Patience is not passive

I'm not the most patient person on the planet. I'm not proud of that. But it's really true. And as much as I try to do otherwise, I'm also not great at staying in the moment. I keep trying, though.

So when I came across this quote from the late Henri Nouwen, Dutch theologian and writer, I wrote it out and kept it on my mirror:

"Patience is not waiting passively until someone else does something. Patience asks us to live the moment to the fullest, to be completely present to the moment, to taste the here and now, to be where we are. When we are impatient, we try to get away from where we are. We behave as if the real thing will happen tomorrow, later, and somewhere else. Let's be patient and trust that the treasure we look for is hidden in the ground on which we stand."

Isn't that wonderful? ..."trust that the treasure we look for is hidden in the ground on which we stand." I like that.

Uncomfortable? Own it.

This quote from TV's Mr. Rogers just nails it, I think: "People have said, 'Don’t cry' to other people for years and years, and all it has ever meant is, 'I’m too uncomfortable when you show your feelings. Don’t cry.' I’d rather have them say, 'Go ahead and cry. I’m here to be with you.'"

It's so easy to project our feelings onto other people, whether it be discomfort or whether it be the arrogance of thinking that what's good for us will definitely be good for everyone else.

Ever had someone say to you that you absolutely must go to this or that doctor or try this or that experience because it was great for them and they think everyone would benefit just as they did? I'm sure it's all well-intentioned. But I think that what works for me may not necessarily work for someone else. And vice versa. We are unique in our tastes and in how we respond to things, too.

And when it comes to showing our emotions, we definitely are unique. I remember when my father was dying in a hospice facility. One of the caregivers urged our family members to be gentle and patient with one another because, as she said, each one of us would experience his dying differently. She was so right. So it's always a good idea to check what's really going on for us before making a remark such as, "Don't cry." Is it our discomfort? When someone is crying or showing any type of emotion, the important thing is to be present to them. Be there for that person. Affirm. Validate. Support.

The importance of connecting

Sometimes we take our loved ones so for granted. We may live side by side but never deeply connect. It's so easy to do because we're all so busy.

I remember when my youngest son told me after his father and I had divorced that it really changed how he experienced his time with me. "Before when we were together, I wasn't completely aware of you. We each did our own thing—our work or play. But now when we're together, we're really together, Mom. And I really pay attention to you," he told me.

I'll never forget that. Pretty good insight for a young boy (he was only 12 at the time!), I thought. I still think of it often today—when I reflect on my time with family and friends. Am I only half there? Or am I all there and present? It's so easy to be preoccupied with other things, isn't it? And then we miss precious opportunities for connecting.

Pay attention today to how present you are with others. Really try to be there. Try to really listen, to really savor the moments, to really appreciate the other. You'll be so glad you did. Your moments will be even more precious than ever.

Be present to your life

During my years as a magazine journalist when I took global trips to remote parts of the world to gather stories, I had to be both the writer and the photographer. I conducted the interviews, wrote up the notes and also had to stop and take the photos. Sometimes it felt as though I saw way too much through a camera lens rather than with the naked eye. I was so busy with my notebook and my camera that I couldn't even soak up the amazing people, places and experiences—places to which I'll likely never return.

So when I went on my own travels, I sometimes took very few or no photos. I just wanted to experience the trip. I wanted to do more than just document the event or experience.

I've heard it said that today, with our cell phones functioning as cameras and always with us, we have become so obsessive about documenting our lives (and then posting them on one or more social media sites) that we don't truly even have the experiences. It's as though we aren't even present for our lives. We're so busy looking in from the outside and then sharing that snapshot with others.

Does that resonate with you? I confess I've done plenty of that myself. I want to become more aware of that, however, and try to be more present to my life and to those who people it. I tell myself: Be awake and aware, Sonia. Be present to your life.

Presence—it's powerful

There is such a power in presence, isn't there? I'm sure we've all gone through periods of loneliness, great fear or sadness—and all we needed was someone just to be there for us and with us. Most likely, that other person didn't have the power to change our circumstances. But it made an enormous difference to us to just have that person's presence.

It's good to remember that when others we know and love are going through tough times and challenging situations. We don't have to have answers. We probably can't fix the situation. We don't necessarily need words of wisdom. But we can show up! We can sit beside them. We can listen. We can hug. We can hold their hands. We can give them a backrub or foot massage. We can simply be.

I remember when I got the phone call saying my father (after 11 years of fighting cancer and it had now gone to his brain) had suffered a seizure and was being put into hospice. While my youngest son was on his way driving to my home so we could leave for Iowa to be with Dad, my dear friends came over to sit with me. They held me as I cried. They listened to my fears—and to my stories about Dad. They stayed with me until my son arrived. I will never forget that. The power of presence. It didn't change the situation. It changed me. I felt more able to face whatever was ahead. I felt surrounded and held by love.

Treasures—right where we are

How often lately have you heard the admonition, "Be here now" or "Live in the moment"? It's good advice, really. And not always easy to do.

I really like what writer and now-deceased Roman Catholic priest Henri J.M. Nouwen said about patience and being present to the moment:

"Patience is not waiting passively until someone else does something. Patience asks us to live the moment to the fullest, to be completely present to the moment, to taste the here and now, to be where we are. When we are impatient, we try to get away from where we are. We behave as if the real thing will happen tomorrow, later, and somewhere else. Let's be patient and trust that the treasure we look for is hidden in the ground on which we stand."

OK, if you're like me, you'll need to read that again. And perhaps yet again—to really get the depth and breadth of what Nouwen was saying. I'm as guilty as anyone of being impatient, of wanting to move beyond the present moment into one that I am just sure holds the "good stuff." But what if it's as Nouwen says and "the treasure we look for is hidden in the ground on which we stand" right now?

It's difficult, but not impossible, to live in a different way than our usual "get this done and move on to the next thing" style. I am going to keep trying to live more in the moment—and to do so more fully. I think it'll be worth the effort, don't you?

The power of presence

I will always remember the scene even though it occurred more than 40 years ago. My sister's young husband had just been killed in a car accident. I was preparing to pack up our youngest son, an infant, and drive up to be with my sister. My husband and two older sons would follow later.

My heart was breaking for my sister and my young nephew. The doorbell rang. When I opened the door, a friend from our congregation simply enfolded me in her arms and said, "I'm so, so sorry." It was just what I needed at the moment: a long, strong hug. No pious platitudes. Simply a loving, caring presence. I didn't need answers. There simply weren't any. I didn't want to hear any easy, simple phrases about why this happened or what good might come from it. This was tragic and sad,  and no words were going to make it right.

Sometimes all you and I need to do in similar situations is just be a presence. A loving, caring, silent presence. We don't need to have answers. We don't need to find just the right words. Just show up. Just hug or hold. Just bring a hot dish—or provide a service that's needed but getting lost in the unfolding situation. Just your presence. That's powerful enough.