PATIENCE . . .

is a virtue I simply do not possess. Except perhaps in trace amounts on very, very seldom occasions. Despite my bullheaded-ness to get what I want and inahurry, somebody seems bent on getting this virtue through my thick skull if it means I die from hemorraging. It's not that I don't want to learn patience. I do. I just don't have time for it. And endlessly I wrestle in this manner.

When my sister and I were really little, I remember a time when she savored one miniature marshmallow, a teeny tiny bite at a time, for an entire sacrament meeting (about 70 minutes--an utter eternity for anyone under the age of 10.) My parents praised her for her careful rationing and self-discipline. I'll be darned if I didn't try to do the same thing for the next three Sundays before finally deeming the one-marshmallow mission a failure. I simply couldn't do it. I didn't. have. the patience.

I wish I could say in my adulthood I am wiser for wear. But alas, I am no better at mastering patience than I was as a child, only now the size of my problems have grown up with their owner. I still cannot conquer the marshmallow challenge, and I am finding in my 27th year it is increasingly more pertinent that I learn to do so.

Boo!

So, I am trying to let go, trying to count to 10, trying to inhale through my nose loudly with my eyes closed as my mother did when I used to try her patience, and wait it out. As long as it takes. Which is appearing to be very, very long indeed.

Because whenever this current list of things I need to be patient about expires, something inevitably will take its place. So I'll spare you the details. There's a bigger lesson for me here, and I hope with all my heart this time I can learn it. And have it over with. ;)