By the Canopy Raised High: A Reflection on Patience and Perseverance

By the Canopy Raised High: A Reflection on Patience and Perseverance

by Kateb  Shunnar

Patience isn’t glamorous. It doesn’t strut into the room with trumpets or fireworks. It slips in quietly, almost unnoticed, like the dawn cracking open the dark. But once it’s there, once it settles in your bones, patience transforms everything. It’s not just a virtue; it’s a bridge. A bridge between our aching humanity and the eternal mercy of the Creator.

I used to think patience meant doing nothing just sitting around waiting for my circumstances to change. But life taught me different. Patience is an active surrender. It’s not about being lazy or passive; it’s about choosing trust over panic. It’s about planting your feet in the soil of faith and saying, No matter how strong the wind, I won’t let go of the rope that ties me to the Divine.

The Unavoidable Test

There’s no escaping the trials of life. Fear knocks. Hunger creeps in. Wealth shrinks. Health fades. Even the sweetest fruits sometimes spoil in your hands. That’s not a curse it’s the curriculum of being human. These tests aren’t meant to break us but to carve out the faith hiding inside us.

Think about it: a diamond doesn’t sparkle without pressure, and steel isn’t forged without fire. The Creator, in His infinite wisdom, allows us to taste struggle not to abandon us but to polish us. Patience becomes the cloth we wrap around our wounds while we wait for healing. Perseverance becomes the steady step forward even when the path is muddy.

Folklore One: The Weaver and the Tree

I once told you the story of the young weaver who grew frustrated when his threads kept snapping. He was ready to quit until he sat under a tree that showed him its rings. Each storm, each drought, each season of barrenness had pressed another ring into the trunk, making it strong enough to stand.

That tale reminds me of how life actually works. Every hardship, every long night that feels endless, is another ring inside us. We can’t see it forming, but it’s there. And when patience carries us through the seasons, we come out with a kind of strength that isn’t easily shaken.

Folklore Two: The Clay Jar and the River

But let me give you another story, one I shaped out of my own meditations.

There was once a village where water was scarce. The villagers survived by fetching water from a river far away. One man, impatient with the long walk, decided to mold a clay jar big enough to hold water for many days. He worked hard under the sun, shaping and firing the clay until the jar looked perfect.

But in his haste, he didn’t wait long enough for the clay to cure. The moment he filled it at the river, the jar cracked. Water seeped out, and by the time he got home, it was empty. Frustrated, he smashed it into pieces.

An old woman who had been watching laughed gently. “You wanted the water more than the waiting,” she said. “But water doesn’t stay in jars made by impatience. The river teaches us this: patience holds more than hands ever can.”

The man tried again. This time he waited. Days turned into weeks, the clay hardening under the sun. When he finally brought water home, the jar didn’t leak a single drop.

I love that story because it whispers a truth: when we rush, we ruin. But when we allow patience to season our efforts, the results hold.

Patience and Prayer: Twin Pillars

I’ve noticed patience isn’t meant to stand alone. On its own, it can feel like a dry silence. But when you pair patience with prayer, the silence blooms into music. Prayer is like pouring water into the soil of waiting. It nourishes the roots you can’t see yet.

I’ve had moments where the only prayer I could manage was a sigh. And you know what? That sigh was heard. Sometimes prayer is eloquent, sometimes it’s messy, sometimes it’s nothing more than tears sliding down your cheek. But patience takes those prayers and tucks them into the folds of time, where the Creator tends to them in ways we can’t.

Choosing Peace When You Could Choose Anger

Patience also shows up in relationships. When someone disrespects you, insults you, or provokes you, patience whispers: Don’t let them rent space in your spirit. That’s hard. Anger comes easy. Patience takes work. But it’s worth it.

I’ll be honest I’ve had my share of moments where I almost let rage lead. Times when silence felt like weakness, and my pride begged me to answer fire with fire. But the Creator keeps reminding me: fire spreads fast and burns indiscriminately. Mercy, forgiveness, compassion they’re the water that keeps the house standing.

Patience in those moments is choosing dignity over reaction. It’s choosing to protect your peace instead of proving your point. And strangely enough, the more you do it, the freer you feel.

The Garden of Timing

Patience is a garden. Seeds are planted in quiet. Nothing seems to be happening. And yet, beneath the soil, miracles are unfolding. The farmer doesn’t dig up the seed every day to check on it that would kill it. Instead, he waters it, weeds it, trusts the unseen process.

Life is no different. We pray, we wait, we trust. The fruit doesn’t appear overnight, but when it does, it’s sweeter than anything rushed. Perseverance is just the daily watering the small, faithful acts of trust that keep the soil ready for the day of harvest.

A Personal Glimpse

I’ll never forget sitting by the water with my grandfather when I was young. We were fishing, and I was fidgeting, frustrated that nothing was biting. He leaned back, let out one of those chuckles that sounded like wisdom wrapped in humor, and said, “Fish don’t come to noise. They come to stillness.”

That day taught me more than how to fish. It taught me that sometimes the blessings we chase only arrive when our spirit quiets down. When we stop splashing in panic and learn to sit still, what we’re waiting for drifts right into our hands.

The Canopy Raised High

Here’s the beauty of it all: patience doesn’t leave you empty handed. When the canopy of your life is raised high, when the fruit finally ripens, when the prayer is answered in ways better than you imagined, you’ll look back and see that every long night, every quiet tear, every stubborn step was part of a design.

Perseverance is the muscle that patience builds. And together, they carry us through the deserts, across the rivers, and into the shade of the canopy.

So if you’re in the middle of a test right now, let me tell you what I keep telling myself: You’re not abandoned. The Creator’s promise is as sure as the sunrise. Keep walking. Keep praying. Keep trusting. Because one day, you’ll look at the rings inside your tree, at the jar that no longer leaks, and you’ll realize you were never waiting alone.

By the canopy raised high, patience and perseverance become not just virtues, but lifelines, pulling us closer to the One who writes the story with perfect timing.

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