And of course, a late frost came and killed half of them. My father just shook his head—he'd warned me, but I thought I knew better. That's pride, isn't it? Thinking we can bend nature to our will instead of working within its rhythms.

I see the same impatience everywhere now. People want results immediately. They plant seeds and expect harvest the next day. They pray once and wonder why God hasn't answered. They work for a month and expect a lifetime of rewards. But the fields don't work that way. You plant in spring, you tend all summer, and you harvest in fall. You cannot skip steps. You cannot force growth.

My grandmother used to say that patience is faith in action. When you plant a seed, you have faith it will grow even though you cannot see anything happening beneath the soil. You water it, you wait, you trust. That's what life requires of us—trust in the process, even when we see no immediate proof.

I watch young people around me rushing through life, frustrated when things don't happen on their timeline. They change jobs every few months, move from place to place, always seeking instant satisfaction. But depth takes time. Roots take time. Anything worth having requires seasons of waiting.