I prepare a special yogurt concoction for Andrew—a mix of Greek yogurt, homemade date paste, coconut, honey, and chia seeds. It’s the second time I’m making it. The first time, Andrew devoured it. Let me tell you, it is pretty good. I’m not a chef or a snack connoisseur, but I bet it would be just as delightful for an adult palate. The blend of sweetness and tang, with the soft dates and the crunch of shredded coconut, creates a balanced texture. But don’t ask for a recipe, because it’s one of those “Pantry Specials.”
Andrew, who’s just about to hit the wonderfully curious age of 1.5 years, wiggles and giggles, stomping his foot in his usual unmistakable demeanor whenever something excites him. He becomes extra talkative, wrinkling his nose as he chortles. It’s an expression I want to keep in my heart forever. Standing on his “kitchen tower,” he perches on his little toes to get a better view of the creation in progress as I stir and incorporate all the ingredients into one bowl of goodness.
But shortly, Andrew decides it’s time for instant gratification. He starts a crescendo of expressive bursts, a toddler-mode scream that serves as both a plea and a demand. It’s his way of saying, “Notice me, and by the way, I’d like that yogurt right now!”
In response, I adopt my parental tone—calm and steady—repeating, “Patience, patience. Good stuff happens to those who wait.” I hope that maybe, just maybe, through sheer repetition, these virtues will begin to take root in his young mind.
But let’s be honest—expecting patience from a toddler is like waiting for a snowfall in Texas in July. Patience is an elusive concept, too abstract for a toddler who still mixes up red and blue. So, the demand just gets louder and louder.
I continue my unchanging script of reassurance, promising him that his yogurt is almost ready and will soon be all his to enjoy. Amidst my words and his cries, a thought strikes me—clear and humbling.
I am, in many ways, just like Andrew when it comes to my conversations with God.
How often do I find myself rushing into prayers with demands, tapping my metaphorical foot, convinced that the best time for my desires is always now? It’s as if the urgency of my requests could somehow speed up God’s perfect timing. I realize that in those moments of spiritual impatience, I too, am like a child, unable to see the bigger picture.
What does God do as I throw my little fits, impatient for answers or outcomes? He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t yield to my immature timelines. Instead, He carefully continues to mix the ingredients of my life, ensuring each part is exactly as it should be. He takes His time, knowing that when everything in my life is finally ready, it will result in something far more delightful than anything I could have whipped together on my own.
This realization is both convicting and comforting. I am reminded once again that patience isn’t just a virtue taught to keep toddlers from tantrums. It’s a spiritual discipline, a reminder that often, the best things take time to develop. Our lives, like Andrew’s yogurt, require a careful blend of ingredients—some sweet, some tangy, some complex—and each one needs the right amount of time to unfold.
As I hand Andrew his finished treat, watching his face light up with joy and satisfaction, I feel a gentle nudge in my own heart. God is at work, even when things seem delayed. He’s crafting something beautiful, something complete. It’s a truth I have to remind myself of repeatedly, especially when I start feeling like Andrew in the kitchen—impatient, eager, unable to see beyond what’s right in front of me.
In the meantime, while Andrew learns the basics of colors, perhaps I can get a little better at trusting the divine timing of the One who’s not just mixing ingredients but who sees the full recipe of life. More patience, less whining, with a joyful anticipation of what’s to come, knowing that the wait makes it all the more worth savoring.
Now, I just need to make sure I’ve got enough ingredients for that extra batch of yogurt; something tells me I might need a reminder of this lesson again soon.
