. Still, the division of time into the zones of past, present, and future seems to be uniquely human. Humans don’t all see time in the same way, either. Different languages use different numbers of verb tenses. The number of tenses in English continues to be a subject of debate among language and grammar scholars. The Cambridge Grammar of the English Language states that there are two ‘tense systems’ in English. The primary tenses are the present simple and the past simple. Secondary tense includes perfect tenses. Other scholars identify 12 main verb tenses. Past, present, and future are combined with four aspects (simple, continuous, perfect, and perfect continuous) to make 12 tenses. That compares with other languages that have the same primary tenses, but combine them with different nuances such as immediate vs. remote.
However it is measured and described, the experience of time varies widely. An hour spent playing with my grandchildren feels entirely different from an hour stuck in traffic in Seattle. My perception of the passage of time changes depending on my activity, mood, and other factors.
Some of my educational colleagues assert that our perception of time varies with human development. They assert that waiting is easier as we age because we have accumulated memories over a longer period. A year is half a lifetime to a two-year-old, but a much smaller fraction of the life of an older adult. My personal experience bears this out in some ways. Birthdays seem to be coming about faster than I perceived when I was younger. Children seem to grow up more quickly with each generation. On the other hand, however, there continue to be times when waiting is hard for me.
A dear friend of ours suffered a brain bleed last week. The initial experience was almost as if time slowed. His spouse called for help, and it seemed like the time for the paramedics to arrive was much longer than a few minutes. Then time seemed to speed up as he was rushed to the local hospital and quickly prepared to travel to a Level I trauma center by helicopter. After his initial treatment in the trauma center, doctors are allowing time for him to heal partially and stabilize before performing surgery. The couple is now in a vigil as they wait two more days before the surgery is performed. At first, it seemed like death might be imminent and things might go too quickly. Now, time is passing slowly as we wait for surgery and the information it might provide as to short-term and long-term outcomes.
Hurry up and wait is a feature of medical treatment in the United States. As a pastor and chaplain, I’ve spent many hours in hospital emergency waiting rooms. Waiting and the anxiety that waiting produces are features of those places. People don’t sit comfortably there regardless of the choice of furniture, decorations, or lighting.
Years ago, I served as an emergency care technician and ambulance driver. Two trips stand out in my memory of that time. Once, we rushed to a location about a half hour from town to tend a man who had broken his hip. Although we weren’t able to make a complete diagnosis, we were pretty sure of the fracture as we assessed his pain and carefully transported him to the ambulance. I drove more slowly with the ambulance loaded than I had going to the place of the accident, as I didn’t want to have sudden motions or rough roads jostle the patient. Then, after assessment in the local hospital, we were asked to transport him another 165 miles to a VA medical center where surgery would be performed. This trip took three hours. Although he had been given pain medication, his discomfort was obvious. I’m sure it seemed to the patient that the process took a very long time.
Another ambulance trip was with a newborn infant and a medical team, including a doctor. This trip was 150 miles to a hospital with a neonatal intensive care unit. I had previously driven that route in two hours in the ambulance, but it took over four hours this time because the doctor called for us to stop each time the infant stopped breathing, and the team had to work to resuscitate. By the time we arrived, we were all exhausted from the tension, but elated that we were able to transfer the infant to care in a center with all of the required resources. We stopped for coffee in the hospital cafeteria and sat in silence, too weary to talk. On the way back home, the doctor stretched out in the back of the ambulance and slept. I stayed wide awake and had trouble sleeping even after I was in bed at home.
How we experience time varies widely.
Reflecting on time and the vigil of our friends at Harborview Medical Center in Seattle, I have written a prayer:
Creator who has always been, Creator who always will be, we who are mortal are not practiced at the art of waiting. We prefer quick results, speedy service, and instant gratification. And so, we pray for the patience of the universe when we find ourselves in seasons of waiting, even though we know that what we need is just a deep breath, the practice of calming our minds and spirits, and the reassurance of the love that surrounds us. Since you have already given us the patience we need, we ask for your patience with our anxiety about the waiting times.
In the vastness of the universe, what is another minute, another hour, another year, decade, or century? We, however, cannot fully conceive that vastness and experience a few moments as if they were hours and days. When the doctor says the time is not right and we must schedule a procedure for later, all we can think of is, “When will it be over?” When we are told to relax, our anxiety and heart rate increase.
May we find each conversation to be a unique gift of community. May we see each breath we take as a unique gift of the spirit. May we find the grace of patience and vision for the wider journey. And most of all, may we find gratitude for the present moment and live it fully right now.
In the grace of this moment, Amen.
However it is measured and described, the experience of time varies widely. An hour spent playing with my grandchildren feels entirely different from an hour stuck in traffic in Seattle. My perception of the passage of time changes depending on my activity, mood, and other factors.
Some of my educational colleagues assert that our perception of time varies with human development. They assert that waiting is easier as we age because we have accumulated memories over a longer period. A year is half a lifetime to a two-year-old, but a much smaller fraction of the life of an older adult. My personal experience bears this out in some ways. Birthdays seem to be coming about faster than I perceived when I was younger. Children seem to grow up more quickly with each generation. On the other hand, however, there continue to be times when waiting is hard for me.
A dear friend of ours suffered a brain bleed last week. The initial experience was almost as if time slowed. His spouse called for help, and it seemed like the time for the paramedics to arrive was much longer than a few minutes. Then time seemed to speed up as he was rushed to the local hospital and quickly prepared to travel to a Level I trauma center by helicopter. After his initial treatment in the trauma center, doctors are allowing time for him to heal partially and stabilize before performing surgery. The couple is now in a vigil as they wait two more days before the surgery is performed. At first, it seemed like death might be imminent and things might go too quickly. Now, time is passing slowly as we wait for surgery and the information it might provide as to short-term and long-term outcomes.
Hurry up and wait is a feature of medical treatment in the United States. As a pastor and chaplain, I’ve spent many hours in hospital emergency waiting rooms. Waiting and the anxiety that waiting produces are features of those places. People don’t sit comfortably there regardless of the choice of furniture, decorations, or lighting.
Years ago, I served as an emergency care technician and ambulance driver. Two trips stand out in my memory of that time. Once, we rushed to a location about a half hour from town to tend a man who had broken his hip. Although we weren’t able to make a complete diagnosis, we were pretty sure of the fracture as we assessed his pain and carefully transported him to the ambulance. I drove more slowly with the ambulance loaded than I had going to the place of the accident, as I didn’t want to have sudden motions or rough roads jostle the patient. Then, after assessment in the local hospital, we were asked to transport him another 165 miles to a VA medical center where surgery would be performed. This trip took three hours. Although he had been given pain medication, his discomfort was obvious. I’m sure it seemed to the patient that the process took a very long time.
Another ambulance trip was with a newborn infant and a medical team, including a doctor. This trip was 150 miles to a hospital with a neonatal intensive care unit. I had previously driven that route in two hours in the ambulance, but it took over four hours this time because the doctor called for us to stop each time the infant stopped breathing, and the team had to work to resuscitate. By the time we arrived, we were all exhausted from the tension, but elated that we were able to transfer the infant to care in a center with all of the required resources. We stopped for coffee in the hospital cafeteria and sat in silence, too weary to talk. On the way back home, the doctor stretched out in the back of the ambulance and slept. I stayed wide awake and had trouble sleeping even after I was in bed at home.
How we experience time varies widely.
Reflecting on time and the vigil of our friends at Harborview Medical Center in Seattle, I have written a prayer:
Creator who has always been, Creator who always will be, we who are mortal are not practiced at the art of waiting. We prefer quick results, speedy service, and instant gratification. And so, we pray for the patience of the universe when we find ourselves in seasons of waiting, even though we know that what we need is just a deep breath, the practice of calming our minds and spirits, and the reassurance of the love that surrounds us. Since you have already given us the patience we need, we ask for your patience with our anxiety about the waiting times.
In the vastness of the universe, what is another minute, another hour, another year, decade, or century? We, however, cannot fully conceive that vastness and experience a few moments as if they were hours and days. When the doctor says the time is not right and we must schedule a procedure for later, all we can think of is, “When will it be over?” When we are told to relax, our anxiety and heart rate increase.
May we find each conversation to be a unique gift of community. May we see each breath we take as a unique gift of the spirit. May we find the grace of patience and vision for the wider journey. And most of all, may we find gratitude for the present moment and live it fully right now.
In the grace of this moment, Amen.
