I decided my thoughts on this subject could best be expressed by a brief story:

Megan glanced in the mirror. Looked like it was going to be a “bad hair day.” She grabbed her curling iron and plugged it in so it could heat up while she put on her make-up. If she hurried, she’d have time for a piece of toast.

Her make-up done and her hair the best she could do, Megan rushed to the kitchen. She popped a piece of bread in the toaster, quickly opened the fridge and took out the margarine, and reached for a jar of jam. Oh, no! She’d used up the last of the jam yesterday, and there was no more in the cupboard. Toast and margarine would have to do. While she waited for the toast to pop, she poured a small glass of orange juice.

Her hunger somewhat satisfied after hastily consuming her toast and juice, Megan threw on her coat, snatched her purse, and locked the door behind her. She would barely be able to make it to work on time. She backed out and headed down her street and onto the main road.

“Wouldn’t you know it!” she muttered. At her first right turn, an elderly woman slowly limped across the street. “Is that the best you can do, lady?” Megan mumbled under her breath impatiently. She sighed as the light turned red. Because of the old lady, she’d have to wait through the next light.

At work, things weren’t much better. She’d made it in the door just as the minute hand reached 12, but she was greeted with the news that her co-worker Julie had had to stay home with her sick child again. “I thought she said she’d try to get her mother to take care of Nicky next time he was sick!” she snapped. She took the stack of papers Julie was supposed to copy for her and went to the copy machine herself. Steve had beaten her to the machine and was making half a dozen copies. Megan drummed her fingernails on the counter while she waited.

At lunchtime Megan visited her favorite street vendor for a sandwich. “I’ll have turkey and cream cheese with cranberry sauce,” she spouted.

“Oh, I’m sorry Miss, but we don’t have any turkey today,” young Miguel responded.

“You don’t have any turkey? You only have 3 kinds of meat. How could you run out of one?”

“I . . . I’m sorry,” Miguel sputtered. “Our supplier said they were short.”

“Alright. Then just give me a ham and cheese deluxe with Dijon mustard,” Megan said in a not-so-friendly tone.

On the way home Megan stopped at the store for some jam and a couple of other items. While she waited in line, the clerk had to call for help from the supervisor. The clerk’s badge read “New Clerk in Training.” Megan rolled her eyes and tapped her heel nervously.

Once home, Megan dropped her keys on the counter and laid the bag of groceries down. Flipping on the light, she glanced at the country-style kitchen plaque with part of I Corinthians 13 that her friend Charla had bought her at a Christmas bazaar last year. The very first words were, “Love is patient.”

Suddenly Megan thought about her reactions through the day. She hadn’t been putting herself in anyone else’s place. She had only been thinking of her own inconvenience. Someday she would be an old woman, and maybe she would have a hard time crossing the street. What must it be like for a young mom to have a sick child to worry about? What would it feel like to be a brand new clerk doing your best to learn everything?

“Oh, I’m so sorry, God!” Megan blurted softly. Her eyes began to blur with tears. “Please forgive me and help me have the kind of love and patience you have.”