Are We There Yet?

The rides from Detroit down South didn’t seem long to me as a child. Five of us would be in the back seat of our Cousin John’s Cadillac. We were small and the car was big. One of us would get to sit in the middle up front with Cousin John and Mom. We wouldn’t stop for food, only for gas and the restroom. Mom would pack plenty of food, including the brown bag of fried chicken. We always left at night, well before dawn, and would still be headed South as the sun headed West. I remember enjoying the scenery between naps, food, and conversations with my sisters about what we would do at the farm through the summer. I don’t recall any of us being in a hurry.

It seems the older we get, the more challenging it is to stay in the moment—to embrace the now. I think this is one of the consequences of gaining more knowledge and information. Focusing on one thing at a time becomes rare and we find ourselves everywhere but the present, to the detriment of the process, the journey, the moment.

We set goals, envision the future, and look ahead—as well we should. But how do we balance looking ahead, and sometimes looking back, with the present moment, which makes up the present hour, which makes up the present day, week, month…? How far ahead can one go and still remain in the present moment?

As I write this, it is about 6:30 AM and I am sitting at my writing desk with my laptop. My focus is on the words coming from my heart and head and flowing onto the page. Because of my eyesight, I am watching each word appear on the black background as I hit the keys. The words before each new word fade, forcing me to focus on one word at a time. I know that after this, I will get on my exercise bike and then go downstairs to make breakfast before starting my workday. But for now, I bring myself back to the page and let everything else fade into the background.

What’s my THERE in this moment, this hour, this day—and where will I go from THERE? There are many there’s, but only one here and now, it seems. I think it’s where patience is developed.

Trust over time equals patience.

That’s the equation I see on the chalkboard of life. It looks simple, but it is anything but.

There are so many factors and questions within that equation. Being okay with the questions—the paradox—is all part of the learning, the building, the working of patience.

“Let patience have her perfect work, that you may be perfect and entire, lacking nothing.”

“In your patience possess ye your soul.”

“But ye have need of patience, that, after ye have done the will of God, ye might receive the promise.”

It seems that the patience the Bible mentions in these verses is not merely the ability to wait in line or to not yell at the person who cuts you off in traffic. The patience that perfects—and is the key to possessing your soul—is, I believe, divinely curated and customized for each of us.

As a child I don’t recall asking, “Are we there yet?” so much as enjoying the ride while knowing that we would get there. Although I didn’t know when, I was sure of the destination. I trusted that Cousin John would get us there because I had experienced it before, erasing any question of whether we would again be greeting Mom Henrietta and Uncle Bush, running barefoot outside, eating directly from gardens and trees, and exploring. Neither was there any question of his ability to get us there again.

Trust.

As I reflect on similar experiences of my own, the good that came from them, and the testimonies of others that encourage my soul, I know that I will get there.

I see it in nature, when we mark Spring and Fall as seasons when they are transition points to the actual seasons of Summer and Winter. Fall is my favorite, and I find myself wanting Winter to hurry along to Spring. I then find myself anticipating Summer. We find ourselves asking nature, Are we there yet? at different points along the way. And the seasons always change, teaching us the rhythm of patience.

I don’t feel qualified to write about patience, but over the years, I have learned that it is a grace—a display of God’s great mercy, a fruit of the Spirit. Patience is one of those valuable traits, those treasures that have been highlighted and shown to us, but that we don’t have the innate ability to achieve or reach. That’s where grace comes in. God’s grace works in us to have the desire and the will for patience, and the ability to practice and to embrace it. Patience then works in us to mature us, perfect us.

I have come to realize that I don’t know what I don’t know, but I know that I don’t know a lot. There are truths that we are not ready for. It’s like trying to do math without first knowing how to count.

It seems that we must wait to learn how to exercise patience. The waiting itself is not the patience. One can wait while being impatient.

For me—now, in this space—I am growing in my understanding of the spiritual while waiting for my healing in the natural. My ability to wait with patience still comes with great anticipation and hope. I can only say that I am patient because of the grace of God that is upon me for it.

I trust God because of that grace and because I have experienced and lived in it as long as I can remember. I have been through here before and experienced healing and the working of all of it together for my good.

The time that it is taking is somehow working to my benefit as well.

I trust that I will always get there. Maybe not at the time that I want or thought should be, and never without some bumps or questions along the way, but like our travels South, we arrived, and I will, too. As a child, I didn’t need to know the directions; I just needed to trust who was driving. That same trust is what steadies me now. I may not know exactly when or how, but I know I will get there. And in the meantime, I am learning again and again that the ride itself is sacred. That the not yet can be holy ground. That here, too, is a place worth being.

Author: Delphia Simmons

Delphia Simmons, Founder of Thrive Detroit, dedicated to amplifying voices and fostering community through storytelling.