The Quiet Work of Patience

The currents of life will not be halted by our impatience

There’s a line I came across once — I can’t remember where — but it has stayed with me l: the currents of life will not be halted by our impatience.

Everything, from the simplest seed to the most extraordinary transformation, follows a process. Even the things that look quick, effortless, or “overnight” have a hidden architecture beneath them. Something was forming, stretching, aligning long before we ever saw the result.

Yet impatience convinces us otherwise.

It crowds out sane judgment.

It stirs anxiety.

It throws us into a panic — sometimes quietly, sometimes dramatically — but always with the same effect: we lose our center.

The truth is, developing patience is a skill. A discipline. A practice. And like all practices, it asks something of us.

Patience is not just waiting.

It’s how you wait.

It’s what you do in the meantime.

It’s the posture of your spirit while the thing you desire is still becoming.

To wait well requires faith.

Trust.

Belief.

A willingness to loosen your grip on the outcome and hold steady to the process instead.

Iyanla Vanzant once joked that if you want to develop patience, go to an office where you have to stand in line for hours, where your sighs and complaints fall into the void because no one is paying you any mind. Torturous, yes — but her point is sharp. There are moments in life where waiting is non-negotiable. No amount of fussing, spiraling, or strategizing will move the line faster. The only thing you can shift is yourself.

And maybe that’s the real invitation.

Because life will hand us these “line moments” — seasons where the only option is to stand, breathe, and trust that movement is happening even when we can’t see it. Seasons where the work is internal, not external. Seasons where our impatience is actually the thing slowing us down.

So we put in the work.

We say the prayer.

We take the aligned action.

And then we practice the hardest part: believing that the outcome is assured, even if it arrives in a form we didn’t expect.

Because here’s the twist — the outcome often looks nothing like what we imagined. Many times, it’s better. But our desire to control the “how” blinds us to the beauty of the “what.”

Patience clears that fog.

It opens our eyes.

It softens our grip.

It lets life meet us in ways we couldn’t have scripted.

So if you’re in a waiting season, consider this your gentle reminder: the currents of life are moving. You don’t have to force them. You don’t have to panic. You don’t have to sprint ahead of your own becoming.

Just stay present.

Stay rooted.

Stay open.

The process is working — even when you can’t see it.

Peace and Blessings