This week I learned a lot about waiting — waiting to get there, waiting in the hospital, waiting for answers.

And all that waiting was for one person, my nephew, William Henry Davidson.

After driving 12 hours to Virginia, sitting 10 hours in a hospital waiting room and being dodged countless times by nurses trying to avoid HIPAA violations as I begged for information, little Henry finally made me an aunt.

The moment we walked into the delivery room and saw my sister holding baby Henry, the frustration we had felt just moments before — waiting and waiting and waiting — melted away as we locked eyes with the 8 pound, 5 ounce bundle of love. A new life was among us, and he was worth waiting for.

The room was quiet as we all watched Henry interact with his new parents. We each waited for our turn to hold him. But now that we had all seen him — the wait was over. It seems silly now to think that those of us eagerly waiting in the waiting room, hour after hour, could have helped push things along or that maybe a nurse would share some insight to ease our “suffering” as we waited. In fact, I found that it was quite the opposite. With every nugget of information — the water broke, the baby’s moving into the “ready position” — only made us eager for more information.

In the waiting room with hours to spare, my thoughts turned to Selma. I shared stories with the other soon-to-be first-time aunts, uncles and grandparents about life in Selma. They laughed about funny conversations I’ve had with different sources, asked questions when I told them about big stories I’ve worked on and seemed genuinely interested as I shared my take on Selma’s future.

That’s when I made the connection between my plight of waiting hours upon hours for my sweet nephew to be born and the wait for Selma to become greater. I had to step back for a minute and remember that even though I was among a group of people “suffering” in our waiting period, I was not the one in labor. I was not the one in pain; I was just the one waiting for the great reward. There are many people in Selma waiting for a great reward. They are waiting to see Selma be something greater, to not only remember but to rise above its history and to move forward into success, but they are not the ones “in labor.” They are not the ones working and pushing towards a greater tomorrow, they are simply sitting in a standstill.

But unlike sitting in a waiting room, there is something we can do to help bring forth our great reward. Instead of waiting around, talking about greatness, let’s take action. It’s time to take steps towards greatness — even if they are just baby steps.