Monday morning. Martin Luther King Day. So some will sleep in late. Not me. Have this habit of rising early and watching the sun crest the eastern horizon, even on a cold January morning. I don’t seem to tire of that. Predawn offered red and pink in a small area along the horizon. The wind was blowing as I watched the clouds being continually reshaped by that wind.
I read yesterday where Henry David Thoreau was known to stand for long periods of time while observing a female mallard as she prepared her newly hatched ducklings for their first adventure on the water. At other times he would stand all afternoon watching a frog along the banks of a pond. He spent time in the field studying nature rather than reading or hearing about it. Not something our culture does much anymore. We’re too impatient. Because I stayed this morning I was able to witness the sun rising above the clouds sitting along the eastern horizon. I’m learning patience.
Waiting for a freezer of homemade ice cream to finish. Waiting for the pizza to be delivered. Yet, as I grow older I’ve learned to appreciate waiting. I really do enjoy those times of sitting or kneeling in wet grass waiting for the sun to touch the horizon as it rises or sets. Walking the streets waiting for a photo opportunity to present itself. Waiting silently in prayer or mediation. Waiting is a teacher if we let it. Waiting can be a discipline if we let it. Waiting can have special rewards if we let it. As Elizabeth Taylor says, “It is very strange that the years teach us patience – that the shorter our time, the greater our capacity for waiting.” Are we learning to wait patiently or wanting it now?