And He Waited: A Reflection on Patience and The Creator’s Timing

And He Waited: A Reflection on Patience and The Creator’s Timing

By Kateb Shunnar

Patience. Folks throw that word around like it’s cayenne on gumbo sprinkle a little, and suddenly life’s supposed to taste right. Truth is, patience usually feels like waitin’ on a roux to thicken smell that rich aroma, know it’ll be good, but itch to dip your spoon anyway. I done wrote about patience before, and I know I sound like a scratched record. But if I had to sum up all my words, it’d be this: Patience and trust in The Creator’s timing. Ain’t nothing else that matters much.

When I was knee-high, an elder leaned over and said, “By the time, surely, man is lost, except those who believe, do good, and lift one another up.” I didn’t get it then. I was a teenager, head full of foolishness girls, football, mischief. I nodded, pretendin’ like I understood, doodlin’ in the margins of Sunday school papers while she stared.

Now, I get it. Patience is quiet power. It ain’t flashy. It’s sittin’ on Granny’s porch on Jonquil Street, rockin’ back and forth, watchin’ cicadas hum, watchin’ the Mississippi float slow like it don’t care how fast you move, and knowin’ you don’t gotta rush. Impatience, though, rattles your chest, stirs frustration, anger, despair, makes you do foolish things faster than a streetcar late for Mardi Gras. That beast ain’t playin’.

One afternoon, legs swingin’ like a restless pup, I asked Granny, “Why I gotta wait for everything, Granny? Can’t it just happen?”

She squinted over them wire-rimmed spectacles, lips pursed like she smelled somethin’ funny. “Boy, the world don’t bend to hurry, and neither does The Creator. You rush, you stumble. You wait, you grow.” She leaned back, fanned herself slow. “And besides, if you don’t wait, you might just miss the best parts. Don’t miss your blessings by bein’ impatient and arrogant. Be still and have faith, even if you can’t see it. The same Creator that made a way last time? He’ll make a way again.”

I didn’t understand then. I thought she just wanted peace with her sweet tea. But that memory planted a seed, deep-like, that grew with time.

Patience ain’t sittin’ like a cat on the curb watchin’ cars. It’s watchin’, listenin’, trustin’. It’s lettin’ The Creator’s plan unfold without shakkin’ the branches or hollerin’ at the wind. Shake the branches, and you end up with bruised hands, empty stomach, and regret thicker than a roux on a hot skillet.

Granny woulda told this story: Jethro lived down St. Bernard Street. Jethro never waited. He wanted it now, and by God, he was gonna get it. One day, he heard of a mystical fig tree, bearin’ golden fruit once every ten years. Fruit that could heal, mend hearts, grant wisdom. Naturally, Jethro was intrigued. But bein’ Jethro, he didn’t wait. Ran, shook, even tried to bribe the wind. Nothin’. Weeks passed, still no fruit. He flopped under the tree, mutterin’, “Lawd, why you got me sittin’ here like a fool?”

Then the tree whispered not loud, but in that hush only a patient heart can hear. “Jethro,” it said, “you cannot hurry what is meant for you. The fruit will come in its time. Sit. Watch. Learn.”

He did, grudging at first. Then he noticed sunlight sparklin’ on the river, mockingbirds singin’, magnolia rain fallin’ on the street. The wait itself became a gift. Ten years later, the fruit appeared, and Jethro understood. The wait had shaped him, made him ready. The tree didn’t just give fruit; it gave him himself. That’s patience it molds, strengthens, opens eyes to blessings you’d have missed rushin’.

Impatience sneaks in like a stray cat, whisperin’, “Hurry up, boy!” Listen, and you’ll make foolish choices, break bonds, miss blessings laid just so by The Creator. I’ve done it rushed, forced, bumped into doors openin’ elsewhere. Impatience tricks you; you think you steer the ship, but you’re rockin’ the boat, missin’ stars.

These times, faith ain’t optional. Walkin’ by sight now? Dangerous. Faith ain’t for what you can touch, taste, see. Faith is for what ain’t visible yet, but promised by The Creator. Don’t lean on what’s obvious. Lean on the unseen. Be patient. Grow in your faith. Be still. Trust the same Creator who made a way before will make a way again.

Patience builds resilience. Strengthens spirit. Life ain’t just about outcomes; it’s the journey, the waiting, the little lessons whisperin’ trust in your ear. When you finally see it the wait wasn’t punishment, it was preparation you might shake your head, chuckle, whisper, “Well, I shoulda known better.”

Joy hides in patience, a quiet rhythm like jazz driftin’ down Rampart Street. Sittin’ on a hot porch, gumbo and coffee scents in the air, streetcar clang, kids laughin’, trumpet notes floatin’ waitin’ ain’t wasted. It’s livin’. Observin’. Preparin’. Every pause strengthens, calms, readies you for blessings.

Patience is spiritual fruit, growin’ unseen. It deepens your bond with The Creator, swaps anxiety for calm, frustration for understanding, restlessness for peace. We ain’t authors of the universe; we’re co-waiters, partners in sacred timing. Sometimes the wait itself is the teacher, the gift we didn’t know we needed, whisperin’ lessons only silence carries.

I’ve seen it: rush, stumble. Wait, learn. Force outcomes, invite chaos. Let life unfold, blessings arrive. Patience is work holdin’ back that jazz-thrumming impatience but the reward? Sweeter than sugar-dusted beignets, brass parades, or steamin’ gumbo.

Message: wait. Wait with hope, faith, humility, humor. Wait knowin’ The Creator’s timing is perfect. Every pause has purpose, every delay meaning, every moment a lesson, a blessing, a transformation. While you wait, live. Observe. Laugh. Listen to wind through Jonquil Street oaks. Watch the Mississippi float like it owns time ’cause it does, and so do you if you trust.

Pacin’ Treme, shakin’ your head at delay? Remember Jethro, remember Granny’s oak on Jonquil Street. The wait is the work. When the blessing comes, you’ll be ready. Strong. Grateful. Laughin’ at yourself, realizin’ The Creator let you grow first.

Patience ain’t passive. It’s power, trust, joy the gentle whisper of eternity in a world that don’t stop spinnin’. Wait with open hearts and willing spirits, and the world unfolds in ways unimaginable, orchestrated by The Creator. When that moment comes, fruit appears, blessing unfolds, you’ll understand: He waited. And He was ready.

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