When you first showed up, I thought I could just ignore you. I don’t need Patience. This will soon pass. But, alas, the trial of my faith did not soon pass, and there you were, knocking on the door, offering your friendship. But I locked the deadbolt and closed the blinds.
No matter, I thought. I can logic this away. So I puzzled and twisted and turned over my options like a Rubik’s cube. But after what felt like an eternity of dead-ends, and with no stickers to peel off and rearrange, I threw it all down in frustration. All the while, there you were, extending your hand, never forcing it. But I would not have it.
Perhaps, I reasoned, if I crawl deep enough into this pit of despair, God will be forced to open up some other route of escape, and I can leave you behind once and for all. But it turns out the pit of despair is a dark and cold place, and soon I found myself scrambling back out, only to find you waiting at the entrance, ever calm, ever kind.
Truthfully, I've wanted nothing more than to escape the displeasure of your company since the day I met you. I've avoided eye contact, I've fled from even the sound of your voice. (What can you expect with a nickname like "Longsuffering?) But lately I've wondered if perhaps we got off on the wrong foot. And I'm hoping it's not too late to start over.
Patience, I'm done pushing you away. I'm done hiding. I surrender to your friendship. Do what you need to do. Teach me what I need to learn. Fulfill your purpose in my life. Whatever your perfect work is, you can have it. Because ultimately, you’ve only ever wanted one thing: that I might be perfect and entire, wanting nothing. And why would I reject that?
So go ahead, Patience. Take all the time you need.
(But please, not a moment more).
Reference: James 1:3-4
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