Patience asks us to live the moment to the fullest, to be completely present to the moment, to taste the here and now, to be where we are. ~Henri Nouwen
This morning, we hear of Joseph, Jacob’s son, who dreams, is favored by his father, sold by his brothers, betrayed by his boss’s wife, jailed, forgotten by his fellow prisoner, and eventually freed. Each of Joseph’s moments were both imperfect, and as perfect as they could be, in that moment. It’s all about how we view where we are, versus dreaming about where we aren’t. It’s about patience. The reflection is written by Henri Nouwen and focuses on patience.
Patience is more than just waiting for a bus. He explains that it’s about living fully in the present moment. About skipping the impatience that sometimes accompanies waiting. Impatience, he argues, causes us to falsely believe that the good thing will happen later, or somewhere else. When I read this, I found some convicting truths!
He argues that the present is full of treasures, although sometimes the treasures are buried in the ground. But it’s the ground on which we stand. Yes!
In the past, I’ve had times where I was incredibly impatient about circumstances in my life. At one time, I had a dead-end, under-appreciated job. I was incredibly impatient for the next opportunity, which never seemed to come. But as Nouwen points out, I was blind to the beauty that was, instead waiting for the perfect job that had yet to materialize. Not only was I blind to the beauty at the time, now looking back, all I remember is the impatience, and discontent of being in the wrong place and wrong job. I’ve forever lost the treasure that was held in that place in time. I was too busy looking for treasure somewhere else.
It is very easy for me to fall into that impatience trap again. In my current world, I now serve as guardian for a loved one with a persistent, significant mental illness. It will be with them always, and always impede their ability for the life they’d imagined. Or that I’d imagined.
Additionally, the illness is capricious in its symptoms, which could rear into behavior that requires the police, mental health professionals, and hospitalization. This means that my ability to plan my world, my vacations, my house guests, is entirely shot. Nonetheless, I try. Let’s plan a vacation. Then I’ll be at peace, when I can get away. Not only is that idea impossible to execute, it plants that seed of discontent that makes today’s treasures really difficult to see.
This morning, I’m thinking about patience and the present time. Right now, I’m sitting in a really comfortable chair, writing on a nice laptop, with a perfect cup of coffee. I’ve read Scripture, written a little, will shortly go for a walk and talk to a friend, and then return for online worship. Later, I’ll settle in to watching some football, knitting, and eating popcorn. These things, barring any mental health crisis today, are all within my reach. And all spectacular.
Patience is about realizing this moment is as perfect as it will be, and that I’m not missing anything. And if it’s true when I’m out on my walk, it’s also true when I’m dealing with the unanticipated crisis. I will deal with the present, as if it is chock-full of awe inspiring moments. All present moments are, if we only are present to them.
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