Forbearance
I know some people who, each January, come up with a word for their upcoming year. The word is meant to connote a goal or a focus. These words are usually things like, "Shine," "Gratitude," "Adventure," or "Rest."
I've never done the word of the year as a cognitive practice, but last December a word kept coming up in books, articles, prayers, and in my heart--forbearance. It's not a frilly word. It doesn't connote a year of parties or road trips or hygge. I didn't make a Pinterest board or an Instagram post dedicated to forbearance. After all, what would it look like? This?
Forbearance is defined as patient self-control; restraint and tolerance. But it brings up a deeper feeling in me. It feels like purposed restraint in the midst of circumstances we cannot control. Like self-control that pushes us all towards something. It connotes care and kindness for others instead of a seething resentment or a burning bitterness.
This year was full of unpredictable things, as all years are. Full of opportunities for me to practice forbearance. For me to hold my tongue, to consider the fact that I could be wrong, to give others the benefit of the doubt. I failed many, many times over. But these questions were more present in my mind than in years past.
This doesn't sound like a particularly fun virtue to practice. I'm reminded of a time in college when my roommate and I were baking a cake for a church potluck. We were using her recipe for "Better-Than-Sex Cake." We thought that was too risque to put on the sign up sheet, so we thought up a new name: "Better-Than-Long-Suffering Cake." We doused the chocolate cake with caramel and sweetened condensed milk and laughed at our own cleverness.
I guess we could have called that cake, "Better-Than-Forbearance." Because it feels like suffering most of the time. And most of the time I would rather eat cake. But when I think about the purpose of it--to practice humility, to listen, to put others first--what could be better than that? Our purposed restraint could actually bear one another forward on this road of life, towards better things. Paving the way for someone to encounter clear character and vulnerability. And we ourselves are doubtless to be changed in the process. Doubtless we too, will be born forward.
Will I choose unity over my own rights? Will I be slow to defend myself and instead consider a different perspective? Will I trust that God, in his mercy, is good to us all--even when he doesn't do things the way I see fit?
I've never done the word of the year as a cognitive practice, but last December a word kept coming up in books, articles, prayers, and in my heart--forbearance. It's not a frilly word. It doesn't connote a year of parties or road trips or hygge. I didn't make a Pinterest board or an Instagram post dedicated to forbearance. After all, what would it look like? This?
Forbearance is defined as patient self-control; restraint and tolerance. But it brings up a deeper feeling in me. It feels like purposed restraint in the midst of circumstances we cannot control. Like self-control that pushes us all towards something. It connotes care and kindness for others instead of a seething resentment or a burning bitterness.
This year was full of unpredictable things, as all years are. Full of opportunities for me to practice forbearance. For me to hold my tongue, to consider the fact that I could be wrong, to give others the benefit of the doubt. I failed many, many times over. But these questions were more present in my mind than in years past.
This doesn't sound like a particularly fun virtue to practice. I'm reminded of a time in college when my roommate and I were baking a cake for a church potluck. We were using her recipe for "Better-Than-Sex Cake." We thought that was too risque to put on the sign up sheet, so we thought up a new name: "Better-Than-Long-Suffering Cake." We doused the chocolate cake with caramel and sweetened condensed milk and laughed at our own cleverness.
I guess we could have called that cake, "Better-Than-Forbearance." Because it feels like suffering most of the time. And most of the time I would rather eat cake. But when I think about the purpose of it--to practice humility, to listen, to put others first--what could be better than that? Our purposed restraint could actually bear one another forward on this road of life, towards better things. Paving the way for someone to encounter clear character and vulnerability. And we ourselves are doubtless to be changed in the process. Doubtless we too, will be born forward.
Will I choose unity over my own rights? Will I be slow to defend myself and instead consider a different perspective? Will I trust that God, in his mercy, is good to us all--even when he doesn't do things the way I see fit?
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