Thank God my parents had an abundance of patience.

Hear, O seekers of wisdom, the humble words of Lexa Doig, who gave thanks for the foundation upon which her life was built: “Thank God my parents had an abundance of patience.” This brief utterance carries within it the weight of generations, for it speaks of the silent, enduring strength of parents who bear the trials of raising children not with haste or anger, but with steady love and forbearance. It is a hymn to one of the greatest virtues that sustain both family and society: patience.

For what is childhood if not a long apprenticeship in the art of living? The young stumble, question, resist, and wander; they know not yet the road they must walk. Without parental patience, their errors might be met with wrath, their curiosity silenced, their uniqueness crushed. But when parents bear with their children in gentleness, they become like gardeners who tend fragile shoots, watering them through droughts, protecting them through storms, until they grow into trees of strength and character.

Consider, O listener, the story of Thomas Edison, who as a boy was thought slow and unteachable by his schoolmasters. Yet his mother, with unwavering patience, refused to believe him incapable. She taught him herself, nurtured his curiosity, and endured his endless experiments. Without her endurance, the boy who would one day light the world might have been lost to despair. Edison himself later said that his mother’s faith and patience made him what he became. So too does Doig’s gratitude reflect this timeless truth: behind every achievement stands the unseen labor of patient love.

Patience is not mere waiting; it is active strength. It is the willingness to endure the noise, the rebellion, the confusion of growing souls without breaking them. It is the long fuse that allows teaching to take root slowly, like seeds that do not sprout at once. Parents who rush, who demand instant perfection, reap only fear or resentment. Parents who wait with love, however, harvest wisdom, resilience, and gratitude in their children’s hearts.

Doig’s words remind us that patience in parenting is not only a private virtue, but a social one. For every child raised with patience becomes an adult more capable of patience with others—friends, colleagues, neighbors, strangers. A society whose families are built upon forbearance is a society less quick to anger, less hasty to divide, more willing to endure hardship together. Thus, the patience of a few becomes the strength of many.

What lesson, then, must we draw from this testimony? That we who are parents, mentors, or leaders must cultivate abundant patience. We must not grow weary when growth seems slow or when mistakes repeat themselves. We must remember that greatness is not formed in a day, and character is not forged without error. In patience, we mirror the patience of God, who gives humanity time to rise, to stumble, and to rise again.

Therefore, O child of tomorrow, give thanks for those who were patient with you, as Doig gave thanks for her parents. And in turn, extend that patience to others—whether to your children, your students, or your companions on the journey of life. Let your patience be abundant, for in it lies the power to nurture, to heal, and to transform. For anger may break, but patience builds; and gratitude, like Doig’s, is the harvest of a life once watered with enduring love.