Wait.

It says, "do not open."

But I go ahead and try.

With all my might I push on the ice-cold handle, my palms began to burn cold and red.

I push with all my measly strength, I dig my tired shoulder into the wooden door.

The door doesn't budge and I slump to the cold ground below me.

With tears rolling down my cheeks, I eventually lift my heavy eyes to look around.

I'm in an empty hallway, where doors are lined down each side.

Some doors have lights beaming from their cracks.

Their vibrant beams lift my weary spirit.

My sunken eyes look longingly at the beautiful lights that are dancing across the floor around me.

They taunt me with their bright morning glow.

Perhaps they are new days dawning, ones I know I am not promised.

As I reach down to the cold floor to push myself up, my legs are magnetic to the ground I stayed at for so long. 

My legs become lighter as I bring myself to the middle of the hallway.

Jesus' voice rings through my ears, " Just wait."

I struggle to listen and struggle to be good.

My sins weigh me down, as they should.

I lean my stiff back against the frigid wall and cross my arms. 

I hate to wait.

I hate to give up my plans and my goals to someone else.

Because I am constantly told that I can do it all.

I finally give up and whisper, "I can't do it on my own."

With those humble words, a faint click seems to thunder through the corridor.

A door has been unlocked with my simple surrender that was so pathetic and weak, but was plenty for Him.

Because I am His beloved and He takes me away from the place I was so set to stay. 

The place that I was so eager to stay at, that inflicted so much pain and hopelessness.

Instead, He leads me to things that bring Him joy.

The bitter-sweetness of His command for me to "Wait." is all but what I long to hear now.

Because that is when I know that Jesus has something far better planned for me, His lowly daughter.