I love "Patience" by Guns N' Roses. "Take it slow, and it'll work itself out." There is something about that song that makes you actually want to listen. The whistling. The guitar. The whole slow, beautiful thing. It may be one of the most meaningful songs ever written.
A close second is "Jump Around" by House of Pain. Not because of the lyrics. Especially the John McEnroe verse. There is a line in there that I will not be repeating here because I am trying to become a better person. House of Pain, apparently, was not under the same restriction in the early 90's. But the second that horn hits? None of it matters. Your body knows what to do. Jump.
"Patience" makes you want to slow down, breathe, and trust life a little. "Jump Around" makes a fifty-five-year-old man briefly forget that his knees are now mostly "for show."
Music is powerful. The problem is I am much better at listening to songs about patience than actually having any. I would like patience very much. Immediately. That already seems like a design flaw.
Why is patience one of those things you have to acquire patiently? Who came up with that? Amazon can get a package to my house before I have processed ordering it, but becoming a more patient human being apparently takes years.
There should be a bottle. PATiENCE. Extra Strength. Take two whenever you find yourself behind someone doing thirty-four in a fifty-five and suddenly start driving like Jason Bourne has been spotted three cars ahead. I would buy the family size bottle.
Because I am not naturally gifted in this area. I get impatient driving. Waiting on hold. Standing behind someone at self-checkout who pulls out a checkbook like we are all suddenly back in 1987. I can even become impatient with people for reasons that are completely unfair. Sometimes it is personality. Sometimes it is work style. Sometimes they just breathe.... That is not their problem. That is a me problem. Probably.
But those are the easy versions. The hard kind of patience is waiting for your own life. Waiting for something to change. Waiting for an answer. Waiting to see if things are actually getting better or if you are just becoming more accustomed to the mess.
That kind of waiting is brutal. Especially when life seems to be throwing challenges at you from every direction. Even more especially when you helped create a few of them yourself. Then patience does not feel peaceful. It feels like standing in the wreckage asking: Okay. How long is this part?
I have spent a lot of the last few years wanting life to hurry up and tell me how everything works out. I do not even always need good news. I just want news. Give me something. A clue. A trailer. A coming attraction.
Uncertainty makes me crazy. I can make one good decision at the beginning of the week and by the end of it I am looking around wondering why my entire life has not dramatically improved. Hello? I have been doing better for seventy-two hours. Where is my reward package?
That is basically how I approach self-improvement. I like growth. I just prefer expedited shipping.
Marriage and kids have helped with patience. They had to. Children will humble any adult who believes he is in control of a schedule. You either become more patient or eventually find yourself in a twenty-minute negotiation with a child who has decided making her bed is a violation of her civil rights.
I know I have become more patient over the years. At least I think I have. Which scares me.
Because if this is the improved version, I owe several people from my twenties an apology. My thirties too. Honestly, some of my forties.
I mean that. I'm not joking about that one. I was not easy to live with back then. I did not know it. Nobody told me. I am telling myself now.
Okay. Back to the jokes. Sort of.
Lately patience has become something different for me. Less about staying calm. More about faith. This season of my life has been one long waiting room — waiting to see where I'm headed, what I'm supposed to leave behind, what God might actually be moving me toward.
I say, "Let go and let God." Then six minutes later I am back at the steering wheel. Scoot over, Lord. Traffic looks terrible. I think I know a shortcut.
That may be my biggest struggle with faith. I trust God. More than ever. I just sometimes wish He would be a little more forthcoming. A text would help. Something simple...
Mike, Here is the plan. Relax. -G.
That would be fantastic.
Instead, I get today. That is it. Today. A few people in front of me. A few things I am responsible for. A few chances to make something slightly better than I found it. And apparently that is enough.
I keep wanting the map. God keeps giving me the next step. I keep asking how this all turns out. He keeps handing me Wednesday.
Maybe the waiting is not in the way. The waiting is the work.
God is building something in me that cannot be Amazon Primed.
I still do not love that answer. For the record. I would still buy the bottle. Extra Strength. Probably the two-pack.
But I am trying to stop staring at the clock. Trying to trust that I do not need to know the whole road to take the next step.
One day at a time.
Which is irritatingly inconvenient.
And, as it turns out, exactly how days are sold.
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