Patience

Patience is a virtue. The cliché goes as far back as Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales; (“Pacience is an heigh vertu, certeyne;” Patience is a high virtue, and that’s for certain.) The actual concept goes as far back as the story of Jacob; waiting seven years to marry Rachel (actually, seven years and one week). What’s so virtuous about it is that Jacob carried on the lineage, which became the twelve tribes of Israel (who themselves have to wait 40 years before entering the promised land); though Christ himself came from the lineage of Leah (Judah).
The apostle Paul writes to the Galatian church that patience is one of the fruits of the spirit (Galatians 5:22). What’s striking about the language is the idea of fruit, something that grows. Patience doesn’t just appear, ironically you have to wait for it. Just as we hope for that which we don’t yet see, “we wait for it with patience” (Romans 8:25). It’s somewhat circular logic, but we have to wait for patience (among other things) with patience.
So what I’m getting at here is that I am not a patient person. It is one of the most striking sins I have had to face in my growth. At some point in my life, I have made an idol for myself; one of comfort and entitlement. My impatience seeds from, and further feeds (again with the circular logic), my self-centeredness, cynicism, and what’s worse, my sour disposition towards those that test what little patience I actually have.
But my impatience doesn’t accomplish anything. In fact, my impatience usually makes the clock tick slower. But sadly, no one else has sympathy for me in these moments.
What sparked this epiphany was a simple, innocent incident. I was at Starbucks (it’s the only coffee-shop by campus, so don’t judge me) and I ordered my usual; black coffee. I’m not a fan of bells and whistles. I’m sure part of the reason I like black coffee is because it’s quick (nothing fancy, so I don’t have to wait). God forbid, I have to wait for anything…
So in the midst of the afternoon rush of mocha latte crappuccinos with a shot of soy-milk, I was going to be simple. Two bucks in hand ($1.96, atleast for now), I order the simplest thing on the menu; black coffee. And then, I wait…
People come and go, fancy drinks are thrown around, people leave satisfied; all is well. And there I stand, uncaffeinated and on the verge of melt down (really I only waited for five minutes, but still it’s the principle of the matter). The sweet lady who took my order is running around like crazy, making drinks, taking orders, etc. It was at this point that I realized that my frustrations were pointless. She wasn’t doing it on purpose. She was doing her job. When I placed my order, she called it out to the other baristas, but it fell on deaf ears (at least I heard it).
In the midst of the chaos, she caught my eyes, and like a deer caught in headlights, she stopped. “Are you still waiting on your order?” She apologetically handed me my coffee, and I genuinely thanked her. And immediately, she was flung back into the chaos. I was not the center of her worries, nor was I the root of some sick joke. She was doing her job as best she could, and she unintentionally forgot about such a simple order.
Patience is a foreign language, and I’m having to learn by immersion.
Just like being in a foreign country, I can insist on being stubborn and only speaking English, but what will I accomplish? I can stand firm and remain impatient and visibly fly off the handle any time I am inconvenienced or my precious time is wasted. But there is no love in that. There is no growth. There is only my self-centeredness abounding all the more.
Temper tantrums weren’t cute when I was three, why would they be when I’m twenty-three?
Sadly, my impatience doesn’t stop there. It definitely spills over into all facets of my life. I can’t even enjoy a book or movie without wondering how much more I have until I’m done. It doesn’t matter how great it is. In the end it’s all a matter of page numbers or minutes until the credits.
In all of this, God is (though not always gently) reminding me that I am not the center of it all. William Henley was wrong, when he wrote Invictus. He famously touted: “I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul.” And though he may have championed an “unconquerable soul,” I sure haven’t.
All of this to say, I pray for patience. It is indeed admirable, and definitive if I am to lead a life of love. After all, “Love is patient” (1 Corinthians 13:4). And that of course, is Agape, the Greek term for “charity.” This of course applies to the love of a married couple, but it is so much more. “If I speak…, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal” (1 Corinthians 13:1). So if love is patient, and patience is to me as a foreign language, pray that I can learn to speak in love. That I can learn patience.