Old truths.
Living questions.

My mother used to say, “Patience is a virtue.” Then she would remind me that I needed to do my homework—“Right this second!” The preacher used to say, “Wait upon the Lord.” Then he’d give an altar call reminding everyone in the congregation that this could be their last day to accept the gospel. The presidential candidate would say, “We can’t take four more years of this.” Then he’d run for reelection and tell everyone, “Four years is just not enough to get the job done.” My son would say, “I’ll take my time driving home tonight, Dad.” Then he’d fall asleep at his friend’s house and hurry home the next morning. My dog would love to say—if, of course, she could talk—“I’d kind of like to go outside now.” Then she’d spend the entire time searching for the perfect place to pee, prancing back and forth across the yard, only to settle on a spot no different or more special than any she had chosen before. All living creatures must somehow learn to wait. All living creatures hate to wait. And all living creatures are difficult to convince that waiting can be a sign of love. When I arrived in Marion County, Ohio, rankings based on the 2000 Census placed us first in the nation in divorce. By 2010, we had improved all the way to eleventh. I took credit. I left Marion in 2017, however, so I’m not entirely sure I want to know where they ranked after the 2020 Census. We did not wait to have sex. We did not wait to have children. We did not wait to move on from one partner to another in the sacred promise of marriage. We simply did not like to wait. The signs of impatience are all around us. At stoplights, we blow our horns when someone makes us wait. At the grocery store, we go through the “16 items or fewer” line with 23 items. When we want something badly, we charge it rather than save for it. We reach for early retirement, Powerball tickets, weight-loss pills, online degrees, powerful dishwashers, DVRs, and blow-dryers because every fiber of our being hates to wait. We don’t even like waiting on our waiters. We pretend to wait. “I made him wait until the third date,” one woman told me, as if she had accomplished something worthy of a Nobel Peace Prize. I once saw a man stop to help a woman with her shopping cart on his way to his car, then run a stop sign while leaving the parking lot. One friend can spend all day waiting for a single deer to cross his line of sight, then come home unable to find a second to listen as his wife talks about her day. Cleveland Browns fans have waited roughly 8,000 years for a Super Bowl without losing hope, yet they will dismiss a quarterback after two interceptions. We pretend to wait. “Patience is a virtue.” Virtue. Virtue. Virtue? Did you ever wonder what went through Abraham’s mind as he lay on his pillow at night, having spent yet another day without a son? Day after day, week after week, year after year, decade after decade—no son. Where is Your promise, God? How can You say You love me when You create such joy and hope in Your child by making a promise I never asked You for, only hoped for, and then dangle those words before me like a drink of water forever out of reach in the desert of my barren dreams? You see Sarah. She cries herself to sleep every night. I told her of Your promise. She trusted me. She believed me. There was one month we tried every single day, sometimes twice a day. Nothing. Not even a hint of a child. Why would You have me believe in something You never intended to do? I have little doubt that Abraham’s last thought on many nights was simply this: “I should never have believed You. I should never have trusted You.” It is at such times that we take matters into our own hands, do we not? “I saw that parking place first,” we say as we cut off an older woman who does not have the reflexes to stop us. “I need dinner right now,” we insist, only to leave half of it on the plate because it was not cooked to our specifications. “If I don’t get waited on this second, I’m choosing Wendy’s next time,” we threaten while five people hurry around a McDonald’s kitchen so we can have it our way. Sometimes God exercises a patience for which we have no patience. It seems to me that the Lord had such a marvelous and loving plan for Abraham that bringing about a child in the ordinary way would not have displayed the full quality of that love. I have no doubt Abraham would have written the story very differently. He would never have introduced patience into the plot. He would have brought about the promised child long before God’s appointed time. He would have made the whole thing easier on himself, his wife, and the descendants who followed. He would never have burdened a ninety-year-old woman with the pain of childbirth. And he most certainly would not have created a situation in which two brothers stood in tension over the same blessing. Abraham is one of us. We are like him. It is precisely because we are like him that God does what He does. Faith—true faith—can grow only when it is tested. As parents, we know that people and children seldom learn from handouts. The giver may grow through giving, but the handout seldom changes the recipient unless, along the way, that person is also taught to become a giver. Abraham was being taught. The blessings of God do not always come at once. They do not always come easily. They require the growth of our faith. Love is patient precisely because love involves suffering over time in order to receive and embrace the things that truly matter. God displays love through a promise—a promise that calls our faith to trust and hope in a future we cannot yet see, a blessing we have not yet realized, and a child we cannot yet comprehend. Love is patient because the nature of love is slow, quiet, and long-suffering. It can be shaped in us only over time. Love is patient.

My mother used to say, “Patience is a virtue.” Then she would remind me that I needed to do my homework—“Right this second!” The preacher used to say, “Wait upon the Lord.” Then he’d give an altar call reminding everyone in the congregation that this could be their last day to accept the gospel. The presidential candidate would say, “We can’t take four more years of this.” Then he’d run for reelection and tell everyone, “Four years is just not enough to get the job done.” My son would say, “I’ll take my time driving home tonight, Dad.” Then he’d fall asleep at his friend’s house and hurry home the next morning. My dog would love to say—if, of course, she could talk—“I’d kind of like to go outside now.” Then she’d spend the entire time searching for the perfect place to pee, prancing back and forth across the yard, only to settle on a spot no different or more special than any she had chosen before. All living creatures must somehow learn to wait. All living creatures hate to wait. And all living creatures are difficult to convince that waiting can be a sign of love. When I first wrote this, I lived in an Ohio county where teen pregnancy and divorce were painfully common. We did not wait to have sex. We did not wait to have children. We did not wait to move on from one partner to another in the sacred promise of marriage. We simply did not like to wait. The signs of impatience are all around us. At stoplights, we blow our horns when someone makes us wait. At the grocery store, we go through the “16 items or fewer” line with 23 items. When we want something badly, we charge it rather than save for it. We reach for early retirement, Powerball tickets, weight-loss pills, online degrees, powerful dishwashers, DVRs, and blow-dryers because every fiber of our being hates to wait. We don’t even like waiting on our waiters. We pretend to wait. “I made him wait until the third date,” one woman told me, as if she had accomplished something worthy of a Nobel Peace Prize. I once saw a man stop to help a woman with her shopping cart on his way to his car, then run a stop sign while leaving the parking lot. One friend can spend all day waiting for a single deer to cross his line of sight, then come home unable to find a second to listen as his wife talks about her day. Cleveland Browns fans have waited roughly 8,000 years for a Super Bowl without losing hope, yet they will dismiss a quarterback after two interceptions. We pretend to wait. “Patience is a virtue.” Virtue. Virtue. Virtue? Did you ever wonder what went through Abraham’s mind as he lay on his pillow at night, having spent yet another day without a son? Day after day, week after week, year after year, decade after decade—no son. Where is Your promise, God? How can You say You love me when You create such joy and hope in Your child by making a promise I never asked You for, only hoped for, and then dangle those words before me like a drink of water forever out of reach in the desert of my barren dreams? You see Sarah. She cries herself to sleep every night. I told her of Your promise. She trusted me. She believed me. There was one month we tried every single day, sometimes twice a day. Nothing. Not even a hint of a child. Why would You have me believe in something You never intended to do? I have little doubt that Abraham’s last thought on many nights was simply this: “I should never have believed You. I should never have trusted You.” It is at such times that we take matters into our own hands, do we not? “I saw that parking place first,” we say as we cut off an older woman who does not have the reflexes to stop us. “I need dinner right now,” we insist, only to leave half of it on the plate because it was not cooked to our specifications. “If I don’t get waited on this second, I’m choosing Wendy’s next time,” we threaten while five people hurry around a McDonald’s kitchen so we can have it our way. Sometimes God exercises a patience for which we have no patience. It seems to me that the Lord had such a marvelous and loving plan for Abraham that bringing about a child in the ordinary way would not have displayed the full quality of that love. I have no doubt Abraham would have written the story very differently. He would never have introduced patience into the plot. He would have brought about the promised child long before God’s appointed time. He would have made the whole thing easier on himself, his wife, and the descendants who followed. He would never have burdened a ninety-year-old woman with the pain of childbirth. And he most certainly would not have created a situation in which two brothers stood in tension over the same blessing. Abraham is one of us. We are like him. It is precisely because we are like him that God does what He does. Faith—true faith—can grow only when it is tested. As parents, we know that people and children seldom learn from handouts. The giver may grow through giving, but the handout seldom changes the recipient unless, along the way, that person is also taught to become a giver. Abraham was being taught. The blessings of God do not always come at once. They do not always come easily. They require the growth of our faith. Love is patient precisely because love involves suffering over time in order to receive and embrace the things that truly matter. God displays love through a promise—a promise that calls our faith to trust and hope in a future we cannot yet see, a blessing we have not yet realized, and a child we cannot yet comprehend. Love is patient because the nature of love is slow, quiet, and long-suffering. It can be shaped in us only over time. Love is patient.