I like to think that because I’m nearly 40 and single, I have somehow mastered the art of patience on waiting for a man and that my long suffering has produced some kind of virtue. This virtue does not esteem me in any way; moreover it’s one of those virtues that is rare because most people are married before now and never have to worry about it.
In a totally ironic twist, I’ve been hung up listening to a song called “not in a hurry”. For real. Can’t even make up the hilariousness that is my life sometimes.
But right in the moment where I think I’ve mastered that art, God puts someone in my path that gets me all in my feelings and I’m all “microwave this Jesus!” and God laughs. OUT. LOUD. Because funny is the only word that really applies to this, that’s how I process the fact that God shows me a unicorn in the thicket and suddenly I’m not patient but quiet impatient and antsy for God to move because I’m shallow enough to think that’s why He put him there.
(On the days where I am my own conundrum, I exhaust myself.)
So here I sit reminded that I have to be patient. And that patience produces joy. That the very thing I want so desperately is worth waiting for, that I am worth praying for, and that love comes softly and quietly and never in a hurry. The apostle Paul is in my head today reminding me that his letter to Corinth was for me too.
Lord, help me in this season to not sabotage the beautiful things you are doing in my life. Clothe my impatience with patience and hope. May everything that I do, point right back to you.