By Ada William

A few weeks ago in church, our preacher shared a line that has stayed with me ever since.

“If you’re wondering what door to walk through, pray in the hallway.”

He was quoting someone else, and I did not catch the original source. I did, however, catch the message.

Most of us have stood in that hallway at one time or another. We know something is changing, but we do not know what comes next. There may be several doors in front of us, and none of them are clearly marked. We ask God to show us which one to open, but the answer does not always come as quickly as we would like.

Waiting is hard. People who live and work in rural communities understand waiting better than most. Farming, ranching and caring for animals require patience. You can prepare the ground, plant the seed and pray for rain, but you cannot force a crop to grow overnight. You can breed the best mare to the best stallion, provide good feed and proper care, and still wait nearly a year to see the foal. You can put up hay, repair fences and prepare barns, but you cannot control what kind of winter is coming.

Rural life involves a great deal of faith. You do your part, and then you wait.

Of course, waiting does not mean doing nothing. A farmer does not plant a field and ignore it until harvest. There are weeds to control, equipment to maintain and weather forecasts to watch. A rancher waiting for a calf crop still checks cattle, watches the condition of the cows and makes sure the calving pasture is ready.

The waiting season has work of its own.

I think the same is true when we wait on God to show us what comes next. Praying in the hallway means more than standing still and staring at the doors. It means using that time to draw closer to God, listen carefully and prepare ourselves for whatever He may ask us to do.

Sometimes I want an immediate answer. I want God to make the right door obvious, open it wide and hang a large sign above it that says, “This way.”

That is not usually how it works.

Sometimes the hallway lasts longer than we expected. A job opportunity does not come through. A relationship changes. A plan we felt certain about falls apart. A prayer seems to go unanswered.

It can be tempting to grab the nearest doorknob because we are tired of waiting.

Anyone who has worked cattle knows that pushing too hard at the wrong time usually creates more trouble. Cattle move better when the handler pays attention to pressure, timing and position. There are moments to step forward and moments to back away. Trying to force movement before the path is clear can scatter the whole herd.

I have had times in my own life when I tried to force a door open because I was convinced it was the one I needed. Other times, I hesitated to step through a door because it was not the one I had pictured.

Looking back, I can see that some closed doors were protection. Some delays were preparation. Some unanswered prayers were answered differently than I expected.

Waiting doesn’t get easier, but the hallway is not wasted space.

The hallway may be where God changes our plans. It may be where He strengthens our faith, corrects our attitude or teaches us to depend on Him instead of our own understanding. It may be where we finally become quiet enough to hear what He has been saying all along.

Rural life teaches us that there is a season for everything. There is a time to plant and a time to harvest, a time to mend fence and a time to move cattle. There is a time to work, a time to wait and a time to trust that God is still handling what we cannot see.

When the right door opens, we may understand why the others stayed closed. We may also never fully understand, at least not in this life. Either way, we can trust the One who sees beyond the hallway.

When I find myself unsure of what comes next, I hope I remember the words I heard that Sunday morning. I may not know which door to walk through or when it will open, but I know what I can do while I wait.

I can pray in the hallway.

By Lacey Vilhauer

Ingredients

Graham Cracker Crust

• 1 cup pulverized graham crackers (about 6 graham crackers, blended or food processed)
• 1/3 cup butter, melted
• 1/4 cup brown sugar

Brownies

• 12 Tbsp butter
• 1 cup brown sugar, lightly packed
• 3/4 cup white sugar
• 4 eggs
• 1 1/2 tsp vanilla
• 1/4 cup flour
• 1 cup cocoa powder
• 1 cup milk chocolate chips

Toppings

• 4 Hershey’s bars
• 1 (10-ounce) bag mini marshmallows

Instructions

Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Grease an 8×8 baking pan.

Graham Cracker Crust: Pulverize graham crackers and stir in melted butter. Stir in brown sugar. Press into the bottom of the baking pan and set aside.

Brownies: In a heavy saucepan, melt butter and stir in white and brown sugars. Stir over medium heat for 1 to 2 minutes, until sugar starts to dissolve. Remove from heat and add vanilla. Add eggs one at a time, whisking each into the sugar and butter mixture. Add flour and cocoa powder and stir together. Fold in chocolate chips. Pour brownie mixture over the graham cracker crust. Bake for 40 minutes.

Remove from oven and turn oven to broil. Immediately lay chocolate bars over the top and cover them with mini marshmallows (or cut-up large marshmallows). Broil for one to two minutes, watching closely so they don’t burn, and remove once brown. Let cool.

By Beth Watkins

It’s that time of year again. The school supply aisles look like a cross between Black Friday and a cage fight. Parents are hunting for the exact blue folder required by Mrs. Johnson’s third-grade class while children toss random items into the cart like contestants on a game show.

Some moms are weeping because their baby is starting kindergarten.

Other moms are squealing tires out of the school parking lot on the first day, headed to the nearest coffee shop and whispering, “Thank You, Jesus,” as they turn the radio up.

And truth be told, I’ve been both.

My children have reminded me that school mornings irritated them. Their clothes were laid out the night before, either by them or by me. They weren’t fond of the routine: get up, get dressed, make the bed, brush your teeth, come in for breakfast, grab the pre-packed backpack and lunch box, and head out the door.

Once they left, I got myself ready for the day. My week of chores ran on the same schedule: laundry, shopping, Bible study, housecleaning, hobby time and lunches with friends.

When they got home on the bus, the routine started again: wash your hands, have a snack, go play, eat dinner, do homework, take a bath and go to bed. On days with dance lessons, ball practice or church, those took the place of playtime.

Now, before I get myself in trouble, I realize motherhood looks different today than it did when I was raising my kids. Many families need two incomes. Life is expensive. Groceries cost about what a used pickup used to cost.

I understand there are moms out there juggling careers, carpools, ball games, dance lessons, church activities, homework, and trying to figure out what on earth they’re making for supper.

Y’all are carrying a load. But I do wonder sometimes if we’ve climbed aboard a merry-go-round that nobody knows how to stop.

Time flies faster than any of us can comprehend. We usually get eighteen years with our children. That’s 936 weeks. By the time they turn nine, half of those weeks are already gone. By age 13, only about 260 weeks remain before adulthood. Suddenly, 18 years doesn’t seem nearly as long.

Somewhere along the way, we started believing that a good life requires more stuff, more activities, more travel, more commitments, more everything.

The trouble is that “more” usually costs us the one thing we can never get back: time.

Back when my kids were little, most moms stayed home.

I realize now what a gift that was. I certainly wasn’t Mother of the Year, but I was there.

I was there for the skinned knees, the science projects started at 9 p.m., the teenage heartbreaks and the endless interruptions that always seemed to happen when I was trying to cook dinner.

Was every moment magical? Absolutely not. Some days I would’ve gladly traded a child or two for a nap.

But those years passed quicker than a summer thunderstorm.

Today, it’s the norm for both parents to work, and many families feel pressure to keep chasing bigger houses, newer cars, more vacations, more lessons and more sports.

Maybe all those things are wonderful.

But every now and then, I want to grab the emergency brake on life and ask a few questions. What if we don’t need all of it? What if the greatest gift we could give our children is our presence? What if supper around the table, playing in the backyard or a Saturday with nowhere to be is enough?

The world is moving faster than a cat with its tail on fire. It tells us we need more, do more, buy more, become more.

Maybe the secret is learning that less can bring us more peace, more laughter and more memories together.

One day those little backpacks will be packed for the last time. The school pickup and drop-off line will be a memory, and the house will get quiet, far quieter than you ever imagined.

When that day comes, I don’t think you’ll wish you’d spent more time on the merry-go-round.

I think you’ll wish you’d spent more time watching fireflies, eating supper together and enjoying the people God entrusted to you.

As for me, I wish I could go back in time and do another round with my babies. I think I would let things go a little more. Maybe I’d let the laundry pile a little higher and the dust settle a little thicker so I could soak up more of our time together.

Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy the people my babies have grown into. I love that they have given us grandbabies, little versions of the babies I once rocked.

But in this season, my house is too quiet, and nobody needs me.

I know some single parents have no choice but to work. I know many families these days are doing everything they can to stay afloat. I don’t want to make anyone feel guilty. I want to remind those of us blessed with children that the ordinary moments are often the ones we’ll miss the most.

If you’re fortunate enough to have children, make time to savor every season of their lives and be present for it.

One day the backpacks will be put away for good, the house will grow quiet, and you’ll discover what every parent eventually does: time was the greatest gift you ever had.