Waiting is agony. You long to share your life with someone, to connect in deep oneness-thought to thought, heart to heart, and spirit to spirit. You yearn for a soul mate who will listen to you, someone with whom you can share your hopes and dreams. As you've read this book you've become increasingly eager to put into practice what you have learned about the Gift. Between each line of text the unspoken question lingers: How long must I wait?

Waiting. It's not a pleasant subject, is it?

The mantra of the twenty-first century is: NOW! We want what we want when we want it. Our culture has conditioned us to receive immediate gratification. As a result, waiting is an unwelcome intrusion that produces within us finger-drumming, stomach-churning, brow-creasing frustration.

You know well the frustration of waiting. Your insides churn with each tick, tick, tick of your biological clock. Every friend's wedding or baby shower sets off an ear-piercing alarm. Like an icicle on a warm day, your happiness melts, leaving you in a puddle of tears. You tell yourself:

"I'll never be a bride."

"The other side of my bed will always be empty."

"I'll never have kids."

Or, for the more pragmatic:

"I'm forever destined to mow my own yard."

The following entry from a friend's journal expresses this silent ache.