Being Patient
Be Patient
Colossians 3:12-14
We’ve been talking lately about taking control of the things that we can actually control: how we approach other people; how we breathe; how we move. Choices we can make can allow us to be more of who we are. Our choices can also allow us to be present enough to discover the “something more” that I experience as God’s presence.
Here’s an image that I’ve used before to highlight what life looks like when we are not present. I used to love to water ski. The rush of getting up and skimming across the surface of the water was amazing. On skis, I felt graceful. The catch was that we were teenagers at the time. No one was going to let anyone else just glide along for long. Instead, almost as soon as you were up, the mischief began. The boat would zig and zag and whip you across the wake. The boat would go faster and faster and then, randomly, slow down, only to go right back up to speed. Meanwhile, everyone in the boat would be holding their sides, laughing. You do stuff like this when you are seventeen and immortal.
Eventually, you would succumb to the powers of physics and wipe out, spectacularly. But, if you were going too fast, you would just skip and bounce across the surface which basically felt like bouncing on an asphalt road. I remember thinking, “All I want to do is stop. All I want to do is break through…” If you were lucky, your suit didn’t get yanked off you in the process.
I don’t have to tell you that life is often a lot like that slightly elegant, slightly out of control time skiing. It’s kind of a rush. You’re surprised to be standing. You wondering who’s driving this “boat” and why your friends are laughing. Then, you wipe out—spectacularly—and just bounce across the surface of things. You gasp for air. You hope at some point this will stop.
I read a piece by Will Krieger that I want to share. “Sometimes I can’t hear myself think. There is too much noise — kids, work to do, house projects, a to do list, organizing, and more. The days and weeks sometimes fly by in an instant. From one moment to the next. I don’t want it to be this way. I want to enjoy each moment. To experience each moment with some level of awareness.
On a daily basis we interact with hundreds of people. Interactions with people, whether it’s family, friends, or complete strangers, are the construct that make up our life. And yet, we too often move quickly past one interaction to get to the next. As you become more successful — grow your family, your relationships, your company, your team — the number of interactions will only increase. It becomes more tempting to treat a new neighbor like any other person you bump into on the street.
Here’s where patience comes in. Take a deep breath. There’s a person on the other end of the conversation. Someone who needs a piece of you. They need the value you bring to this world. You can make them smile or give them courage. Whether you’re selling something, or being sold something. Telling or being told. Teaching or being taught. Caring or being cared for. No matter what you’re doing, you have a gift to offer the person in front of you in that very moment.”
Patience…this might be the most counter cultural concept around. As Americans, we want what we want and we want it now. We despise waiting in line or waiting for delivery or delaying gratification in any way. We get our wants and our needs all confused and end up treating way too many things as life or death needs: “I need my double pump vanilla, double shot, no foam soy milk cappuccino now!”
Every truly spiritual person I know has made peace with waiting. They might be waiting for a sense of what their next calling is. They might be having an extended conversation with God through prayer over months on this topic but the seem to have a sense that things happen in God’s time, not theirs. They might be waiting for something to happen with another person but they don’t push. They bide their time. They do what they need to do to take care of themselves. They utter the most powerful phrase in the English language: “I can wait.” The secret is that when they say those words, they are usually speaking to themselves.
If we really accept that we are not in charge of life and that growth—our own or someone else’s—really can’t be scheduled, then we become much more flexible: “Well, this wasn’t when I thought this would happen but okay.” When we learn how to wait, we don’t miss the moment we’ve been waiting for.
Learning which choices are mine to make and learning how to be patient is a huge challenge. In the end, the payoff is that when the right moment comes along, we are not only present, we are available. We are awake and aware. When someone needs us, instead of bouncing across the surface of life, we are available. Sometimes, the one who needs us is God.
I heard an amazing story of patience the other day. It has stuck with me since, and it’s altered the way I shape my interactions throughout each day. This is a story about a small, random act of kindness that affected two lives in a big way: a New York City taxi driver and someone who needed a ride.
The taxi driver arrived at his final stop for his shift. He honked. After waiting a few minutes, he honked again. Because it was his last stop, he considered pulling away. He just wanted to go home. Instead, he slammed the car into park and walked up to the door.
He knocked and thought to himself, “What am I doing here?” He heard an elderly voice, “Just a minute.” (He just wanted to go home.). He heard the shuffling of bags moving across the floor. Finally, the door opened.
It was a small woman in her 90’s with a soft smile wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it. As she answered, the taxi driver caught a glimpse inside the house. It looked as if no one had lived there for years: the furniture was covered in sheets; no clocks on the wall; no knickknacks on the counters. The sight made him suddenly remember his mother, years ago. He hadn’t thought of her for years.
“Could you carry my bag?“ the lady asked. The cab driver walked her slowly down the steps of the front porch to the cab. He thought about what a challenge these stairs must be every day for this woman. He realized that this woman was not his usual fare.
Once in the cab, the lady handed the driver an address and asked, “Could you drive through downtown?” “It’s not the shortest way,” the driver answered. (Everyone always wanted the fastest way, the lowest fare possible. He didn’t even resent it anymore. He just expected it and accepted it. Sometimes he was even patient.)
“I’m in no hurry. I don’t mind,” she said. “I’m on my way to hospice…”
The driver and passenger shared a quick glimpse in the rearview mirror, enough for her to see his concern and continue: “I don’t have any family left. The doctor says I don’t have very long.” That was really the first time that she had said those words out loud to anyone. And honestly, this was the most powerfully honest thing that anyone had said to him in a long, long time. The driver quietly reached over and shut off the meter then asked, “What route would you like me to take?”
For the next two hours, they drove through the city. She showed the driver where she once worked, the neighborhood where she and her husband first lived, a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom when she was a girl. There were a few parts of town she asked the driver to slow down and she would sit, staring into the darkness, saying nothing. Pretty quickly, the connection between a cab driver and a passenger changed into the deep connection between two caring human beings.
After a couple hours, she suddenly said, “I’m tired. Let’s go now.” They drove in silence to the address she had given him. This silence wasn’t awkward, though. It was profound and meaningful.
When they arrived at the hospice, two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as they pulled up. They must have been expecting her. The driver opened the trunk to take out her suitcase. As he shut the trunk, she was already in a wheelchair.
“How much do I owe you?” She asked, reaching into her purse.
“Nothing,” said the driver.
“You have to make a living,” she answered.
“There are other passengers,” he responded.
Almost without thinking, the driver bent and gave the lady a hug. She held on tightly, just for that extra second.
“You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,” she said. “Thank you.”
The driver gave a final squeeze of the lady’s hand and the two turned to go their separate ways. As he got in the car and glanced over to her, the door to the hospice was already closing behind her. He sighed. Then, he did what he always does: he drove away.
He didn’t pick up any more passengers that night. In fact, he could hardly speak. What if that woman had gotten an angry or impatient driver? God knows that driving in New York City can take a terrible toll on anyone.
What if she got someone who refused to get out and go to her door, just drove away wondering who the idiot was who called a cab and then didn’t show up?
What if she got someone who refused to take the time to drive around the city with her? What if she didn’t have someone who would listen to her story?
On another night, the taxi driver knew that he could have easily failed to be there for this woman. Instead, the taxi driver couldn’t shake the feeling that this single moment may be one of the most important moments of his life.
Wherever you are, whatever you are doing, take a deep breath. You are going to be that driver. You’re going to meet someone. You could ignore them. You could tell them, one way or another, that you don’t have time for them. You could let your impatience and frustration get the best of you. Or, you might rise to the occasion. You might show up and listen and be helpful to someone else. You might choose to clothe yourself in compassion and kindness. You might discover the joy of meeting others—whoever they are—as a fellow human being. For a moment, you might feel God’s presence among you.