As a “Woman of a Certain Age,” I have experienced a host of different skirt lengths, role models, sure-fire diets, TV stars, and historic events. I have survived the debilitation and loss of my father from Parkinson’s Disease and the untimely death of a valued colleague at age 60.
When I was a little girl, my mother reminded me with some frequency to be more patient and to persevere during times of challenge. She used to say that I was a wonderful child with only one major fault… lack of patience. Looking back, I believe that she meant that I wanted life to be perfect and for my prayers to be answered immediately. Similarly, I feel that she recognized the inward impatience that prevented me from growing emotionally and spiritually. Although an excellent student, I rarely believed in myself or in my ability to make it through tough situations. Accompanying this overriding sense of internal restlessness was a tendency to be impulsive at times. It was almost as if I wanted to “short-circuit” the predictable and stable natural forces in life, choosing to ignore prominent warning signs posted along the way.
More than 30 years ago on a late August morning, my parents loaded up our Ford Fairlane with most of my worldly possessions heading for the college campus where I would spend the next four and a half years. While unpacking my small green Samsonite piece of luggage, I found a plastic-coated bookimark in one of the pockets. Upon closer examination, I read the poem that had been embroidered in deep silken lavendar thread, ” Patience and Endurance Passeth All Understanding!” Admittedly, I was both puzzled and deeply touched by my mother’s gesture. As the first of two children to attend college, my being three and a half hours away from the parental nest was bitter-sweet for my mother…and for me, too!
All these years later, whenever I am confronted by a challenge or fear of huge proportions, I recall these comforting words which somehow have taken on a rat-a-tat-tatcadence like a beating drum. Although I have unfortunately misplaced the bookmark sometime during one of my many moves, the profound message lives within me. Yet, I must confess, there are times when my drive to accomplish or to be the best in whatever I endeavor overpowowers my sense of reason. In an almost naive fashion, I expect the desired outcome or result to be immediate. Impatience creeps in slowly at first. Then it accelerates in tempo and intensity before reaching a crescendo. This is partly because of my tendency to measure myself against the yardstick of others instead of charting my own progress.
My 83-year-old mother lives closeby now. I have watched her endure the tragic loss of her husband of 52 years. I have watched her conquer breast cancer. Though frail and visibly worn, my 4′10″ mother is a living reminder of how patience and endurance can sustain us through the vicissitudes of life. Not one day passes without my marveling at her stamina and tenacity. Her angelic-looking face masks the heartbreak of losing her sister a few months ago. Her elfin smile distracts us from the discomfort brought about by severe arthritic pain.
I wish I could capture my mother’s rare ability to invoke patience and endurance at will. Even though I am now an aging “Baby Boomer,” I continue to struggle with waiting and sustaining faith. Will I ever fully ward off the one blemish on my personality that my mother pointed out so accurately when I was a youngster? Maybe not entirely. Yet, how could I ever cease trying to emulate the woman to whom patience and endurance come so naturally?
