Behind the Puddle

I am beginning to think patience has very little to do with waiting nicely.

At least that doesn’t seem to be how it works behind the puddle.

Nothing out there appears particularly concerned with my timeline.

The baby mallards are growing whether I am ready for them to stop looking like babies or not. The young geese that once stayed tucked close to their parents are wandering farther away and learning to use wings that seemed much too small not that long ago.

Some visitors disappear for days and return without explanation.

The water rises when it rains and slowly disappears when it doesn’t.

Even the days are beginning to get a little shorter, although summer still seems determined to convince us otherwise.

Everything keeps unfolding.

And absolutely none of it asks me whether I am ready.

I think that’s one of the harder parts of patience.

We often talk about patience as though it means being willing to wait for what we want. But sometimes patience is living without knowing what comes next.

That’s much harder.

I like answers.

I like plans.

I like knowing whether something is going to work before I invest too much hope in it. I would prefer that life provide a reasonably detailed itinerary, including any unexpected detours, preferably far enough in advance that I can prepare appropriately.

Life has consistently declined my request.

The puddle isn’t particularly cooperative either.

I can fill the feeders and no birds appear.

I can sit outside hoping to see Stella or Stanley and neither one visits.

I can watch for Shelly and see nothing but water.

Then, on an ordinary morning when I am expecting absolutely nothing, someone appears.

Maybe patience isn’t believing that everything will turn out exactly the way we hope.

Maybe it is trusting that something is still happening even when we cannot see it yet.

There are things growing beneath the surface.

People figuring things out.

Relationships changing.

Questions that don’t have answers yet.

Parts of ourselves becoming something we haven’t met yet.

And sometimes there isn’t anything we can do to hurry any of it along.

We can pay attention.

We can care for what is ours to care for.

We can make whatever decisions belong to today.

And then we have to leave a little room for tomorrow to become whatever tomorrow is going to be.

Behind the puddle, life keeps unfolding without my assistance.

Maybe mine can, too.