dancingthroughchaos

I am not very good at waiting.  I hate to wait, whether that’s in a supermarket queue, for a much anticipated event, for the wheel of doom to stop circling on the computer or for the microwave to ‘ping’.  Perhaps it stems from all those futile hours I spent during my secondary school years, waiting for the bus to arrive. 

Patience is not my thing. 

I took a tip from an old preacher who once referred to the fact that if you are bold enough to pray for an improvement in regard to a particular character trait, you can pretty much bet your boots (he regularly mixed his metaphors) that right around the corner there will be a situation that requires just that thing.  It will, he assured us, be a literal God-given opportunity to exercise that particular aspect of your character, affording it the chance to be exercised and grow, and thus will stretch you considerably.  Be wise, he cautioned, how you respond, because this is the crucible in which we are either refined or singed.  Indeed.

For this reason, I have always resisted the urge to pray for patience.  It’s one of those fruits of the spirit which I have always hoped would just flourish and grow without any attention from me.  Alas, as every gardener knows, unless you are referring to a plant of the weed variety, that is unlikely to happen. Tender seedlings require good, nutritional soil plus the addition of sunlight, water and (preferably) natural fertiliser.  Yes, we’re talking manure – or something more Anglo-Saxon should you prefer.  Either way, a good wallop of that organic delight will do your plants a power of good.

Likewise in life.  It’s usually times of hardship, difficulty or challenge which shape us for better or worse.  We want such muck-filled seasons to end as quickly as possible because none of us enjoys being uncomfortable, and patiently waiting for things to change is tough.  It seems true then, that praying for patience will, inevitably, pave the way for a period in which said characteristic is in high demand.  

History tells me, as do my children at frequent intervals, that this is not my forte.  I am the woman who switches queues (only to find, bafflingly, that I am STILL in the wrong one), presses the computer keys repeatedly and harder in the misplaced hope that everything will revert instantly to smooth operation mode, and who has to go and do another job – any job, however trivial – rather than stand in front of the microwave for that excruciating extra 10 seconds.

I confess candidly that patience still eludes me, hence I have more or less come to terms with the fact that it will, perpetually, be in short supply.

Advent, therefore, is a somewhat trying time for me.  Once the gaudiness of halloween is out of the way and we’ve shivered our way through the “Oooh”s and “Ahhh”s of Bonfire Night, I am all set to crank up the Christmas carols, unknot the lights, stick up the tree, wrap the prezzies and generally get cracking on the obligatory festive films and general bonhomie.  

Alas, too many Ebenezer Scrooges for my liking are of a different persuasion, and can be heard grumping and humphing about the commercialism and excess of the season.  There is, without a doubt, truth in what they say, but, like so many things, it all depends on your own attitude.  As we know we can each only be responsible for ourselves, and I am busy being a responsible fan of carol services of almost every hue (my record is four in one day, I believe), whether they include a real donkey, dressing up, audience/congregational participation, ancient hymns or modern carols.   I love them all, but am impatient to crack on to Christmas Day.

If, like me, you also suffer from a terminal dearth of patience – even a gardener needs a seed of some sort to begin, right? – Advent is the ideal opportunity to search for whatever scrap of it may be lying dormant in your inner being and bring it to the fore.  

I love the buzz of Christmas; I’m a sucker for fairly lights, a bit of sparkle, closing the curtains early, snuggling up with the family, tucking into the chocolate and cinnamon-themed goodies, losing track of which day of the week it is and generally checking out of frenetic twenty-first century life for a day or three.  I just struggle to wait for it.

And, what a happy revelation to realise I don’t need to.  Emmanuel: Jesus, the joy of whose birth we celebrate and who, the name reveals, is ‘God with us’ – not just on Christmas Day, but all year through.  This year more than ever, I am so grateful for that truth and the reality of a living saviour.   So, I will  continue to resist the urge to pray for patience; instead I resolve to abandon waiting and celebrate Him every day, starting right now.  Why not join me?