Lessons from Sam #6: The best way to learn patience is to wait.

When I was 11 years old, a high school cross country runner approached me to see if I wanted to join a small, after-school running club. Encouraged by her invitation, especially since she was a ‘cool’ high schooler, I agreed. Since that memorable day in 1989, I’ve been running. I joined our XC team as a 7^th grader and ran all the way through my senior year.

The idea behind racing is, well, to go fast. To set a new PR (personal record). To get out ahead of other runners or pass as many as you can along the way. To earn a medal or a team trophy. I was serious about my training, elated when my race times reflected my hard work and disappointed when they did not. I never entered a competitive event with the intent to run slowly and enjoy the scenery. I don’t know any dedicated runner with that mentality.

 

 

For years beyond my blue cap & gown, I lived like my high school running days: always in a hurry, always pushing harder to get ahead, and making little time to slow down, to rest, to savor the beauty around me. There was too much work to be done, too many experiences to cram into the hours. I had finish lines that looked more like credits to complete, projects to finish, programs to lead, jobs to land, adventures to take. I ran full throttle, afraid to decelerate and miss an opportunity.

At the end of my twenties, my firstborn daughter arrived and less than two years later, my firstborn son. Motherhood brought a different tempo but I still had this need to accomplish–to prove my competency. I moved through my planned days with speed and efficiency, wanting my kids to set records in the following events: potty training, talking, reading, art, and writing. And yes, I was still lacing up my running shoes.

Then, something shifted in our home & in my heart in the fall of 2012, when our family began to seriously consider adopting a child with Down syndrome.

 

 

Nearly two years after those prayers and dreams began, our beautiful Sam was born. His adoption and hospitalization forced me to slow down, to wait. I was powerless to speed up the legal process. Unlike running, I couldn’t train harder to improve my time so Sam could be discharged. More sprint work couldn’t rush his body to heal from surgery. I couldn’t force a judge’s hand to sign the papers more quickly. This was expert-level waiting and I was an amateur.

 

 

After a month out of state, we brought home our sweet boy, who continues to grow and develop on his own time. His slower pace is an unexpected gift to his overachieving mom consumed with the proverbial finish line.

One might think this new way of being would frustrate the bejesus out of me but I’m grateful for the opportunities to wait, to relish each day with Sam. Instead of rushing from one milestone to the next, trying to do more and be more, proving and pushing ahead to appease my need to excel, I’m learning to treasure these unhurried days of books & walks, puzzles & paints. Sam is showing me a healthier, more meaningful way.

 

 

In the past 3 years, I’ve waited for Sam to heal, for the hospital to discharge him, for legal papers to be signed, for his adoption to be finalized, for clearance from his specialists, for lab work, for procedures to be scheduled, for therapies to be arranged, for doctors to return my phone calls, and now, for the results of his recent sleep study.

Running & racing taught me how to move more efficiently, how to increase my speed, how to improve my time, and how to pass my opponent. Those lessons certainly have value but the arrival of my baby boy with an extra chromosome has taught me a lesson that has nothing to do with speed or efficiency. He has altered my pace and expectations. He has shifted my perspective from a deep need to prove to a deeper need to rest and receive the gifts that God has given to me. Sam is teaching me that the best (and often only) way to learn patience is to wait—for milestones to be met, for answers from doctors, and for learning to take root as he matures.

I still wear my running shoes. I still race, though with less intensity & greater enjoyment these days. My steps are slower with Sam but the joy within me as I get to watch him learn & grow means more to me than any personal record or medal.