While driving home recently, I was stuck in a horrendous traffic jam. The sea of cars around me was not moving even an inch.

My first reaction was to find an alternate route. I craned my head to the right and left, hoping to find a spot my Mazda could slip into. Nothing. Sighing loudly, I put the car in park.

I drummed my sandal against the carpet, as if tapping the floor would speed up the process. I reached for my cell phone to pass the time. I dialed my mom. Voicemail. After three more calls, I reached for my purse. I organized the bills in my wallet by value, then searched for another task that could occupy my mind.

I glanced again at the traffic. Locked in by an army of cars, I realized I needed to accept the standstill. Oh well, I thought as I breathed in and rested my head on the back of the seat cushion, relaxing my body. It was a comforting release from the frantic pace of life.

It was then I saw clearly the lesson in this predicament.

Often I find myself in a season of waiting. It's almost as if God whispers from heaven, It's time to wait.

But instead of conceding and listening to the Lord in the waiting, I look for a way out, struggling to change my circumstances. When an escape doesn't surface, I distract myself, busying myself in activity or committing myself to too many tasks.

But all along, God is hoping I will turn my attention to listening to His voice. He wants me to let go of my well-manicured plans and see moments of waiting as crucial in my journey to my destination. Instead of finding ways to medicate the wait, I am learning to talk to God honestly about my feelings and turn to His Word to feed my anxious heart.

Enjoying the wait during a traffic jam may not be my first response, but I'm learning to take a deep breath and lean my head back on the headrest a tad sooner.

"You should have quit while you were ahead," I said to the scruffy, shirtless fisherman.

I had been on the dock two hours when he trotted out. Instead of a rod and reel, he had a circular net and fished New Testament style.

He leaned over the dock railing and looked into the water. In one graceful motion, he threw the net and it gracefully spun down.

A second later he pulled the net from the water, along with its bounty of a half-dozen fish.

But that was pretty much it. After almost a half-hour of tosses, the net yielded no more fish.

The fisherman's actions offered me deeper insight into how we are called to be fishers of men. We cast out nets in hopes of leading people to Christ. Oftentimes my problem is discouragement from a lack of progress, but sometimes, I see a good outcome and begin to coast, not working as hard or diligently at the task before me. But in reality, we're called to fish, day in and day out, regardless of the results we see.

My sister and I were on the phone, and I told her that I would call her again the next day. But when the next day arrived, my to-do list was longer than the list of contacts in my cell. I prioritized the tasks that I wanted to cross off my list, and although I thought about calling Suz, I kept putting it off until what would be a more convenient time.

Finally in the evening it struck me—I hadn't called her yet. So I reached for my phone, but realized that it was 10:30 p.m.—too late to dial up my sister, a mother with small children.

Sometimes, my sister isn't the only one who gets squeezed out of my life.

The same can also happen in our relationship with God. If we don't set aside a time to be alone with Him—reading the Bible, praying and worshipping Him, we can easily fill our day with other extraneous things. Then we find we don't have time to meet with Him. So we miss out on allowing Him to speak to us. Psalm 119:105 says, "Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path" (King James Version). God lights our path through His Word. He reveals His will slowly as a lamp or a flashlight on a path.

I'm trying to schedule the Lord into my morning like a VIP who takes priority, because after all, nothing and no one should take precedence over my relationship with the Lord.