Patient

 Patience is a difficult virtue to nurture and grow. It’s something I’ve been trying to instill into my girls since they were old enough to walk because although we are living in an increasingly impatient world, where people react more violently than ever before if everything isn’t done for them instantaneously, an egg still takes a minimum of six minutes to boil unless you want to drink it with a straw.

Some things you just can’t hurry, and this up-and-coming generation who gets everything from its news to its entertainment to its notable quotables in fifteen seconds or less will have a pickle of a time sitting behind a desk for eight hours doing data entry or answering phones. The lazy within Christendom thought it was such a good idea to limit everything to a one-sentence meme or a thirty-second talk on deep and profound topics such as salvation, sanctification, and transformation that asking anyone to sit through a twenty-minute sermon that does not include bottle rockets, smog machines, or some faux pastor jumping up and down on a trampoline in a leotard to make a point is deemed controversial and excessive.

You mean he’s just going to stand behind the pulpit with an open Bible and teach out of it? Where’s the entertainment in that? It was never supposed to be entertaining; it was supposed to be transformative, challenging, and spiritually nourishing, but where’s the fun in that?

The sheep are no longer satisfied with being led to green pastures. They want the grass already cut, ready to eat, in small portions, with new and exotic spices thrown in, lathered in sauces to the point that it no longer tastes like it was supposed to because they heard somewhere variety is the spice of life, and that five or six small meals per day are better than three. That the same people who came up with the food pyramid that has led to the biggest explosion in obesity the world has ever seen came up with the five-meal-per-day model also doesn’t seem to register, or if it does, few are making the necessary connections.

Some things take time, and there’s no way around it. A good braise, a decent gumbo, or even a savory Bolognese will take you the better part of half a day, and if you’re impatient or aren’t paying attention, constantly stirring and making sure the consistency is right, you’ll end up with a charred pan and food even your dog won’t consider eating.

James uses the example of the farmer when encouraging us to be patient, pointing out how the farmer waits for the precious fruit of the earth until it receives the early and latter rain. Anyone who chooses farming as their career has my unwavering respect. Anyone who does not respect farmers doesn’t know what it takes, but as someone who grew up in a rural area where every family grew crops to survive, I remember the hours my parents put in and all the chores I was called upon to perform once I was old enough to help.

Even before you plant your seed and pray for rain to come at the right time, you have to plow and till the soil, back-breaking work given that back in the day, there were no machines to do it and that it was all done by hand. You also have to make sure it’s fallow ground and not a patch of earth that has been used once too often because if it’s not, all your work will be for naught. It all has to get done early enough that you are not putting your seed in the ground too late; it must be tended to, weeded, and cared for to have a chance at a good crop.  

To have the patience of a farmer is to have patience beyond what the average individual can muster on the best of days, and it is what we are called to as we wait for the coming of the Lord. The farmer knows he can’t hurry the process no matter what he does. He knows he’s done everything he was supposed to, did it in the order it was supposed to be done in, and now he waits.

Last year, my eldest daughter came home from school with a plastic cup full of dirt that she was weirdly protective of. When I asked her what it was, she said it was a basil plant, or at least a seed, that she was supposed to water, put by the window, and care for until it sprouted. She was diligent enough in watering it and putting it by the window, and every morning, her disappointment only grew when nothing seemed to be happening. For the longest time, it was just a cup of dirt, until one morning, a green sprout poked out of the top layer, and her excitement at seeing it was barely contained.

She’d waited so long that she’d almost lost hope in seeing anything come of it, but she kept watering it and placing it by the windowsill even so. Throughout the experience, I kept trying to tell her that it would sprout in its time, but she wouldn’t hear of it, and every day, she would inspect it studiously to see if there was any change.

When it comes to the return of the Lord, we know that it must occur. It’s not a matter of if it will happen; it’s a matter of when. We know He is returning, and if we’ve done all that was incumbent on us to be counted among the wise, then all that remains is patiently persevering until He comes. We don’t have to check daily to see if He’s here; we’ll know when He’s here.

Since they don’t come along often, my little one avails herself of every opportunity to tease her big sister. Every few days, she’d go and stare at the cup of dirt and say, “Victoria, I think I see something!” Her sister would rush to the cup and look at it, only to be let down and disappointed because there was nothing there. Then, with a grin on her face, Malina would say, “Ha, ha, got you again,” and run as fast as her little feet could carry her because she knew her sister would commence the chase.

We’re either constantly checking and getting excited when someone insists that Jesus is coming on a given day, or we are patiently persevering until He returns. The highs and lows of taking people at their word or constantly obsessing over when are not conducive to a healthy spiritual mind, and this is something that’s been proven out as more and more believers are becoming despondent because the day they’d believed something would happen has passed and it was a day just like any other.

With love in Christ,

Michael Boldea, Jr.