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* A Place Called Home by Diana Shellenberger

This I Believe: Patience Pays

 Copyright 2005 Diana Shellenberger

 I believe in patience, because it can result in some of the best things in life. Patience is the difference between picking green tomatoes and curing them on the windowsill versus letting them ripen on the vine. Its value is lost on a world where wresting control, quick resolution and immediate gratification are preferred. Sometimes quick action is necessary, but all too often, the fruits of haste are regret and heartburn.

 One of my best lessons on patience began when I was eight months pregnant with our second child. As I walked my son and a neighbor boy to school, we found ourselves competing for the sidewalk with two boys on bicycles. Instead of using the bike lane, they rode up on our heels, expecting us to yield the way to them. One afternoon, I stopped the older boy, and less patiently than would have been ideal, I told him to ride in the bike lane from now on.

 A few minutes later, as I turned the corner onto our block, a car came speeding up the street. A woman jumped out and charged up to me. I deduced she was the boys’ mother, come to set me straight about who was the boss of her sons. Wagging her finger in my face, she told me her sons would continue to ride their bikes on the sidewalk, and if I didn’t like it, I should find another route. To top it all off, she called me a pregnant word-that-rhymes-with-rich. Mercifully, I was too stunned to say much. If I’d said then all I thought of later, I certainly would have had more to regret.

 When I spoke to the school’s principal, she told me the boys’ dad had died a few years earlier, leaving Mom to raise their sons. Their safe passage to school was understandably an integral part of preserving what was left of her family. But what about my family’s safety? I also felt the mom owed me an apology. “Don’t hold your breath,” the principal warned.

 I dreaded another confrontation, but none came, because she had taken to driving her sons to school. We both got what we had been seeking—the safe transport of our families. A year and a half went by. Our baby son was now a toddler. As I waited in line to speak with the school secretary one morning, I noticed the mom a few people ahead of me. As she turned to go, our eyes met. She hesitated.

 “I think I owe you an apology,” she said. I accepted by throwing my arms around her and bursting into tears of gratitude and relief.

 I hadn’t expected an apology, but when it came, it was just the balm I had needed. This moment came because we had simply waited long enough to catch up with our better selves. Just as the investment of time turns grape juice into wine, patience and the time it buys can bring out the best character in people. 

Diana Shellenberger writes from her home in Longmont, Colorado.