The Waiting Room

THE WAITING ROOM

I sat and watched.

Not just with my eyes, but with something deeper—something that could see beyond what was in front of me.

The room was full.

People waiting…but not just waiting for their names to be called.

They were waiting in their bodies.

Waiting in their thoughts.

Waiting in what they had come to accept as life.

And I was there… not as a patient.

I was there caring for another.

Sitting beside the system—not within it.

Some spoke quietly to one another, sharing symptoms like stories — as though sickness had become a common language.

Others sat alone, but not in silence. Their minds were occupied with conditions, diagnoses, and what might come next.

There was a strange comfort in the room.

Not peace — but familiarity.

A system they understood. A place where their condition was acknowledged, named, and managed.

And I could see it…

Not as a place of healing—but as a place of participation.

Participation in a cycle where the body leads and the spirit follows.

Where identity begins to form around what is not working, instead of what is alive.

No one questions it.

No one stands up and says, “There is another way.”

Because to step outside of it would mean letting go of everything they have come to rely on.

And yet…

I could not ignore what I carry.

Not something I learned—but something I walk in.

A knowing.

That the body does not have the final word.That life is not sustained from the outside in, but from the inside out.

I realised something as I sat there — I am not part of this system.

Not in the way it holds others.

A small percentage… perhaps even the one percent… who do not live from diagnosis, or agreement with decline.

Not because of effort, but because of where life is sourced.

Divine health is life.

Not managed.

Not maintained.

But lived.

And as I sat there, I realised—

This room was not just filled with people.

It was filled with agreement.

Agreement with decline.

Agreement with limitation.

Agreement with a system that keeps the cycle moving.

And I sat outside of it… even while sitting within it.

Not in judgment — but in contrast.

Because once you have seen life flow from another source, you cannot unsee it.

You cannot return to agreement with what diminishes it.

So I waited.

But not as they waited.

I waited with something alive within me — something untouched by the room, the system, or the story being played out around me.

And in that moment, I saw it clearly:

Two worlds sitting in the same room.

One sustained by the system.

The other sustained by life itself.

“To set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace.” — Romans 8:6