When people discover I have eight children, they often say, “You must be so patient.” My husband would be the first to tell you that patience is not a virtue I possess. If I ask for help with something and he’s busy, I usually proceed without him, even if it’s unwise and yields mixed results.

I can’t sit tight and wait.

I’m learning, however, that patience can be developed and practiced. It’s an act of will, and often in my best interest.

I’ve been working on my first novel for two years — one year to write, and another to edit drafts two, three, and four. It feels like an eternity. Family situations and shattering my right humerus, which required major surgery, slowed the process.

My manuscript has now been sent to an editor, and I am holding my breath, awaiting her feedback, which typically takes six to eight weeks. Last fall, I registered for pitch sessions at a writers’ conference in May, confident I would have an edited, polished novel by then, in case an agent requested it. Although the timeframe sounded reasonable when I booked my ticket, I’m behind schedule.

I’m happy to say that I left the conference with an agent who requested to read the first thirty pages of my manuscript! My first instinct was to race to my laptop and send it immediately, but when I mentioned I’d hired an editor, the agent told me her request wouldn’t expire and that I should feel free to wait.

It’s the smart thing to do: receive professional guidance, edit as needed, and submit the best possible sample of my work. I get one chance, and as the song says, I am not throwing away my shot. But this time, practicing patience doesn’t feel like biding my time. It requires restraint. It feels like work.

I showed my pastor a verse about patience and asked for his thoughts; he explained that the Greek word used means “active endurance,” not “passive waiting.”

When our hopes are high, patience can be exhausting. 

But Romans 12:12 (KJV) also tells us to be “patient in tribulation.” Last year, when I broke my arm and needed surgery, there were so many basic things I couldn’t do well or at all — my life ground to a halt. I couldn’t maneuver my arm through a sleeve, wear a bra, or zip or button anything. My wardrobe consisted of shoulderless tops and elastic-waist bottoms. I slept propped up because I couldn’t lie flat on my back or on my side. I couldn’t drive. Although I’m right-handed, I brushed my teeth, applied make-up, and did everything else with my left hand. Family members had to wash and dry my hair for me. 

Patience wasn’t a choice; it was a necessity.

In situations where patience is an option, it can be a gift: evidence we have time and freedom from the tyranny of the urgent. When my daughter went past her due date with her first child this spring, her medical team didn’t rush to schedule an induction. My daughter was swollen, tired, and ready to meet her son, but I knew the relaxed approach was a good sign. 

On the other hand, we recently had to make a decision with huge implications in a matter of minutes. No time to weigh the pros and cons, or evaluate the small details or the big picture.

Patience is like a muscle. When we exercise it, the Lord stretches and grows us as we actively endure, not passively wait. 

My manuscript will improve through deliberate editing rather than a hasty submission.

Maybe that’s true for something in your life, too. Are you rushing when a slower pace is needed?

Some circumstances, like my broken arm, take time to mend. No amount of disappointment or desire will speed them along. Have you allowed an unavoidable situation to frustrate you?

Is there a situation in your life that tries your patience? Can you see the freedom not to hurry as a gift, rather than an irritant?

God often does deep, refining work in the waiting. Instead of striving to push forward on your own timeline, lean into the stretch of patience and trust that what’s being formed in you is worth the wait.

 

Listen to Dawn’s devotion here or on the (in)courage podcast.

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