I've been practicing something lately. Whenever some discomfort, frustration, or irritation arises, I try to say to myself:
I need this.
Instead of immediately resisting what is bothering me, I try to become aware of it. What is this moment exposing in me? What is it trying to teach me?
Maybe God is saying, John, you need some work here.
You need patience? Okay, John, today you're going to hit every red light and get stuck behind every uncertain driver on the road.
You need tolerance? Let me introduce you to the guy at the gym sitting on the piece of equipment you need, scrolling through his phone for five minutes that somehow feels like an hour.
You need grace? Here's the person who won't let you merge into traffic.
You want to work on selfishness and judgment? Here's the Kia parked at a Tesla charger, somehow taking up two stalls just to reach the charging port.
I've even started paying attention to my "F-ing A" moments. Not to keep score, but because they're little alarms telling me where I'm still easily disturbed. They shine a light on the places where maybe God is asking me to loosen my grip, surrender my judgment, and extend a little more grace.
When I'm conscious enough to catch myself, I try to change the conversation:
Thank you, God. I needed this.
Stuck in traffic? Pray, John.
The person in front of you isn't driving with enough certainty? Maybe they're nervous. Maybe they're lost. Maybe they're doing the best they can.
Someone didn't hold the elevator? So what? Another one is coming. Maybe those extra thirty seconds are an opportunity to stand there and remember how fortunate you are simply to be alive.
Someone says something about you behind your back? Pray for them. They may be carrying something you know nothing about. Sometimes people make the world the target of pain they don't know how to carry themselves.
The irritations aren't necessarily interruptions to my spiritual life.
They may be the spiritual life.
James tells us:
“Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.”
— James 1:2–3
Maybe that's what these moments are—the little trials of everyday life. Not catastrophes, not great tests of faith, just the ordinary opportunities God gives us to practice what we claim to believe.
It's easy to talk about patience when nobody is testing it. Easy to talk about forgiveness when nobody has hurt you. Easy to preach grace when everyone is behaving the way you think they should.
But how would I ever know whether I'm becoming more patient if God never gives me something to be impatient about?
How would I learn tolerance without irritating people?
How would I learn surrender if everything went according to my plan?
Maybe the things I keep asking God to remove are sometimes the very things He's using to change me.
Maybe the trial isn't getting in the way of my growth. Maybe the trial is the growth.
So today, when that person, situation, traffic light, comment, inconvenience, or disappointment gets under my skin, I want to catch myself before the "F-ing A" escapes my mouth and remember:
I need this.
Not because I enjoy it, but because apparently, I still have some work to do.
My Prayer
God, when life doesn't go the way I want it to, help me stop asking, "Why is this happening to me?" and start asking, "What are You trying to teach me?"
When my patience is tested, make me more patient.
When my pride is wounded, make me more humble.
When I want to judge, remind me that I don't know another person's story.
When I want to react in anger, give me the space to choose grace.
When someone hurts me, help me pray for them instead of carrying resentment toward them.
And when I forget all of this—as I surely will—bring me back.
Remind me that the person irritating me may be fighting a battle I cannot see. Remind me that the inconvenience in front of me may actually be an invitation from You. Remind me that peace isn't found when everyone else finally behaves the way I want them to. Peace is found when I stop allowing the outside world to control what's happening inside of me.
God, don't just remove the difficult people, the red lights, the traffic, the disappointments, or the uncomfortable moments.
Use them.
Use them to soften me.
Use them to humble me.
Use them to teach me patience.
Use them to make me slower to judge and quicker to forgive.
Use them to strengthen my faith and produce the perseverance James spoke about.
Use them to make me more like the person You created me to be.
And when the next irritation comes—and I know it will—give me enough awareness to smile, look up, and say:
Okay, God. I see it.
I need this.
Amen.
