Finding Patience Page 2

Fig. 1 Map Showing Gloucestershire

  Prologue

  You may ask how I could have lived through the experiences recounted herein and not have perceived the momentous events that were unfolding. For my part, I can only say that one must live life before one can comprehend life.

  I was born in 1971 in Edinburgh, Scotland. Growing up in Edinburgh was profoundly monochromatic, especially in winter. Anyone who has ever been there will know immediately what I mean by this. The central part of the city was constructed of brownstone quarried from the adjacent volcanic hills in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries and, with the advent of automobiles in the twentieth century, pollution has deposited a layer of still darker soot on every exterior surface possible. As a result, Edinburgh has become in wintertime the artist’s dream for anyone who paints exclusively in tints of grey.

  The winter I turned twelve my dad was injured. He worked at the rail yard in the city. I don’t know exactly what happened to him, but he was hurt quite badly. His recuperation required bed rest for several months and, although I didn’t know it at the time, he would eventually pass away five years thereafter from complications caused by his injury.

  That winter I was sent to stay with my Aunt Winnie Sutherland in Stirling, thereby allowing my mother to cope with the extra burden of caring for my dad. Although I was not happy about that, there was a small silver lining – that was the first time that I experienced a winter away from Edinburgh.

  To be sure, the winter climate in Stirling was cold and dark as much so as it was in Edinburgh, but unlike Edinburgh, in Stirling the surrounding countryside crept right up to the city. It was so close that you could see right out into the hills from the walls of Stirling Castle. And on a clear day, you could even see all the way to the river, where Scotland was born on September 11, 1297. So this was my first adventure, and my memories of that winter remain sharp and clear after more than thirty years.

  Aunt Winnie was old, or so it seemed to me. In retrospect, I suppose that she really wasn’t. She was in fact close to the same age that I am now, but the significance of time is quite beyond the comprehension of children.

  As I recall, the weather one winter day was so horrid that Auntie Winnie forbade me to even set foot outside. As I had not yet learned the virtue of patience, spending the entire day indoors with an elderly person was nearly unendurable for a boy of twelve. Although I did my absolute best to pass the time of day constructively, I failed miserably, succeeding only in creating a nuisance for Aunt Winnie. For her part, she attempted valiantly to appear unfazed by my hyperactive antics.

  At one point, plowing inanely through foodstuffs in her kitchen, I came upon a tiny ladybug. Determined to evict it from our toasty abode, I was certain that Aunt Winnie would appreciate my efforts to protect the sanctity of our small place in the world.

  But Aunt Winnie announced sternly, “No, Brandtie, that simply won’t do. Our visitor, though uninvited, has a place just as we do in our world, and you must respect that place. If you were to cast it out on a horrid day such as this, what do you think its fate would be?”

  Realization sweeping over me that I had not gotten that far in my thinking, I replied, “I am quite certain I have no idea.”

  “It would have most assuredly perished, my dear boy. And had it done so, it could not have born offspring, and those offspring would therefore not have been able to combat and defeat the vicious spider that is perhaps lurking within the cupboard. And that spider would then have survived and possibly eventually bitten someone, perchance even you, thus causing great pain, misery, and possibly even death!”

  Peering at her in momentary horror, I speculated dismissively, “I may be only twelve, but I am grown up quite enough to know that your story is highly unlikely, Auntie.”

  “Quite so, my boy,” she responded pleasantly, “But compassion should not be bestowed on the basis of anticipated outcome. Rather, it is the principle of compassion itself that is paramount.”

  Scratching my head in confusion, I stammered, “I…I don’t understand…what principle?”

  “Brandtie, my child,” she began, “There are seven deadly sins, but there is only one immortal virtue – compassion. Patience is the parent of compassion, and compassion is borne within the heart.”

  Still mystified, I responded, “I still don’t understand, Auntie Winnie.”

  “My dear boy, you clearly showed compassion by attempting to put the ladybug outside. Otherwise, you should have simply squashed it. But had you also shown patience, you would have understood that placing the bug outside was ultimately without compassion, for it would surely have perished in the maelstrom without.”

  That then was the first lesson I learned from Aunt Winnie. I was to spend parts of every winter with Auntie Winnie until I went off to college seven years later, in the process learning much of life from her. But the lesson that I learned on that day was the most important lesson she ever taught me. And now, thirty years on, here is my story, the story of what I learned from Aunt Winnie.