How to Wait Well: Mom’s 3 Minute Rule

by Marilynn Chadwick

Don't worry about anything. Instead, pray about everything (Philippians 4:6 NLT).

How many times on any given day are you tempted to lose your patience? If you're like me, the answer is plenty. Next time a petty problem causes you to unravel, I challenge you to pause. Try to wait for three minutes before you allow yourself to become anxious. Time yourself, if necessary, but stay calm. Just for three minutes. Then see what happens. I'm amazed at how many of life's little whirlwinds clear up in three minutes! My kids used to call this "Mom's three-minute rule."

It's the minor irritations that quickly steal our joy. It's the "little foxes," marriage counselors will tell you, that nibble away at our marriages. And it's the trifling annoyances that rob our daily calm.

What if we stood up to the enemy and said, "No! I will not surrender my peace of mind." I may not be able to keep my cool forever, but surely, I can wait for three minutes! Especially if I remember to turn the matter over to God through prayer. "Cast all your anxieties on him because he cares for you," we're reminded in 1 Peter 5:7.

But casting your anxieties, I've learned, takes a bit of spiritual muscle. Daily life gives me plenty of chances to practice. That incredibly long line at the register. The traffic light that takes forever to change when I am already late for an appointment. Lost keys. Or my irresistible urge to snap at my husband or kids. Could I wait just three minutes before I react? And breathe a quick prayer for God's peace? So much the better.

Those we love are watching to see how we navigate life's inevitable anxieties. I was reminded of this many years ago when driving one of our children across town to a birthday party. We were running late. Of course I hit every stop light. Then, just as things were looking up, I got stuck at a railroad crossing. I was exasperated by this ridiculously long train. My impatience showed. "Hey mom," quipped my son. "What happened to your three-minute rule?" I stopped. Took a deep breath and said, "OK, let's time this train, (Mr. Smarty Pants)." So, we did. And you know what? The train took forever, or so it seemed. But just as the caboose whooshed by, the three-minute mark passed on my dashboard clock. Exactly. Three minutes. To the second.

Next time you feel your blood boil, take a deep breath. Think. Pray. Respond, don't react. And wait three minutes. Guard your heart...and your peace. And save all that energy for the really big battles in life.

How to Wait Well: Daily Disciplines Strengthen Hope

by Marilynn Chadwick

While waiting for answers to my prayers for a baby, I found that simple daily disciplines were somehow connected to hope. Small habits often lead to big dreams. And big dreams can have a wider reach than we can possibly imagine.

Navy Admiral and former SEAL William H. McRaven challenged graduates at the University of Texas to realize how simple, daily habits can have world changing impact.

“Changing the world can happen anywhere and anyone can do it,” he said. “But change starts with small actions. Every morning, we were required to make our bed to perfection. It seemed a little ridiculous at the time, particularly in light of the fact that we were aspiring to be real warriors, tough battle-hardened SEALS—but the wisdom of this simple act has been proven to me many times over.

If you make your bed every morning you will have accomplished the first task of the day. It will give you a small sense of pride and it will encourage you to do another task and another and another. By the end of the day, that one task completed will have turned into many tasks completed. Making your bed will also reinforce the fact that little things in life matter.” His advice to the graduates? “If you want to change the world, start off by making your bed.”

During my years of infertility, I grappled with the long time spent “waiting.” I wonder how I would have responded if I could have fast-forwarded my life’s video for a glimpse of my three wonderful now-grown children? And ten grandchildren.

If I had known the outcome in advance, I might never have learned to draw meaning from the ordinary moments along the way. And I might have missed the life lessons and little habits I learned during my season of waiting.

Today, I have practically forgotten the pain of wondering if I’d ever be a mom. I walk around every day like these amazing miracles are, well, ordinary. And in his kindness, I think this is just how God intended it. The miracles are awesome, wonderful, corroborated by medical science. But they seem comfortable.

The daily adventure of taking my worries to God and watching for the answers has given a touch of wonder to my days. Ordinary? Yes, but with a bit of bling. I’ve come to believe seasons of waiting are not wasted. These and other lessons are still part of my days even now. I wait differently because I really do believe in miracles.

“Wait training” has taught me that hope counts. Faith works, and with love, anything is possible. Miracles are for real. And I really do believe I can change the world. But first, I think I’ll go make up my bed.

How to Wait Well: Don't Try This Alone

by Marilynn Chadwick

During my hardest days of waiting for a baby, there were certain friends who breathed fresh faith into my soul just when I wanted to quit. It’s humbling to realize how much you depend on others. I’ve never liked being the needy one, much preferring to be the rock that others lean on.

A Marine friend is one of those strong types. He saw lots of combat duty in Iraq and shared a lesson I’ll never forget. “When danger hits,” he explained, “I’m trained to run toward the danger. But my second response is to look around for my men.” “So that you can protect them?” I asked. “No,” he said firmly. “I look around for my men because I know I cannot do this mission by myself.”

Suffering humbled me. And so I let myself lean on and even into the strength of friends. They listened, cried, prayed, and waited with hope, daring to believe with me that God was greater than my prognosis. I knew I couldn’t do this by myself.

Marriages can dry up during a long trial like ours. Somehow, ours grew stronger. David and I learned the delicate dance of knowing when to be strong for the other and when it was ok to fall apart. Sometimes, falling apart together was all we could muster. I’m sure it was in those moments we forged our strongest bonds.

Months became years, and by the end of the fourth year, waiting had become a way of life. I hovered between my dream and the dailiness of living well in the moment. I wanted my life to count.

While working on my master’s in counseling, I spent time in vulnerable communities. My practical work and internship were mostly among the poor. Serving those hurting worse than I was turned out to be a surprising form of “self-help.” I spent months working with young women caught in crisis pregnancies. An infertile woman desperate for a baby working with women who didn’t want to be pregnant? An odd assignment, but it was strangely healing. I used to joke that I was like a recovering alcoholic serving drinks at a bar. I was surrounded by that which I could not have.

Some say we should live to give. I discovered that I could give to live. And the mysterious alchemy of serving always worked its magic on my soul. Again and again, I would say to God, “I’m entrusting my ‘business’ into your hands while I put my hands to work on your business.” Fighting forward turned out to be the healing, comforting “drug of choice” that brought relief, filling my empty places while I waited for my own dream.