Question

Tell an experience of your own that has helped you to realise that Patience is bitter but its fruit is sweet

Answer 1

Patience is Bitter, but the Fruit… Is Sweet

Growing up, in the Pine Barrens I was surrounded by trees. Although surrounded by foliage, my mother felt the need to fill our house with plants. She would plant towering cacti, these gorgeous pink lotus flowers, and so many plants that I couldn't begin to name them all. Every year in early summer, she would create a makeshift garden in our backyard. She would even buy a little wire fence to help keep out the deer and rabbits, which, to her exasperation, found their way over anyhow. Her guilty pleasure was tomatoes- red, plump and juicy with ripeness. She would treasure her little garden and the life she could create with tiny seeds that came from other fruits and vegetables. She planted them time and time again and I remember the happiness on her face and the joy in her voice when she wanted to show me what had grown, though I really didn't ever express any interest. I never understood her gardening obsession.

One year in high school, I had passed through a gardening store, hoping to find a mirror that I could use for my current art piece. I had no luck finding one, so I decided to grab packets of flower seeds instead. I have no idea why; I had never planted anything in my life. For some reason, these colorful seed packets grabbed my attention, demanding that I purchase them. I bought many packets: morning glories, foxgloves, geraniums, daffodils, and even some moonflowers. When I got home, my mother forewarned me that, if I was going to plant these flowers, it would have to be on my own. Not discouraged, I planted the different seeds in different pots, and placed them outside on the porch in a neat little row. Everyday, I watered those tiny pots hoping that the next day, a little green stem would pop out to say "hello". But each day, I became glum when I saw that my flowers hadn't grown. After about three weeks, when I was ready to give up on them, my mom said to me, in that 
my flowers hadn't grown. After about three weeks, when I was ready to give up on them, my mom said to me, in that oh-I-want-to-gloat voice, "Patience is a virtue."

I did wait, and one sunny afternoon as I came home from school balancing the mail in my arms, walking up to the house, when I took a quick glance at the pots, really not expecting to see that anything had grown. To my amazement, there was a long green stem in one of the planted pots. A twitch of a smile graced my face and I put the mail down to get a better peek at the morning glory vine that had suddenly spurted while I had been at school.

In the past few years, I've learned that mothers are usually right, and they're usually proud of that fact. My mother taught me well, even though she really didn't have to use much effort. I know what it's like to treasure those little lives that you create. She taught me to wait. I believe that patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet.