Anticipating

an·tic·i·pate   [an-tis-uh-peyt]

1. to realize beforehand; foretaste or foresee: to anticipate pleasure.

2. to expect; look forward to; be sure of: to anticipate a favorable decision.

3. to perform (an action) before another has had time to act.

4. to answer (a question), obey (a command), or satisfy (a request) before it is made: He anticipated each of my orders.

I've been processing with a couple close friends what I have written about in the last couple posts. As I drove away from a time with one of them, I felt God whisper something new to me. I heard Him say: "Misha, you have learned how to choose joy - and that is good. You look for beauty, you focus on it and that has been right. But now I want you to anticipate goodness. My goodness. I want you to live life anticipating My goodness."

As I tried to articulate the difference of what this means to me, to my husband, I found myself explaining: anticipation is the opposite of protecting my heart. Choosing joy can happen even in the midst of a lot of pain. It's an emphasis of focus not feeling. But anticipation doesn't allow for focus - because you can't see what's coming yet. It's hope, it's excited feelings - but it's sightless. It doesn't allow me to live visually into the future.


Instead it forces me to live from my heart.
And not to protect it.  

Another friend emailed me and said something that I think is profound, too. She wrote about how she has been struggling to define hope and realized (amidst some unimaginable heart-ache) that hope is gratitude. I am learning this, too. Gratitude, I think, puts legs under a certain way of seeing things. It's the means to applying anticipation. To living it and walking it out.


I've also been thinking about how anticipation is a lot like the role of an orchestra conductor. He, or she, is always listening for beauty. She can't see it until it is already happening, and even then she goes by ear. She hears the perfect pitch, she recognizes the familiar tune or instrument and points to it. She acknowledges and pulls it forward so that it is amplified and suddenly the whole audience can hear and appreciate it.


That is the definition, I think, of our call, our invitation: To anticipate the beauty of God and acknowledge it when we recognize it. And then to experience it, enjoy it and appreciate it with others. 

Another friend send me a scripture last week that I have been pondering. I taped it up on my kitchen cupboard, stuck it next to my bathroom mirror and I have written it on a post-it to put on my fridge door. It's from Isaiah chapter 46:

"The Lord says...  listen to me.

I have taken good care of you since your life began.

I have carried you since you were born as a nation.

I will continue to carry you even when you are old.

I will take good care of you even when your hair is gray.

I have made you. And I will carry you.

I will take care of you. And I will save you.

I am the Lord.

Who will you compare me to?

Who is equal to me?

What am I like?

Who can you compare me to?"

I think God often addresses anticipation by means of remembrance. He gives us a visual when there isn't one of the future yet: Himself. He's saying if you can't see forward, look back, look at me - I have carried you! Through death, sickness, fear and heartbreak; through what you never expected and what you never saw coming, through everything, I am good.


***


I appreciate your patience with my writing on this site. I have wriggled around a lot this year trying to find a voice and a balance that has been difficult for me. But as I look forward, and like all the rest of us I can't see anything but days on a calendar page, I am choosing anticipation.


I will be venturing out in some uncharted territory of writing for me - I am going to write about the thing closest to my heart and passion: the connection between our bodies, hearts and spirits.


I hope you'll join me.