Love is Patient

Hello!

It's been a few months, hasn't it. =) I apologize. Recent events in my life has inspired to really analyze what love is and what it looks like. I feel as if I'm called to be a lover of people. So what does that look like?

To answer that question, I turned to the possibly cliche but quite appropriate description of love in 1 Corinthians 13.

As I am learning in my New Testament class, the most important part of engaging scripture is a CLOSE READING OF THE TEXT (haha..this is only funny if you've seen Joel B. Green's slide show).

So let us read the text closely, and supplement it with examples from my life, shall we?

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres
Here we go!

You may know that I struggle with this little heart issue (please refer to this post: ). I was afforded the blessing of having many many months of relief, for which I am very thankful. Recently, however, the little bugger started acting up again. Shame on it! Sadly, I responded to this stressor with becoming extremely stressed out. EXTREMELY. I sat squarely on my pity pot and was exceedingly discouraged. Soon, I became angry. Angry with my body, with doctors, with God, with my friends and family for asking the exact same question 28 times a day ("How are you feeeeeeeling?"). I was just plain angry. I decided that the universe hated me and I was going to return the favor by becoming Pissed Off Sarah. Sarah...with an attitude. I was going to thumb my nose at everyone and be ornery until I felt justice was served! But God, in His unconditional love, placed His very best lovers in the path of my rage and reminded me that when I'm going the craziest...love, at the very least, is patient...

(Storytime!!)

After numerous doctor's appointments with my Primary Care Physician, Cardiologist, and Emergency Care providers, my family, fiance (yes, fiance!!! that's a whole nother story about love that I will tell you later!!!), and I were beyond fed-up with having 99 questions and zero answers. So my father discovered a cardio specialist that apparently raised his friend from the dead (or something equally as impressive) and INSISTED that I see him. INSISTED. When I resisted, he decided to schedule the appointment and take me his durn self.

So on Tuesday afternoon, promptly at 3pm, my father shows up. This day is already going quite horribly. I pretty much fail an exam (that I missed classes for due to my ticker) and am looking forward to two more in just 19 short hours. I decide to hate the world and refuse to speak to anyone with more than a few short words. Instead, I glare at my computer screen and shoot dirty looks at squirrels. At about noon, this anger is started to make me feel both anxious and gassy. So I call my dear friend, Mossface, who is calm and loving. She talks me off the ledge and prays for me. So I am no longer exactly homicidal, but man am I still cranky. I decide that I am not going to be Sweet Sarah, today, but I will tell anybody who asks whatever is on my mind. I BEG the universe to say something ANYTHING to upset me. All I need is a reason to go off on somebody. Today is Tuesday, and I am going to be a brat.

So...at 3pm, I crankily stomp (quite literally) to my father's car. Fiance (!!!) meets me on my walk back to give me a bear hug. He is completely unfazed by my frostiness. He is uncharacteristically cheerful and has printed out the information I needed for my appointment. I try to unsettle him with my very best glare but...nope...falls on deaf smiles.

I flop into the car and cross my arms in defiance. Defiance to what?...I do not know. I answer all questions with no more than 3 syllables and refuse to smile. My father, who has known me for 24 years, is justifiably confused and asks me what's wrong. I lie and say nothing. And then I continue to pout.

On the way to the office, I refuse to indulge his hopefulness in this new doctor. I am unerringly pessimistic and shoot down every positive thing he says. Once in the office, I do not smile at the receptionist or nurse (if you know me, you know I'm always smiling...I smile at everyone...even when I don't want to...it's an issue, really. Imagine how many men have interpreted that smile as a flirt...very inconvenient). I fill out the form in the most awful penmanship I can muster and return it to the window. The receptionist is very kind and does not return my scowl. Instead, she gives me the brightest smile she has.

And then I sit back down and play games on my phone. I refuse to engage in any kind of polite conversation with the parent who has driven all around greater Los Angeles to take his adult daughter to a doctor's appointment that she could easily take herself to. And still, he doesn't return any of my attitude or coldness. He continues to speak warmly and lovingly to me. I deflect the warmth and love with ice.

Soon, a nurse comes to get me. She is a rather hood nurse, and I lose count of her tattoos. She smells like cigarettes and does that awful back of the throat scratchy thingy. I glare at her.

And she smiles at me. She calls me baby and mama and fumbles around to put the EKG on me. She tries to make small talk and I use my 3-syllable technique. I suppose my father has told her about my engagement, because she asks me about that. Talking about him gets a little smile out of me, BUT THAT'S ALL SHE'S GETTIN'! I promptly return to my sternness.

She does more standard tests and never loses her cheerful chitchat or kind smile. She patiently waits while I stubbornly try to condense natural human responses into 3unnatural syllables.

She hums a little as she tinkers with the machines and I try to see how hard I can squint my eyes at her. My face is starting to hurt and she's still smiling.

The doctor comes in and he asks 2 million questions and tries his very best to make me feel heard, understood, and like I am a part of the process. My father looks at me hopefully.

My response? Glare. Frost.

After he has created a plan for tests to differentially diagnose me, that nurse returns. And she is still smiling. Now I KNOW this woman could get an attitude that could CRUSH mine. I can see it in her eyes. I'm absolutely positive that she could roll her neck, put her finger in my face, and cuss me clear out until I am a little pile of tears and shame. But she never even winces!

This woman must have a smile of steel! And patience of titanium!

After enduring nearly 2 hours of my frostiness, she remains unfazed and loving. I, on the other hand, am getting quite tired. Being angry is exhausting! As the appointment wraps up, she gathers the EKG machine to leave. She stops and looks at me again,

"Have a good week, ok baby? We'll see you again soon. Dr. B is gonna get you fixed up. You take care of yourself."

WHY IS SHE STILL BEING NICE??? HOW DID MY FROST NOT WORK!?!?!??! As she smiles and hums herself out of the room of her very last patient of her very long day, every last bit of my frost melts. My face returns to its normal position, and I am astonished at how persistently patient real love is. I see love all over her as she walks away. My tantrum is no match for the Godly love in a nurse's persistent kindness.

Sometimes love looks like being patient with your patient.