One of my most prayed prayers is one for patience. Whispered, demanded, wept—it’s something I pray when my sin is pressing closer than the sins of others (though I often think it’s the other way around).
When trying to fill my grocery cart while my kids bicker with one another, I grab items from the store shelves and grumble, “Lord, give me patience.”
When my to-do list grows longer rather than shorter because of clogged drains, mountains of laundry, or an endless pile of dishes, I complain, “Lord, give me patience.”
When I’m stuck in a traffic jam and fighting road rage, I hiss, “Lord, give me patience.”
When I’m in a stand-off with my three-year-old over whether or not obedience is a good thing, I demand, “Lord, give me patience.”
When my husband and I disagree on how to handle a financial or parenting matter, I pout, “Lord, give me patience.”
When, as a pastor’s wife, I am discouraged by low church attendance or lack of fruit in ministry, I pray with little faith, “Lord, give me patience.”
“Lord, give me patience” has become a mantra, a chant, an expression of frustration rather than a real expectation that God can wring patience from my impatient heart. Most of the time, when I’m asking the Lord for patience in situations like these, I’m not actually praying for patience—not really. Usually, I’m praying to be released from the situation. My plea for patience masks a demand that God end the struggle instantaneously. Or, my prayer for patience is a hope that He’ll tip open my empty cup and magically pour in what’s leaked out. Either way, I want the benefits of being new creature without putting to death the old.
Most of the time when I’m praying for patience, I’m asking for God to ripen fruit that hasn’t even budded yet.
When we look at the way patience is described in Scripture, it isn’t something you pray for God to restock when you run out. Paul tells us in Ephesians 4 that we are to “walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called…with patience, bearing with one another in love,” (Eph 4:1-2). Patience is something you do and live and practice rather than something you accumulate and restock when it’s empty. Patience isn’t a commodity you can pluck from a shelf when you need it. God gives us patience, absolutely—but more in the way a teacher imparts knowledge to a student, the way a parent gives a child circumstances in which to practice a new skill. God gives us patience, teaches it to us, and gives us opportunities to practice it so that it may grow. Patience is learned, not magically acquired. Practiced, not instantly possessed. Grown, not immediately developed. Practicing patience will cost us something. Usually, time. And self.
My problem is that I would rather restock patience the way I restock my pantry through my Wal-Mart pick-up list on my phone. When my patience seems low, I’ll just tap the screen on my phone, put more in my cart, and schedule a time to pick it up from the store. I’ll ask God in a panicked or frustrated moment to supply something I have no interest in learning or practicing. God is my supplier, not my parent. My personal Santa Claus, not my teacher. My magic, virtuous genie, not my sovereign Creator who is making me like Jesus. This is at odds with anything we want to mature and grow in as Christians. God gives us commands and equips us to obey them.
It’s not that God can’t infuse my soul with patience in a split-second. He can. And I think perhaps at times He does! But the Christ-like traits of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, gentleness, faithfulness, and self-control are things we are to be and to practice. We grow in these areas as the Spirit works in our hearts to develop them. As perseverance is learned and produced in trials (see James 1:2-4, Rom 5:3), patience is grown when the thorns of life press against us with irritation and pain. We learn to endure difficult seasons in the midst of difficult seasons. Likewise, we learn patience when patience is required.
My emergency prayers for patience will always wrap themselves around frenzied moments, and they should! But what I need most in the midst of a frustrating situation isn’t necessarily to be removed from it. That’s not patience, that’s escape! Escape won’t produce patience in my heart. Endurance will.
Escape won't produce patience in my heart. Endurance will. Share on XI need to remember the calling God has placed on my life as a follower of Jesus and respond to the circumstance with a steadfast heart, kind words, and compassion. I need to die to my desires for rest, for obedient children, for peaceful traffic, for always being right, for ease and comfort. I need to live like I truly believe that nothing separates me from the love of Christ, and that includes the frustrating aspects of life as much as the heartbreaking ones. I need to be slow to anger and abounding in love like the Lord (Ps. 103:8). For this, I need to pray that the Lord will both give me patience and help me to practice it.
Paul tells us in Galatians 5 that patience is a fruit of the Spirit. It takes time for fruit to grow,. Patience is really patience when it is learned in the throes of parenting or marriage or irritating work situations. It’s realized and lived when finances are tight, when you’re treated unfairly, when you swallow an irritating response to an equally irritating provocation. It is both a miracle to receive patience from the Lord and to practice it, for it is evidence of the Spirit’s work within us. It was the Spirit’s work to save us; it is His work to sanctify us. And sanctification isn’t usually an overnight, restock-the-shelf kind of path. It’s a slow-growing, learned-in-affliction, plodding kind of path. And sanctification is the path God keeps us on to make us like Jesus.
When you pray for patience, do pray for the Lord to give it to you. But don’t stop there. Pray for Him to teach it, to grow it, to help you remember to practice patience when it’s hard. Pray that He will develop patience in you the way fruit grows on a tree: bud, blossom, fruit. Even better than removing you from an irritating situation, He can grow the fruit patience in your heart.
Photo by Mikhail Alexandrov on Unsplash
Glenna Marshall is married to her pastor, William, and lives in rural Southeast Missouri where she tries and fails to keep up with her two energetic sons. She is the author of The Promise is His Presence (P&R) and Everyday Faithfulness (Crossway), and Memorizing Scripture (Moody). Connect with her on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.