A Note from Jessie – Covenant Newsletter, July 2020

It is a peculiar thing to watch my son fish. His focus, patience, and singular determination create an invisible forcefield around his bony frame that seemingly nothing can penetrate or disturb. As soon as his first whirring cast breaks the water’s smooth surface, he is blissfully alone in his hopeful endeavor. Hours pass, the sun beats down, unanswered invitations for meals float by, yet his eyes are set with his heart ablaze. I do not recognize it. These are not traits he inherited from me. Thus, I find them all the more fascinating. And what is perhaps most confounding of all to me is the fact that he is eternally optimistic about fishing, even after long stretches without a single bite. “That’s why they call it ‘fishing’ and not ‘catching,’” he has learned to shrug and say from his wise fisherman of a father. Then he’ll brush the sweat from his brow and train his sight back out on the water’s horizon, on what will surely be his next big catch if only he keeps trying and waits it out.

This image of my son fishing has become my new favorite image of endurance. I am someone who is constantly compiling visual metaphors to help my searching mind sink deeper into understanding concepts that are hard for me to grasp.

And I’ve been thinking a lot about the word endurance lately, ever since I caught up with a dear friend on the phone several weeks ago. She shared that her heart’s greatest prayer—after months of juggling career/children/cheer/anxiety/gratitude/frustration in the world’s new landscape— is for endurance. Now that it is abundantly clear we are in this unpredictable phase of life for the foreseeable future, she is asking God for the grit and strength to stick it out. To withstand. To dig deeply and find hidden deposits of durability as she sifts through the fatigue.

I thought. Same here. 

Endurance. This is another trait I do not recognize as my own. I have always preferred a sprint to marathon, a jaunt to a journey, a foray to an encampment. But here we are, thickly in the middle of unknown territory with no shortcut home in sight.

we may ask, can we keep this up? 

God, what lessons in endurance are you teaching us?

In the middle of the afternoon last week, I gratefully stepped inside the cool, air-conditioned walls of my relatives’ century-old fishing lodge to make a late lunch for my family, relieved to have a momentary reprieve from watching my husband and son tend to their catches under the hot summer’ sun. I passed by my daughter and niece who were hours-deep in imaginary play with their dolls on the creaky floors of a sleeping porch. And I was flooded with a wave of grateful disbelief over God’s abundant blessings. It was one of those gifted moments when life suddenly feels so achingly beautiful and pure and good. Since everyone seemed content in their current pursuits, I stole an extended moment to eat a sandwich of my own at the slanted old kitchen counter while reading an essay by one of my favorite contemporary poets, Allison Seay. And in a serendipitous extension of my inner thoughts, I read these words of hers:

“As nature continually instructs… survival in this world requires toughness—a species-particular fortitude, endurance, hardness, grit. Also true: survival sometimes requires brutality. 

But I am grateful, especially, for nature’s other instruction—its long patience, its dormancy begetting transformation, its beauty in decay, its resurrection, its generosity.”

Yes, I thought. Yes.

Fortitude in the face of fear, fatigue, uncertainty, even brutality begets transformation. There is indeed beauty and unexpected resurrection borne out of decay; but first, we must endure. 

In that moment, I felt ignited by God’s generous reminder that He created us to thrive, not only during times of feast but perhaps more importantly during times of famine. We are called to love each other, not only when it is simple but most especially when it is complicated. And we are not rewarded with sustaining joy when we send one carefree cast into wide open waters and easily snag our goal, but when we sweat it out hour after hour, day after day, determinedly trying our best, creatively shifting our techniques when we fail, until finally we connect with moments of hope fulfilled.

Dear Lord, 

Please meet us in the middle of the “trying” times. Fortify us in the depths of our discouragement. Lift us up with generous reminders that You made us of stronger, grittier stuff than we may have previously imagined. Thank you for moments of grace. Thank you for the transformations you are working in our weary hearts, forged by fire and trial. Thank you for encouraging us while we learn to endure. Please help us keep our eyes set on You, hearts ablaze, full of hope, wrapped in forcefields of Your goodness, so that we may continue to learn, grow, and love each other well. 


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