My Impatience, The Big Map, & Sheep Transport

It has come to my attention that God has been very slow about granting me the virtue of patience.

This divine sluggishness frustrates me.

I think He really ought to get a move on.

Not that I’m criticizing God, you understand, but if I were in His shoes, a lot of things would be different around here.

For instance, I did not get around to seeing my daughter yesterday. I’d planned to go see her and convey wise counsel about her drug situation (What I call conveying wise counsel is what my wife and kids call nagging).

However circumstances —some of which I had no control over and some of which I did — intervened.

Another daughter pointed out that no one has asked for my help or input. Another pointed out that this “crisis” is not a crisis but the latest episode in a series that has dragged on for years.

Drug problems do not lend themselves to a quick fix.

Me, I always go for the quick fix. I get impatient with people and problems and want them to go away so that my own life can resume a smooth course.

The Lord has other ideas.

He is never rushed about anything.

God Almighty is not given to panic.

He knows what He’s doing. My role is to trust and obey.

But I am an impatient man. For the past couple of weeks my tiny store of patience has been sorely tried. When things do not go the way I think they should, I want to manipulate and finagle and circumvent so that they do.

In analysis, even my prayers for others — no matter how I word them to sound nice — turn out to really mean: “Lord, make them do as I wish!”, “Make things turn out as I want”, “Force people to see things the way I see them”.

Is it any wonder that the God of the whole universe pays so little attention to my “intercessory prayers”?

Even when I pray for patience for myself, what I really mean is that I’m frustrated and want things to change to my liking.

Being impatient makes me feel uncomfortable.

I don’t want to be uncomfortable, I don’t want to be patient; I want the situation to change so I do not need to feel impatient.

I do not want to fit into God’s plans for people I care about. I want God and man and the universe to fit into my plan of how things should go.

Every thing should be ordered to my personal comfort and convenience.

Don’t you think so?

No?

You mean that ain’t the way things are supposed to work?

Mulling over this this morning, I began to envision God’s will as a giant rolled-up map of the United States.

This map would cover a football field; it’s huge. It shows every major highway, every river, every city, every cow path, all the back roads, every mountain, every swamp, every bike and bridle trail, every contour line. Broad roads, red roads, blue roads, broken-dotted roads. Roads that peter out. Roads that go somewhere.

This huge, broad map lies in a tight roll in the end-zone of the football stadium.

I’m part of the ground crew unrolling the map.

As it slowly unrolls I can only see the tiny section unrolled before my eyes. Other people lined up on either side of me see the tiny section in front of their own eyes.

The Lord knows the whole map; He drew the thing in the first place.

But each one of us follows the roads and paths we see in front of our faces.

I do not see the grand overview of what God is doing in history or in the lives of the people I pray for, my readers, my acquaintances, my friends, my family, my children, my wife.

For me to superimpose my view, my will, my plans, on these people is ridiculous.

No wonder I feel frustrated and impatient when I try.

Why does God frustrate me so?

Yesterday my friend Barbara mentioned those stained-glass windows we’ve all seen of Christ as the Good Shepherd; He stands with a limp lamb draped over His shoulders…

NOTE: when I was a kid back in the 1940s, one of my aunts had a fox-fur that she wore like that. Fascinated me. It was made of a real fox. It still had the ears and eyes and paws and bushy tail. Cool. This aunt smoked her cigarettes in a long amber holder too. Cool!

Anyhow, Barbara referred to the Scripture about how the Good Shepherd would leave the ninety and nine sheep in the fold and go out after the one lost sheep. She said that when the Shepherd caught the stray, He’d break one of it’s legs so the dumb varmint would not keep wandering off again. That’s why He had to carry it on His shoulder.

Now, I doubt if any real shepherd would break the leg of one of his own sheep; that just does not seem kosher to me. (Although God doesn’t seem to be given to half-way measures; He’s serious about love).

And I doubt if a real shepherd would ever drape a sheep over his shoulders — those things aren’t housebroken, you know.

Neither are babies riding on daddy’s shoulders says the voice of remembered experience!

But, apart from realism, the Good Shepherd with said sheep does make a picturesque stained-glass window. I’m not knocking that.

However, I do wonder if when I wander off into dumb and dangerous situations, and Christ has to track me down, I do wonder if He does not have to hobble me, to restrain me from what I want to do, to frustrate me in my plans.

I wonder if what He’s doing is not only saving me but also teaching me patience.