I should have known better. All right, I did and do know better. I'm not a kid - no news there, right? - I have lived long enough to know that nothing is ever simple and that when you ask God for something, He gives it. However, what we ask for seldom comes in the neat package we request, does it?

A friend told me a long time ago that when she was a young matron with three rowdy boys under five years of age, she was literally tearing her hair out in great clumps one day when an older (and wiser) friend asked how she was doing.

"I'm going nuts," my friend replied. "The boys are always fighting, I never have any time for myself, my housework never gets done, my life is a shambles, and I'm pitiful."

"What are you doing about it?" her mentor asked.

"I'm constantly praying for patience ," asserted my friend.

"Well, darling, there's your problem. Don't you know that when we pray for patience, God gives us trials and tribulations to teach us how to be just that?"

This is all leading up to my sudden realization that at some time recently I must have prayed for patience, because the lessons came in great waves yesterday and today. My 16 year old grandson and I spent most of yesterday morning dealing with the State bureaucracy trying to obtain a driver's licence for him, and today I had the temerity to try to get my mail from Medicare sent to the correct address.

You know what I'm talking about, don't you? You've encountered clerks who, each time your number finally comes up and you're allowed to approach the desk, give you just enough information to send you back to the end of the line. Over and over, until you finally cry "Uncle," and give up. As I told my son yesterday, "We fought the law, but the law won." Much to the disappointment of the young man, the license will have to be obtained (maybe) another day.

And I know you've all sat for what seems like an eternity, staring at thousands of things that have to be done, listening to really bad music, holding a telephone to your ear until your whole head goes numb. This, of course, is after you have punched 13 different numbers following their menu and the recording finally gives up and tells you it is connecting you with "our customer service representative."

Yes, folks, that word was singular, as I am convinced that there is one rep per agency and that he/she changes his/her name each time she/he answers and that the rep reads from a script that has absolutely nothing to do with that you are asking. Add to that the fact that the rep speaks with a heavy foreign accent and puts you on hold at least twice more while he/she "looks up" your account, record or possibly your birth certificate.

I'm preaching to the choir, am I not? We all experience this kind of treatment on a semi-regular basis, and sometimes we are kind and refrain from using really ugly words. At those times we can pat ourselves on the back and bask in the sure knowledge that we are, in fact, learning patience.

Or are we just giving up?

Betty Brown is a resident of Houston and periodically contributes a general interest column to the Chickasaw Journal.