This is not due to a personality flaw or a natural moral weakness: I have intentionally avoided this specific fruit of the Spirit for most of my life.
“Never pray for patience,” my father cautioned me, “because there’s only one way God gives it.” That way, of course, is to put you into situations that try your patience until you grow some. Even as a child, this bit of spiritual wisdom made plenty of sense to me, all intended humor or irony aside, and I’ve generally followed his advice. (My father also taught me to save twenty percent of my income and budget at least four hundred dollars a month: I’m not sure why it was the facetious counsel that stuck. Sorry, Dad.)
Now I find myself in the uncomfortable position of being 5 days past my Doctor-Declared Due Date, with 5 more days to go until my NFP-Determined Due Date. If I was right all along, then this baby is doing just fine. If my doctor was right, he’s almost a week late. (But my thinking on the matter is that if the doctor had been correct, I would have a son right now instead of a watermelon-belly.) Either way, the IDEA of being due on the 15th sunk in a little farther than I should have let it and I find myself feeling strangely discontent…or, I suppose you could say impatient.
But don’t you dare start praying for patience now! I don’t want to be waiting until April, you know. In the meantime, though, all manner of distractions are welcome. My husband and I have kept our whole spring break free to accommodate this child: how shall we spend our final days of youth and freedom?
Breeding Lilacs 