Hurry Up, Life.

Recently, it was pointed out to me that I may have less patience than my 7-year-0ld.

Moi? Really?

In fact, I was told that it was an area - this impatience - that I needed to work on.

"But I don't understand," I protested. " I don't push people out of line at the store. I don't drive
aggressively. And I never read the last page of a book before I get there. In fact, I can barely manage the fast forward-ing function on the DVR. It drives my impatient 7-year-old crazy!"

"So," I ventured, "other than wanting to know exactly how my life is going to turn out right now, I have no issues with impatience."

Denial is a lovely thing.

I do admit that I experience impatience at times:

• I'm certain that my blood pressure increases when Ben procrastinates at bedtime.
• I can't stand loose Legos, our sucky vacuum cleaner (no pun intended) and Molly's hair; the three together are like a daily rite of passage that makes me question why Legos have to be so tiny, why I skimped on an appliance that ultimately would rule my world and why we had to choose "exploding fur dog" as a breed for our household pet.
• I have the typical scavenger hunt/obstacle course of lost socks, half-brushed teeth, forgotten lunch money, spilled yogurt and "leave the fur alone on that damn dog right now and get into the car before we are both late for everything," also known as "mornings with small children."
  

Daily impatience is definitely a part of my world.

After careful consideration, I suppose what I am feeling is global impatience. It's not so much that I tire of the coffee maker's slow pace each morning, it's more about the demands that I place on life to deliver on its promises: a warm and healthy family life, consistently good health and a home that will be ours next week and next year.

Being the spiritual - and religious - gal that I am, I do believe in trusting God for signs and direction. And I also know that patiently waiting for a plan to unfold is much, much smarter than pushing for a hasty - and often messy - outcome.

So it was affirming - and somewhat serendipitous - to open up my workbook of daily "lessons" this morning, and have this passage present itself for today's contemplation:

Or need to control can manifest itself as a need to know what's going on. We cannot always know. The lesson, the purpose, shall reveal itself in time - in its own time. It will all make perfect sense - later.

Today, I will stop straining to know what I don't know, to see what I can't see, to understand what I don't yet understand. Today, I will not be in such a hurry to move on.

Point taken. Adding to this, I will let my son be the impatient one. And maybe by doing this - just maybe - he will actually teach me about patience.