Back in July my book publisher graciously invited me to attend the international convention of the Christian Booksellers’ Association.
I’d never seen anything like it. Under one roof at the
The first morning of the extravaganza I found out something I already knew about myself. To put it simply, I don’t wait well.
Long, snail-paced lines were backed up at the registration tables where I had to pick up the badge that would admit me to the exhibit areas. Folks with names from A to D queued up on the east end. E-H people were in the next column.
I was in the far west row. “S-Z,” the sign over the window said, so I took my place at the tail end of a double row of bodies to await my turn. Somewhat impatiently, I must confess.
In less than an hour I was supposed to be signing books somewhere back there in the catacombs of the center. My publisher had paid big bucks for that hour in a “personality booth,” so I couldn’t afford to be late. But the lady shuffling papers and handing out badges at the head of our line didn’t seem to share my sense of urgency.
As I languished back near the tail end of that unmoving line, I began to look around. I was surrounded by merchants and editors and preachers and publishers and other authors like myself. All of us calling ourselves Christians. Some of us, no doubt, rather impressed with our spiritual clout.
I watched as faces tightened, fidgeting intensified, blood pressures inched upward, and tempers warmed. At that moment the truth was unavoidable. In our fast-paced, clock-driven part of the world, few of us wait well. The Bible says that love, joy, peace, and patience are among the finest of Christian virtues. We haven’t done too well on that last one, have we?