Practice

I am letting go of my temper a bit while making tacos, nursing an inattentive (but hungry) infant, correcting children, trying to ignore the building noise and hyperactivity... the dinner hour at our house seems far from peaceful.
"Lord... You're going to have to make me more patient!" My prayer hisses out through clenched teeth.
Realization.
This is supposed to make me more patient.
I will probably face more trying circumstances than these.
If the supper rush around our home makes me lose control how can I expect to handle real difficulty?

I'm practicing patience.
Practicing.
Practice makes perfect, it doesn't mean that it already is perfect.


When I'm perfect at patience, I won't have to practice it... I'll just be patient.
And probably dead.