Love endures with patience and serenity, love is kind and thoughtful…” 1 Cor. 13:4 (AMP)

Love is patient. I am not. My love is imperfect, a gaping hole in the core of my make-up.

Patience requires joyful slowness–waiting without agitation. Waiting for little feet to catch up or tiny teeth to chew food. All day long I wait while my little gems process their worlds. I expect they will respond with the same speed I would. How foolish.

Instead they mingle in the timelessness of childhood while their minds form new connections. Their few years of bliss are so short, the clock of adolescence lurking around the corner, waiting to swallow them forever. I envy their freedom, and yet there I am, rushing it. Bridling my brood, restraining them into unnecessary rules, timelines, and systems. All futile and impatient expectations.

With structure comes productivity. But productivity does not equal growth. It does not translate to maturity or lessons learned. Efficient days are usually full of frustrated outbursts, barked commands, “hurry ups” and “let’s go’s.” Retorted disobedience and rebellious behavior. The pace is too great, and the list too long. A barren day.

Where is the real love? The patience, kindness, gentleness? The days we model character instead of agenda. The days our family functions in harmony instead of tension. We take the time to adjust the pace and rework the list–to prioritize the important and reschedule the rest. Embracing the moments rather than grasping at them.

A patient heart lifts my eyes to the bigger picture, but yet I cling to the blinders of impatience. I refuse to release the clenched jaw and the ticking clock. I focus on the here and now, the-right-this-second. Rushing distracts. In my frustrated haste I miss the teaching. And the learning. I miss the transformations.

My little Emerald came to me and said “Mama if you want me to listen, just love me.”

A tender cry to slow down. To be still. In patience, to love fully and be loved.