Patience, Peggy, Patience...

I graduated from the Pick Up Thy Bed and Walk School of Nursing. After two days or so, my well of compassion runs dry. When the children were small, they had to be bleeding badly or on serious drugs if they expected to stay in bed more than one day. This lack of patience I attribute to my gene pool… an impatient father and a brusque German grandmother. Lowliness, meekness and patience are not my strengths. With old age approaching, I need to develop my patient empathetic self. If Michael doesn’t need it, I will.
Daddy was diagnosed with myelofibrosis , a disease of the red blood cells, in his seventies. Initially, monthly blood transfusions restored his energy and he continued to live and work on his farm. Gradually the transfusions came more frequently and his world began to shrink until he lived primarily indoors. A daily ride in the pickup truck to the back of the farm, sitting in his chair reading the Wall Street Journal, keeping up with the Stock Market, going to church on Sunday… this was his life.
My father was not a patient man. My sister and I dreaded him “helping” us with our homework. As a driver’s ed teacher, he loomed over the hapless student (my mom, my sister and me) like a gargoyle ready to pounce on the slightest infraction. Putting out the hay for the cows had to be done just so or a bellow would rumble in your direction from the tractor. But during his last illness, I never heard him complain or whine. There was grief for life coming to an end, sorrow over unrealized dreams and patience. My mother says he grew sweeter, softer as his illness imposed limits.
I looked up “patience” in the concordance of my Bible. There was a small list of references, not as many as I expected. One phrase caught my attention from Colossians 1:12… endurance and patience with joy. Therein lies the challenge. Not only must I endure and be patient, I must do so with joy! Joy? Dear Lord… I have and can endure. I can be patient for a season. But to do so with joy seems impossible. I read on. Paul is doing his theological exposition with verve and vigor, instructing the faithful. Rejoicing while suffering seems to have been Paul’s strong suit , so he regularly exhorts his readers to join in.
So here we are… suffering saints and grumps… called to joy in the midst of struggle, patience with joy, endurance with joy. Perhaps the daily practice of joy will provide a minor miracle for me, a transformation of impatience and grumpiness to an active patient acceptance of whatever comes my way. Dear Lord, teach me the art of joy in small things… buzzing busy bees in the new bee hive, the sound of Junie B’s voice, the smell of new mown hay… so that I might have joy when life is difficult. And if you could help me learn patience in all things bright and beautiful as well as all things dark and ugly, I would be grateful.