Have you ever prayed for patience and then quickly realized God was simply giving you more opportunities to practice being patient? I have. Patience is something I could use more of – especially in dealing with my kids.

Many parents likely struggle with patience. In our busy lives, when we need uninterrupted time to focus on tasks, stopping every few minutes to provide snacks, answer questions, or break up sibling squabbles can be tiring and frustrating. Refraining from snapping at our littles and reaching the end of our fuses can be a challenge.  It’s something I’m working on, for sure.

In thinking about how I wish I would respond, examples of my dad came flooding into my mind. He passed away in 2013, but his whole life, he was the perfect role model for patience — in both big and small moments.

Many who knew him would describe him as laid back, fun loving, easy going, and possessing a great sense of humor. All of that is true, and I would also add: kind, gentle, full of unconditional love, and patient.

There are three lessons we can probably all learn from my dad when it comes to showing patience to others. They are:

• Place people above things
• Look for opportunities to teach rather than scold
• Approach conversations with unconditional love

Let me share two examples that illustrate all three of these lessons.

The Buick & The Sandpaper

I was 3-years-old. Dad was working in the garage sanding and staining a porch swing while I played in the driveway. Next to me was dad’s brand-new, 1984 Buick.

Becoming bored with what I was doing, I wandered into the garage to see what dad was up to. Unbeknownst to him, I grabbed a piece of sandpaper lying on the garage floor while he busily worked. Noticing how funny it felt in my little hands, I wondered what it did. Walking back onto the driveway, I found a nice smooth surface to rub it on – the driver’s side door of my dad’s brand-new Buick.

I started rubbing – back and forth, back and forth. I liked the sound it made so I started rubbing harder and faster. But when I noticed the color and texture of the once bluish-gray door starting to change, I dropped the sandpaper right there in the drive and ran inside. Knowing I had done something bad, I just wanted to get away.

It was a little while later that my dad called my mom, sister and I outside. When we gathered on the front porch, my dad stood in front of us with my piece of sandpaper in his hand. Pointing at the discolored spot on the driver’s side door of his Buick, he asked, “Does anyone know anything about this?” My mom looked shocked. My sister looked confused. Both of them shook their heads. Then I sheepishly raised my hand and said, “I hate to tell you this, but I did it.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because I wanted to know what it did,” I replied, pointing to the sandpaper in his hand.

My dad, ever the patient one, dropped his arms to his sides, lowered his head, exhaled, and looked at me. He then knelt down and gestured for me to move towards him. He sat me on his knee and said, “If you wanted to know what it did, all you had to do was ask.”

Lesson learned. Without yelling, without punishment, without physical pain. And to this day, that story and lesson are cemented in my brain.

In that instance, my dad chose to:

• Place people above things
• Look for opportunities to teach rather than scold
• Approach conversations with unconditional love

The New Car on My 16^th Birthday

When I turned 16 and had just obtained my driver’s license, I drove my parents to a dealership outside of town where my dad had found a slightly used, black, 2-door coupe, Honda Civic EX, complete with a moon roof on top and a spoiler on the back.

I had the chance to test drive it a few days earlier when my dad brought it to town. It was my birthday present (and reward for doing so well academically in school and for staying away from drugs and alcohol).

I was thrilled to be getting my very own car. I felt very lucky and blessed. At the dealership, the salesman had all the paperwork ready for signatures when we arrived. He said to me, “While your mom and dad sign those papers, how about you and I go next door to fill up the gas tank?”

“Ok!” I said excitedly, ready to jump behind the wheel of my own car.

I drove the short trek from the dealership to the gas station and pulled up next to the first pump. But I had pulled a little too close; when I opened my driver’s-side door, I promptly hit the concrete barrier next to the pump.

I gasped. I jumped out to survey the damage just as the salesman came around the back of the car. Knowing full well what had happened, and now seeing the dent that I saw, he asked, “Are you going to tell your dad about that?”

I honestly can’t remember what I said in that instant. I was so horrified at what I had done. The ink was barely dry on the papers, and I had already caused damage to the vehicle! I was mortified.

The salesman pumped the gas and paid; then I drove us back to the dealership. When we arrived, my parents were smiling ear-to-ear and were all set to go. My dad told me to stay put behind the wheel, he shook the salesman’s hand, my mom went back to her mini-van that we had driven up in, and we were off. There was no time to confess what had happened, or so I justified. Even if there had been, I’m not sure what I would have said.

Driving home, dad was playing with all the knobs and buttons on the dash. “Look at this!” “Did you see it has this?” He was very clearly excited for me. But noticing my somber mood and less-than-enthusiastic responses, he looked at me and said, “A penny for your thoughts. You don’t seem like a 16-year-old who just got a new car.”

Immediately, tears started rolling down my cheeks, and the confession came spilling out of my mouth. “…And now there’s a dent in the door! I didn’t mean to. I couldn’t believe it happened. I’ve only owned the car a few minutes, and I’ve already caused damage to it. I don’t want you to think I won’t be careful or that I won’t take care of it. I will,” I insisted.

Dad had a slight smile on his face as he reached up to wipe a tear from my cheek. “I know you will,” he said calmly and confidently. “It was just an accident. Don’t worry about it.”

I felt extremely guilty, but his response to my full confession sure helped to make me feel better. Once again, he had chosen to:

• Place people above things
• Look for opportunities to teach rather than scold
• Approach conversations with unconditional love

It runs in the family

Based upon stories I’m told about my Grandpa Chuck (my dad’s dad,) it seems my dad learned to be this way from him. My grandpa is famous for never raising his voice and never using extreme force or physical punishment. Instead, he talked through situations. He had a way of very clearly teaching a lesson that ensured the same bad choices or mistakes weren’t made more than once.

I wish I had a little more of my dad’s and grandpa’s patience inherently in me, but at least I have the memories and great examples from which to learn. Now in my own parenting, I’m striving to be more like them and practicing, with intentionality, the art of being patient.

How about you?

I’m so grateful to have been raised by a man like my dad. What a positive influence he was in my life – in more ways than I can count.

Do you have someone in your life who set a great example for you? Do you have role models you strive to be like? Is patience an area you struggle with? If so, what additional advice would you offer for showing patience to others? As always, I love to hear from you.

Yours intentionally, Amanda