The Gift of Time

My darling little niece

My years in college and seminary seemed to pass in a whirl. I never had enough time—time to do the readings or write the papers or prepare for exams or work side jobs. Sometimes I was not sure I had the time to breathe.

I was struck in an interview with Wendell Berry by his advice to young people to have patience, to be patient in emergency. Perhaps the older generations have always told the young these words. But they seem to take on special significance in our age of rushed schedules. And in our age of imperiled resources and increased fear and uncertainty in the face of change. My generation, perhaps more than any other, is a generation raised on technology and instant gratification, a generation always in a hurry but never sure where it is going, a generation facing a tremendous sense of crisis.

It was oddly comforting for me to hear Berry’s words. My crazy school schedule is over. I have come home to the harbor, home to the forest and the sea, home among friends and family, and away from the centers of power and influence. And my lesson to learn is patience. Patience in crisis, with people all around me struggling to survive, with a world in turmoil, with my own sense of call still struggling to manifest.

And in the silence of my meditations and my walks in the forest, in the in the new routine of my life and ministry, I am coming to realize that what I seek is not simply a career or a purpose, but a well lived life. A life lived in company with those I love, in relationship with a broken world, in relationship with my neighbors, in relationship with the land. Because one cannot change a world without changing oneself. One cannot find hope in crisis without being willing to change how one lives. 

I am only a beginner in living such a life. I am still impatient. I still want quick answers. But, ever so slowly, I am learning to listen and learning to be patient in an emergency.