I thought I was doing better with patience until a series of undesirable “coincidences” showed me otherwise. Turns out, my patience is selective.

A sequence of events, like something from an old “I Love Lucy” comedy, descended on me. Only I wasn’t laughing. I handled the first ones reasonably well—at least outwardly. But when the mishaps continued the next day, I wanted to explode.

In fact, I let off some steam in response to one of my beloved husband’s comments. The worst part—my well-placed zinger felt good. For the moment.

After more road blocks, another wasted hour, and a half pint of Chocolate Walnut Brownie Coconut ice cream, the Holy Spirit broke through.Continue Reading