Patience is the space God gives us
to grow into the masterpiece
He has already designed.
Max Lucado
I like to think of myself as a patient person, but deep down I suspect that I'm not.
Because of the smoothie thing.
Likely, my own grandchildren would call me patient, mostly because the time we spend together has been very intentionally set aside just for them. With this advantage, most of them say they have never seen me angry. (With the exception of Zachary, now 17, when he describes that one last time he jump-scared me from behind a door after several long months of that being a 'phase' when he was nine.)
I rarely if ever use the horn on my car. I try to encourage the cashier when I finally get there after a very long wait in line. I'm even pretty chill during the few times I've had to go to emerg and it's taken hours, since I used to work in a hospital and understand how the triage thing goes, and that there are impossible decisions being made on the other side of those double doors where treatment is being administered.
I'm patient enough then.
I can give people room to grow, forgive an offense several times over, and wait for answers to prayer, all in God's good timing.
But please don't watch me make my smoothie in the morning.
For whatever reason, I seem to have very high expectations that this daily task should only take a few minutes. But no. There's not quite enough milk, so I have to change the milk bag, and it won't go all the way down to the bottom of the pitcher like it's supposed to without several thumps on the counter. And then the scissors aren't quite sharp enough in exactly the right spot to cut that corner off nicely, and I'm hacking away at it. And then it starts pouring out in a trickle but the weight of the full bag shifts and suddenly milk is pouring out over the counter. And then every single avocado I've ever cut in half won't cut in half evenly, and the pit doesn't come out at all until it's suddenly flying across the kitchen, and the half I need for my smoothie slips out of the spoon at just the last minute, and man those things are slippery when you try to pick it up! And the chia seeds are all jumpy this morning, half of them escape to the counter, refusing to be wiped away easily. And then, finally I've wrestled all the ingredients into the bottle part of my blender, but the blades don't screw on properly the first time, or the second time, or the third time, for crying out loud! And then when the blending is done, it won't let go of the base, and I have to pick it up all awkward and funny until finally there's the click. And now the lid won't thread onto the bottle the first time, or second time. Gaah. And I go to pick up the straw and flips out of my fingers and rolls under the counter where I have to go get the broom to retrieve it, and of course I need to rinse it off now because it's been under the counter. Gaah again.
I make a smoothie every morning. This does not happen to me every morning. But it does happen often enough in various iterations of similar, minor unhappy happenstances all strung out in a row, that I begin to be convinced that all the components of my smoothie, the ingredients and the tools used, are actually sentient beings out to make sure I never get the day started.
I am not patient then.
And I may have fooled cashiers and medical folks and even my grandchildren, but I haven't fooled my husband. He has to watch this happening in real time. Unless, of course, he senses it might be safer for him if he just left me on my own for a while.
So there is still work to be done in me. A LOT of work.
That's why I'm glad for my morning walks,
and afternoon rests.
And for Mondays that begin a week of lesser plans.
I'm glad for the space God gives me to grow,
and for His immense patience with me.
For how He sees me for what I am becoming,
and loves me enough to help me get there.
May all your smoothies live up to their name.
May your Monday be full of all the little spaces you need.
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