I’m slow.
I make others wait.
On one hand, this isn’t fair to everyone else, though it is useful for my own insight into the patience of any given individual. Over the years I have observed that most people aren’t very patient. Nonetheless, I now see this as a fundamental character flaw of mine. Within the dynamic of community life, making others wait is only sometimes appropriate. But if all my friends and associates spend more time waiting for me than for anyone else… that’s a problem. That’s not right.
I could use a little less patience myself. That’s part of the problem: I’m too patient; too patient toward others, too patient toward outcomes, too patient toward results on any given effort or endeavor—and too patient toward myself. I should rightly be less patient.
Problem is, when I was a kid, I was rewarded for my patience. Someone once said, “Good things come to those who wait.” In retrospect, I guess nobody but myself ever really took that old adage to heart.
And then there was my fifth grade disciplinary experience. It really did make an impact on me, both for better and for worse. The scenario was this: On the playground I found myself playfully engaging with my peers by running in from out of nowhere onto the tetherball court, striking the ball in some random direction (thus ruining their game) and exiting as quickly as I had arrived.
For me it seemed like great sport, since it required skillful timing, but it really was just an act of vandalism, which I already knew in my heart, though I ignored that fact in the moment.
Well, everyone knew who I was, so when the complaints were voiced, there was no mystery as to who the guilty party was.
I remember the lecture well, the gist of it being, “Eric: think before you act.’
Looking back, I think my teachers knew I wasn’t a habitually malicious kid, thus they approached the issue as though I just hadn’t realized that my behavior was bad prior to the offense. So my consequence was to write a 500 word report on how I planned to avoid such errant behavior in the future.
But they never asked the key question: “At what point did you realize that what you were doing was wrong?” Had they asked that question (the answer to which was, “Before I even started.”), then the lecture and punishment might have been different. Punishment aside, the lecture would surely have been more like, “Stop it! Don’t do wrong. Do right instead. If you already know it’s wrong, then how long do you need to think about whether to do it?”
But I was impressionable, and I really was persuaded that what I needed to do was to put more thought into my actions before acting. It could have been so much simpler. What I really needed was a quick paddling and a verbal admonition to just “Knock it off!”
Now, fifty-five years later, I still battle with my own slowness. Over the years I have frustrated friends and loved ones, missed opportunities, and lost business deals because others had their own schedules for fulfillment or satisfaction which I was unable to meet. Add to this my propensity toward perfectionism and my fear of confrontation, and you have the perfect recipe for failure. And all I can say now is, “Well, duh. That kinda adds up, doesn’t it?”
And now, you want proof that my analysis is correct? Here it is: Though I have pondered these things for years, and had my suspicions, I’m only just now drawing this final conclusion. What more can I say?
But here’s what simultaneously causes me the most pain, and offers me the most relief: The one whom I might have frustrated the most is also the most patient.
Therefore the Lord is waiting to show you mercy, and is rising up to show you compassion, for the Lord is a just God. All who wait patiently for Him are happy.
—Isaiah 30:18 HCSB
For how many times have I known the right thing to do, but decided instead to “think it through” before acting on it? And then the impetus fades, and the action never takes place… I have no idea, but I imagine that the number could be in the hundreds or thousands. All I know is that I’m slow. Quick to think, but slow to act.
I could hate myself for this attribute were it not for the acknowledgement that my character is not derived solely from one childhood experience, but is in fact a composite result of how God made me and the experiences He, in His sovereign will, has allowed me to have.
I can only be thankful that, unlike this world, its agendas and schedules, and unlike many people, God is patient. Thus He has not cast me aside.
And thankfully my loved ones have not done so either. Perhaps God has used me in their lives to extract a patience they would not otherwise exhibit, but that's’ really none of my business—that’s between them and God.
So my prayer is this: ‘Oh, God, make me appropriately less patient.”
And to my loved ones and friends: Please be patient with me as I try to become appropriately less patient.