Learning to Be Patient with Myself

One of the themes throughout Soul Weathered is what I call our inner weather.

Not the weather outside us.

The weather within us.

The emotions no one else sees.

The conversations no one else hears.

One of those conversations has followed me for most of my adult life.

It's the way I speak to myself.

I've always been impatient.

Not just with traffic.

Not just with delays.

Not even primarily with other people.

I've been impatient with me.

For years, every little mistake became an opportunity to criticize myself.

Drop something...

Forget something...

Do something carelessly...

And immediately I'd hear that familiar voice inside.

"That was stupid."

"Why did you do that?"

"You should know better."

I became so accustomed to talking to myself that way, I hardly noticed it anymore.

Years ago my dad said something that stayed with me.

He said,

"Don't curse what God calls good."

I have always understood the truth of this but it has just been recently that Iv'e been convicted about it.

Not through some dramatic experience.

But through ordinary moments that kept repeating themselves.

One of those moments happens when I'm fly fishing.

I'll tie on a fly.

Instead of taking a few seconds to hook it into the keeper on my rod before walking away, I'll already be thinking about the next cast.

The next run.

The next fish.

So I stand up start to move and

the fly catches my shirt.

Or a tree limb.

Or the rocks beside the river.

And instantly...

I criticize myself.

The same thing happens in my kitchen.

Every time I load the dishwasher, one foot is facing the dishwasher...

...and the other is already pointed toward the door.

I'm already leaving before I've finished what I'm doing.

Then I drop a fork underneath the bottom rack.

Or knock something over.

And once again...

I hear myself.

Criticizing.

Condemning.

Rushing.

One morning while praying about all this, I sensed God saying something that seemed almost too simple.

"I'm in this moment."

Then He gave me two small practices.

"When you load the dishwasher...

put both feet in front of it."

When you tie on your fly...

take the extra few seconds to secure it before you move.

Be here.

Not somewhere else.

At first, I thought God was teaching me patience.

Now I think He's teaching me something deeper.

He's teaching me grace.

Grace toward myself.

Because every time I rushed, I created another opportunity to condemn myself.

Not because God was condemning me.

Because I was.

I've realized that I've spent much of my life hurrying toward the next moment.

The next task.

The next meeting.

The next fish.

The next responsibility.

And while hurrying through this moment...

I've often missed God in it.

So now I'm practicing these two simple disciplines.

Not perfectly.

Practicing.

When I load the dishwasher, I consciously place both feet in front of it.

When I finish tying on a fly, I stop long enough to hook it into the keeper.

Those little acts have become reminders.

Not just to slow down.

But to remember that God is present.

Here.

Now.

And that He is far more patient with me than I have ever been with myself.

Brother Lawrence wrote about practicing the presence of God while washing dishes.

When I first read his little book 35 years ago, I admired the idea but it was just an idea.

Today I'm beginning to understand it.

God isn't waiting for me at the next appointment.

Or the next accomplishment.

Or the next stage of life.

He's here.

Standing beside me in the kitchen.

Standing beside me in the river.

Standing beside me in every ordinary moment I've been rushing through.

I'm still learning.

I still catch myself hurrying.

I still occasionally snag my fly in a tree.

I still drop the fork.

But now those moments have become invitations instead of accusations.

They remind me to stop.

To smile.

To take a breath.

To remember that God is here.

And maybe...

To stop cursing someone He sent His only Son to redeem.