I still have not seen Evan Almighty, but several friends have quoted this line:
Let me ask you something. If someone prays for patience, you think God gives them patience? Or does he give them the opportunity to be patient?
I know God to be quite generous, but sometimes not in ways I expect. Lately, He’s been giving me plenty of chances to practice patience – commuting via public transportation is a prime example. Today, He gave me a quick yet effective workout of waiting.
It was around 2:30 p.m. when my poor little stomach growled, refusing to work through the rest of the day. So I began my lunch break and set off to the café/deli in the building where I work. I stared at the menu for a couple minutes; then, I realized I had no cash and the minimum charge is $10.00 to purchase with a card. I did not want to spend $10 on lunch, so I left. I braved the cold for the whole minute it took to walk across the street to Cosi’s.
Because it was after peak lunch-time, there were fewer people working. Only one woman was working both the sandwich and salad lines, and she was assembling another patron’s salad. So I waited. She went back and forth between counters to assure me that she’d be right with me. “That’s fine,” I said, “there’s only one of you.” She emphatically agreed, and was glad that someone on the other side shared her view.
After another moment or two, she expeditiously assembled my Turkey Alfredo sandwich. Afterwards she handed me my sandwich and I walked to the nearest set of registers where I’m asked to go to the register just ahead. I wondered why she didn’t just ring me up herself, but I went nonetheless. The same patron who took her time deciding how to compose her salad was also at this register, but this time, her friend was deliberating on a choice of beverage.
She ordered a smoothie and the woman who was a split second ago ready to ring me up began making the smoothe instead. Meanwhile, the lady who directed me to the now abandoned register was ringing up the patron who had been waiting behind me. Her coworkerwas laughing and chatting next to her, ringing up a different patron.
And here I was, stranded, with sandwich in hand. By now, half of it should have been in my mouth, the other half in my stomach, making its way toward the rest of my gastrointestinal tract. I wondered why I was left waiting – is it ‘cause I’m Asian? Am I so little that this employee couldn’t see me beyond the register? Did I have “pushover” stamped in scarlet on my forehead?
My train of thought then traveled a different track: Who’s the manager? Why am I still standing here instead of eating? Why do the patrons behind me get to eat already, while I’m left behind? How should I tell off the employees for making me wait? How severely should I threaten to punish them – personal boycott or tell everyone I know not to patronize this Cosi anymore?
I never uttered these thoughts out loud; I really wanted to, but I didn’t. Once I decided to let it go and just continue waiting, one of the patrons in front of me asked, “What’s going on?”
It took me a second to realize she was talking to me.
“Are you still waiting?”
I shrug clumsily and mumble, “Uh, she told me to come over here, but I don’t know why.”
Her friend shook her head and said something along the lines of “Mm mm, I would not have that.”
Then she flags down the culprit.
“Excuse me,” she beckons. Pointing to me, she says, “she’s been waiting all this time.” The lady looks to her co-worker who’s been busy by the blender and asks, “You didn’t ring her up?”
The answer was obvious (NO), but I refrain from pointing it out. The lady apologized and began to bag my sandwich. “Will that be all?” I request a tray, explaining I’ll be dining in instead of carrying out. She went to retrieve a tray and when she returned, I asked for a complimentary cup.
Most Cosi locations put out a pitcher of water; but this location decided not to “’cause we’re cheap,” she admitted freely, as though the decision wasn’t hers to make. “Do you want a cup,” she asks, holding up a non-complimentary one, even though she already filled one with water, and even before the words, “No, it’s okay” leave my mouth, she fills the cup I’d have to pay for with ice, then water.
Oh, well that’s pretty generous, I thought. Then I took out my wallet, with trusty Cosi’s reward card hanging on its keyring, pulled out my credit card, poised (finally!) to pay for my sandwich when she said:
“It’s on me.”
“. . .”
Half a minute had elapsed when I asked incredulously, “Really?”
“You waited long enough; it’s on the house.”
Another pause. I grabbed a fork and some napkins and thanked her. She said “You’re welcome,” and told me to enjoy the rest of the day. I wandered to a table where at last, I got to sink my teeth into my sandwich.
I’m convinced the wait made it taste better.
Now, I could do a cost benefit analysis of the time I lost waiting versus the money I saved because I waited. But I’ve been filling the time spent waiting (without the comforts of an iPod, too!) with thinking and prayer. The waiting also created space in me to share grace with and receive grace from others.
And if this short exercise in patience built up my character just that much more and scored me a free lunch. . . how much more will God grow me and how many greater blessings does He wait to shower on me throughout a lifetime of practicing patience?
