Live Patiently

Among the things a poet must depend on, according to Wendell Berry in his poem “How to Be a Poet” is “patience, / for patience joins time / to eternity.” I’m not entirely sure what he means by the rather abstract idea that patience joins time to eternity, except that it reminds me that God has time. And in the order of creation, things take time to unfold in their appointed ways.

Among the many instructions to the faithful in the book of James we encounter this curious reiteration: “. . . be patient. Establish your hearts . . . .” In biblical texts establish is mostly used with reference to covenants or laws; they are announced and agreed upon, inscribed, even set in stone. We also see it in the prayer that God would “establish the work of our hands”—make it fixed, stable, lasting. Establishing anything requires time. It takes time to travel the learning curve, form habits, be shaped by the gentle pressure of practice.

Patience, like prudence, seems one of the less glamorous virtues, perhaps because it seems so passive; it’s easily confused with, say, putting up with. Or waiting it out. One can imagine settling in for a long wait with a sigh, or even a roll of the eyes. But I think patience deserves better press.

Real patience isn’t passive, but active: waiting patiently requires not just endurance but imagination. If you are really capable of patience you can imagine how it might take weeks for a broken bone to repair itself, or months for a baby to prepare for birth, or years for a forest to restore itself after a fire. You can empathize with a child’s or a puppy’s impulse to dawdle along on a walk, sniffing and examining and pausing to watch a hummingbird or a hawk. You can slow your own pace for the sake of seeing what they do, choosing against your own urgency and haste.

On this day of Advent I want to celebrate the patience of my teachers, whose gentle reiterations cost them, I know, time that might have been spent more enjoyably elsewhere. And of the nurses and doctors who have seen me through healing, unwilling to hurry the process. And of a spouse who has the good grace to laugh when I take more time than he would getting out the door. Their patience has shown me a dimension of love that, like a facet on a diamond, shows forth a startling color that waits to be revealed.

Image:  a friend gardening