There are a lot of things I’m impatient with.
Traffic congestion. Long lines at a check-out counter. People anywhere who decide to strike up conversations in aisles and other strategic locations so that no one else can move around them. My computer at work. My computer at home. Phone trees (of any kind). The Missouri State Income Tax forms (designed by sadists). Trying to download music so that someone can burn a CD or put it on the iPhone (I am music-download impaired.) (I’m also useless for trying to hook up anything to the television set, like CD and DVD players, receivers, etc.) Waiting extraordinarily long times in doctors’ offices, as in, longer than 10 minutes.
I could go on, but that’s sufficient for now. I need to get to the point.
My impatience is packed with a lot of things, unfortunately, like how I value my time, my expectations for how others are supposed to behave and my own sense of self-importance.
Occasionally, and I’m trying to avoid using “rarely,” I will stop and ask if there’s anything I’m supposed to learn from whatever is causing me to pace like my dog when he’s within two hours of being fed or needs to enjoy the great outdoors. Am I being taught something here (and I don’t mean being taught patience, but something more significant and cosmic, really)? Should I be looking closely at the situation to gain some profound insight?
I don’t want to think that I’m being taught how to wait.
On Sunday, I took a very small step on the road to patience. At least, that's what the road sign said.
After church, my wife and I drove to a local hospital, to see exactly where it was and how long it would take to get there from our house. It’s about eight miles, and the drive took about 15 minutes. We considered alternate routes in case the direct route was closed for some reason. We checked out the parking.
Neither one of us is planning a hospital stay.
But we are planning a visit.
We want to make sure we know exactly where we’re going in approximately five or six weeks. Because sometime in mid-March, there will be – a grandchild. A grandson, to be specific. Our first. The first great-grandchild in my wife’s immediate family. The first grandchild with the “Young” last name on my side.
I’ve been good. I’ve not pestered my son and daughter-in-law. I’ve not asked them a bazillion questions. I’ve not given them all kinds of great advice. Neither has my wife, although she did suggest that more calcium intake would be a good thing for my daughter-in-law.
We wanted to check out the hospital because, well, you know babies, they can happen at the most surprising of times. And we want to know how to get there for a visit. Or two. Maybe three.
No, I didn’t ask if the hospital had rooms for grandparents.
But I thought about it.
I’m learning patience.
But just wait.
There’s a One-Word Blog Carnival on patience underway right now, sponsored by Peter Pollock and Bridget Chumbley. To see more posts on the topic, visit Bridget’s web site.