As I drove to work this morning, I listened to the first part of a sermon about patience.
And it made me wonder, after all of these years, why it is something I still struggle with.
I am in a hurry, in my current situation, for a loved one to heal.
I am in a hurry for my body to fully recover and recognize that it is going to be alright. Instead, it rebelled and robbed me of breath and sleep this past weekend.
I am in a hurry to figure out how our lives are “supposed to look” next.
I realized that being in a hurry, fraught with fear, can mean many things:
I am human.
I don’t know what is next and that is no different from other parts of my life. Sometimes failing, falling, crawling, careening into ambiguity is the only way to move forward.
It also can mean I am not completely trusting God to carry me through every moment. I believe He is not surprised by it either. God knew what He was getting when I was created. It doesn’t mean I don’t work on strengthening my trust.
It means I give myself grace.
I give myself space for the trust to develop, to heal, to write, to read, to pray, to forgo blame and the weight of trying to understand “why.”
I give myself space to rest, breathe, listen to wise counsel and pour my love into others.
On the other side of this, I hope patience finds me a bit sooner and not in a hurry.