Waiting
I struggle with waiting. It came to me clearly as I waited at the bank the other day. My handicapped brother recently moved to Florida, and I’m helping him make the necessary changes that come with moving. I dragged my heels for a few days before I finally took him to the bank because I knew it would be an ordeal. I knew I would have to wait. I tried to plan the right day and right hour to go so that there would be a minimum amount of people competing for time with a teller. It didn’t work out that way, though. We wound up going on a Friday afternoon, the day and time I would normally avoid going to a bank. I had to “die to my flesh” and do it for my brother because it needed to be done. I knew we couldn’t go to a regular teller, we’d have to speak to one of the specialty assistants, or whatever banks call them. There were about six people ahead of us. A quick scan of the cubicles revealed two workers at their desks. We would be there awhile. At least I could sit