In a little while

Let’s just say this: patience is not one of my finer qualities. I can’t stand waiting in lines, get frustrated and crazed by Christmas shoppers who block the aisles and WON’T MOVE, and my impatience in driving has become a family joke. (My mom to my dad: I think Mandy inherited her road rage from you. What? It’s genetic?)

I don’t like to wait. It seems interminable to me. I get impatient with people, with plans, with God. But I don’t want to be an impatient person, because I think it really reflects selfishness, a desire to put me above anyone and everything else and get what I want NOW. And even though I hate when I see that in myself, I resist praying for patience, because as my mom says, “When you pray for patience, God gives you opportunities to practice it.” I usually don’t want the opportunities. Why set yourself up for failure?

But this week, I’ve found myself praying, sometimes against my will for patience. And yesterday taught me two things. One, that my mother’s statement about God and patience is true and two, that God has a sense of humor.

If you read yesterday’s post, you know that I was impatient even on the way to work, what with the Jaguar lady who couldn’t drive a constant speed. Speed up, slow down, speed up, slam on brakes. Over  and over. I was yelling at her and giving her THE GLARE, which I thought would make me feel better, but it really didn’t.

Then I got to work. And had to practice patience with coworkers who wouldn’t stop running their mouths about an insane (and not earth shatteringly) important competition we had been having. I was overjoyed that was over yesterday. But then, one of the candidates decides to send MORE emails about it. After it’s over. Clogging up my email box and making me loudly declare the stupidity of it all to no one in particular.

But the best comes at the rehearsal for our big Christmas extravaganza this weekend. There are no chairs in the loft and people are acting like this is the end of the world. Be patient, I say to myself. Then, it’s crowded and we’re all smooshed together. I can’t open my book all the way because of the 6 foot something guy on my left and the older lady on my right. Who can’t stay on the right page and I have to keep telling her where we are and what’s happening next. Finally, I work out a deal with guy on the left to help me sort of hold my book kind of open so I can see the music. I don’t need the words, per se, just the parts at a few places. (Maybe I should just give up and look off of his music.)

Then! Then, as we’re practicing one of the “big” numbers in the musical, I feel something hitting my head. What is that? I wonder. I reach my hand up and smooth my hair down. It happens again! What the crap! The lady behind me somehow is standing right at the end of her riser and is totally hitting me on the head with her book. It is stellar, I tell you. STELLAR! Makes my night. And the best part? She never notices. Don’t you think you would notice that?

And finally, the older lady to my right, yeah, she starts swaying to the music. Not really in time to the music, but swaying nonetheless. And every time she comes back to her left, she hits me. I got completely fixated on it, wanted it to stop, and there’s just not a good way to grab an old lady and shout “STOP IT!” at her. Not without being mean and probably not the best display of Christian love. But seriously, it was driving me crazy. Right up there with people chewing on their nails and talking when they need to clear their throats. I could feel impatience and rage bubbling inside me, just waiting to break loose, throw a fit, and stomp, scream, or do something. Anything. MAKE IT STOP!

Thankfully, rehearsal ended without any carnage, and I beat a quick path out of there.

Oh, and I started an advent devotional today. Guess what the devo was on today.

That’s right, patience.