Waiting for the harvest.

I must confess; I'm not a patient man. Put me in a line at a grocery store or bank, or on the interstate, and I'd rather be anywhere else.

Yes, I know it's not healthy. While my mind screams GO, my body must stand or sit until it's my turn to move. Maybe you're plagued with the same malady.

Each spring my wife plants a delightful collection of fruits and veggies in her four little garden boxes. Tomatoes top my list of favorites. Week after week I watch those plants grow and grow and grow. I can almost taste that first lettuce-and-tomato sandwich. But nothing I do or say will make those juicy, tart, delectable tomatoes ripen any sooner.

Dorinda, on the other hand, is the picture of calm. Nothing ruffles her feathers. She's totally content to stand in lines or kick back in traffic jams. She faithfully waters and deweeds her garden as her plants take their own sweet time reaching maturity. But oh, the joy when that first fully blushed tomato makes its way from garden box to dinner table!

I once asked a medical doctor why he sometimes prescribed dangerous drugs when simple and safe herbs would do the job. "I wish I could," he told me. "But my patients want to feel better right now. Drugs do a pretty good job of making you think you're healed. Herbs take time to work their magic. No one wants to wait."

That cut a little too close to home for me. I want everything now. Not later. Now. Could it be that under certain circumstances I'm bypassing true healing when I pop a pill instead of letting the natural remedies God has placed on this earth do their thing in their own sweet time? After all, it took years for my body to arrive at its present state of unhealthiness. Do I really think that taking a few drugs will immediately reverse decades of wrong choices?

What about my mental shortcomings or my need for a deeper understanding of God? Am I looking for quick fixes in those areas, too?

True healing--whether physical, mental, or spiritual--takes time; often lots of it. It's a journey that begins with a choice. But oh, the joy when--for the first time, perhaps--the pain is finally gone, the thoughts are crystal clear, and the presence of God is firmly felt in the life.

I need to know that. I need to know that something better is waiting for me each time I make a difficult, unpopular, or perhaps even radical choice when it comes to my physical, mental, or spiritual health. I need to know that patience is part of the healing process. When I'm forced to endure pain, uncertainty, and doubt, I can tell myself that things will get better someday. There will be a harvest. It will be worth it.

May God be with each one of us as we make those difficult choices along the way.