{"id":11450,"date":"2008-01-31T21:27:00","date_gmt":"2008-01-31T21:27:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/production.ou.org\/life\/other\/wait_for_me\/"},"modified":"2015-10-28T08:36:46","modified_gmt":"2015-10-28T13:36:46","slug":"wait_for_me","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/relationships\/marriage\/wait_for_me\/","title":{"rendered":"Wait For Me"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"image\"<\/div>\n

\u201cWait, wait for me,\u201d my two year old plaintively cries. He scrambles up the stairs as fast as he can, but his graceful older sisters far outstrip him. They have already climbed the stairs and disappeared around a bend somewhere on top.<\/p>\n

\u201cWait, I\u2019m coming too.\u201d He\u2019s nearly in tears now, face sweaty from exertion. In his rush, he misses a stair. He falls and bangs his knee, but he\u2019s too focused on his goal to stop and cry. He regains his balance and keeps climbing, begging them to wait all the while.<\/p>\n

I stand on bottom, watching, and decide to exercise my maternal prerogative. \u201cGirls,\u201d I bellow in a voice half the neighborhood can hear. \u201cWait for Sruli.\u201d<\/p>\n

No response.<\/p>\n

\u201cGIRRRLLLLSSS.\u201d<\/p>\n

Finally, I hear a reluctant, \u201cWhat Mommy?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWait,\u201d I say emphatically, \u201cSruli wants to come too.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOK,\u201d I can hear the impatience in their voices. \u201cWe\u2019ve waiting. Just tell him to hurry already.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sruli is panting from effort, but he finally makes it to the top. I watch with satisfaction as my older daughter takes his hand and walks with him to the park. He\u2019s beaming.<\/p>\n

He\u2019s made it.<\/p>\n

My kids occupied for the next few minutes, I walk back into my home and sink onto the couch. Maybe I\u2019ll actually manage to read a bit on this long Shabbos afternoon before they come trooping back demanding snacks and entertainment.<\/p>\n

But instead of my book, it\u2019s my son\u2019s face I see, strained and pinched. I hear the poignant cry of \u201cWait.\u201d And it brings me back to another scene.<\/p>\n

* * *<\/center>In retrospect, I can laugh. I was so young at the time that I feared I\u2019d be an old maid for as long as I lived. But at that point, with nearly all my friends married and many of them enjoying the sweet world of motherhood, it didn\u2019t seem funny at all. I had fewer dates than I would have liked, and the relationships I did start seemed to end almost before they began. The specter of remaining alone forever kept me tossing at night.<\/p>\n

I was in a miserable frame of mind when I went to shul one Friday night. I had been attending Kabbalat Shabbat\u00a0in that particular shul for a number of years. I loved the slow pace and the beautiful singing. Even the view was special; as I looked out their large windows, I could watch the fiery orb of sun dropping beneath the mountains of Jerusalem. If I strained my eyes, I could almost see the Shabbos Queen as she slowly descended upon this holiest of cities.<\/p>\n

I immersed myself in the words of the ancient prayers, and could feel my body letting go of the worries and fears I carried all week. Shabbos was here.<\/p>\n

Then, during the short break between Kabbalat Shabbat and Maariv, I spotted her. We\u2019d been friendly in high school, but then I had gone to seminary abroad for several years. We\u2019d completely lost touch with each other, notwithstanding the fact that she lived a mere ten houses away. Now here she was in shul. She looked exactly the same \u2013 petite build, pert features, bubbly smile.<\/p>\n

Except for one change. There was a smooth, shining sheitel on top of her head. It gave her that unmistakable aura, an air of maturity and experience that we single folk, no matter what we’d accomplished, just couldn’t seem to muster. Was I just imagining it, or did she even stand taller now that she could face the world with someone at her side?<\/p>\n

Ma\u2019ariv began and I tried to focus on the words I was saying. After davening finished, as everyone slowly wended their way to the door, I approached my acquaintance.<\/p>\n

Mazel tov,\u201d I said warmly. \u201cI see you\u2019ve gotten married since I saw you last. How wonderful.\u201d<\/p>\n

She turned to me slowly and gave me a withering look. \u201cYou must really be out of it,\u201d she said with a note of disdain in her voice. \u201cI\u2019m not only married; I have a little boy.\u201d<\/p>\n

I struggled to maintain my equilibrium. \u201cWell, then I guess I owe you two mazel tovs. How old is your baby?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFive months,\u201d she said shortly, \u201cand I\u2019d better be going \u2013 he might be hungry.\u201d And with that she swept out of shul. I stood staring at her retreating back. Then, I slowly walked back to my parents\u2019 house.<\/p>\n

My mother was rushing to put the last touches on the table. As I helped her set out the fish, I told her about the encounter. \u201cLife is one big race,\u201d I said bitterly, \u201cand all my friends are running, running, running, flying across the track, while I can\u2019t even get past the starting line.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLife is not a race,\u201d my mother said emphatically. \u201cEach person has his own journey that starts at birth, not at marriage, and our job is to make our journey as meaningful as possible, whatever our circumstances.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sounded good, but somewhere in my heart was a little girl struggling to climb the stairs, calling out plaintively, \u201cWait, wait for me.\u201d<\/p>\n

* * *<\/center>Beside me the baby stirs. I absently rock her infant seat as I readjust my snood. I\u2019ve made it. Haven\u2019t I?<\/p>\n

But what of those who are still trying mightily to ascend the steps? Am I just traipsing along at the top of the climb, oblivious to those straining to reach the summit? What am I doing to make their climb easier?<\/p>\n

How do I respond when I hear the pain-filled cry, \u201cWait, wait for me\u201d?<\/p>\n

\n

This piece originally appeared in the Front Page and is reprinted with permission. Bassi Gruen<\/b> is a liscened social worker and a professional writer. She’s published hundreds of articles in myriad Jewish publications, and does commercial writing as well. She lives with her husband and children in Beitar Illit.<\/i><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cWait, wait for me,\u201d my two year old plaintively cries. He scrambles up the stairs as fast as he can, but his graceful older sisters far outstrip him. They have already climbed the stairs and disappeared around a bend somewhere on top. \u201cWait, I\u2019m coming too.\u201d He\u2019s nearly in tears now, face sweaty from exertion.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":232,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_cloudinary_featured_overwrite":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[85,19],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-11450","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-inspiration","category-marriage"],"yoast_head":"\nWait For Me - OU Life<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Life is not a race, each person has his own journey that starts at birth, not at marriage, and our job is to make our journey as meaningful as possible\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/relationships\/marriage\/wait_for_me\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Wait For Me - 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