ONE GOOD THING A DAY: TOLERANCE
OK Country Music Superfreaks – I know the first thought that entered your mind when you read the word Tolerance was Alcohol. . . . Or maybe Prejudice. . . . . aren’t we predictable?
I’ve been taking this cardio class at the Y and working out 3-5 times a week. Nevermind why. . . . I took about a week and a half off while I was on vacation and noticed something interesting when I got back. I was NOT starting at ground zero. My body had started something already that was still built up in my system. My muscles had not deteriorated back to square 1 after a week and a half absence. Granted, I was sore on day 1. But not like day 1 several weeks ago.
I thought about that buildup effect. . . . in my day job, I work with a lot of drawings for steel castings. They always have limits set for tolerances. This is the outside limit set for how far off the dimensions can be from the drawing specs.
We HAVE to stretch ourselves. We have to grow beyond the squawling, crying, demanding self-centered baby and reach adulthood. Along the way we learn patience, forgiveness, restraint, and a host of other qualities that emanate from Love. . . . well hopefully we do.
I remember learning patience. I learned it in a big way with my firstborn, beautiful baby girl named Hannah. She turned about 18 months and entered the terrible twos. She did not leave the tantrums behind until she was about 5. I could look into her eyes and see a change come over her face. (I seriously think I know where tribal cultures get “demon possession” from.) That tantrum was coming and there was not a darn thing you could do about it. For about 20 minutes she would scream. I learned to ask her every few minutes if she was done - usually sitting in the middle of the mall or the grocery store or some other public place that would only heighten my stress. After about 20 minutes, she would say she was done, crawl in my lap and I would hold her til she was ready to move on with the next thing (usually the checkout counter).
Granted, I never got to the point that I didn’t feel tension or stress, but as time went on, I got used to them. My tolerance for stress and for her tantrums expanded. She didn’t change. I grew.
Too often I tell myself that I can’t take anymore. I can’t handle this anymore. I can’t do this. Etc, etc. If we could only see that we need to extend our tolerances and realize that our limits are not figures in black and white set down by an engineer. We are much more adaptable than we realize and much more capable of growth than we can possibly imagine.
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