Learning Patience

I haven't written on this blog in awhile. Partially because it's summer and the "WangenSchool" is officially closed. But also because I felt the need to learn, to listen, to absorb. With all of the racially charged events happening in Minnesota, and the mass education movement that has ensued, it felt a bit trivial to continue to blog my quarantine woes and observations. But for me I've found that writing is breathing...

I read a while ago that taking children to church from a young age is not only a great faith-inspirer, but it teaches them the art of patience. Excellent!, I thought, thinking of those long catholic masses transforming my wiggly squirrels into Benedictine monks able to ruminate thoughtfully on the genius of the gospel. 

Fast forward to a low moment last Ash Wednesday where the packed congregation watched me crawl awkwardly in heels over a row of kneeling elementary kids to grab my four-year-old en route to take over the homily. 

And between embarrassment and quarantine, he hasn't been back to church since. Needless to say, I've been desperate for opportunities from him to learn and build patience. This is a child that can ask for a snack, then cry that I'm not helping him find a toy, having literally forgotten that I am retrieving those precious requested goldfish crackers. The patience need was dire. 

So the last few months he's been asking to go fishing. He loved it last summer until Lightning McFishing pole lost its line and momentum. Two weeks ago, a kind family friend restrung the line and we were back in business. Last Friday on the way up to the cabin, we picked up a couple new lures and a container of worms at the St. Croix Falls Speedway station. I hadn't even brought in the cooler before he bolted down the dock begging for a worm on his hook. (Insert patience lesson here). 

After unpacking I made my way to the dock and twisted a juicy nightcrawler on his hook. He cast out from the dock, paused a second and reeled in to try his cast again. After repeating that process a few times he realized he ran the risk of losing his worm from all the vigorous casting practice. I snuggled next to him on the splintered dock boards and brushed my hair from my eyes and breathed deep. It was a beautiful day and the sun sparkled on the afternoon water, the wind softly arranging his hair from his forehead. I pointed to his bobber, and whispered, "Now watch." I could tell he wanted badly to crank the reel in, so I smiled at him and took another deep breath. This time he did it with me. Moments later, the small red and white bobber lurched underwater and I watched Auggie's green eyes grow wide. He was so proud to pull in a small sunny by himself and jumped up and down while I slid the hook out and released it. 

The next half hour I watched him cast and wait, because he knew if he did, he could catch another fish. We sat on the dock in calm bliss until Charly and her friend joyfully jumped in, and the lure of swimming overcame my tiny angler. Despite some angry, frustrated afternoons, I'm excited to see his new hobby take off. The power of a lake breeze, an old dock, and a bobber floating in the waves, might just teach us some needed patience after all. 

Hopefully soon we'll be back at mass as a family, learning patience there too. Will I still have to crawl awkwardly across a pew of kneeling children? Without a doubt.