"One went to the door of the Beloved and knocked.
A voice asked, 'Who is there?'
He answered, 'It is I.'
The voice said, 'There is no room for Me and Thee.'
The door was shut.
After a year of solitude and deprivation he returned and knocked.
A voice from within asked, 'Who is there?'
The man said, 'It is Thee.'
The door was opened for him."
-- Jelaluddin Rumi
The poet Rumi apparently doesn't mind waiting.
For a year.
I, on the other hand, am not quite so wise.
I've been wondering why the printer hasn't come up with an estimate on my project after three weeks of waiting. I called yesterday ready to go pick up my things from them and find another company with a little more zip and an interest in the printing business.
The co-owner wife of the shop came to the phone and was all apology, "My husband, who was just putting your estimate together after going over those last details with you last week, was in a freak accident. A tree fell on him and he hasn't able to move until yesterday. I knew I should call you, but I've also needed to care for him."
I think I can wait some more. And be thankful for all the moving I've been able to do for the past seven days. Walking through the kitchen. Racing my children at swim team. Running in the park. Shopping for groceries. Strolling through my garden picking flowers and fruit.
My impatience does not become me. Everyday is a gift.
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