Don’t Quit Before the Breakthrough

Don’t Quit Before the Breakthrough

By Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

New Orleans has a way of teaching you lessons without ever opening its mouth. It’s not just the jazz spilling from Frenchmen Street clubs or brass bands bouncing down Claiborne on Sunday. It’s in the porch gossip, the scent of red beans and gumbo bubbling all day long, even the way the humidity hugs you like it’s holding a secret. And the whisper that hangs in that air? Don’t quit too early. Just when you think you’ve got nothing left, that’s when The Creator often strolls in quietly sometimes, with a wink other times and flips the whole scene upside down.

Now, I won’t lie. Waiting is tough. In our “instant-everything” world, we expect it fast. Pop it in, press a button, and if it ain’t done in thirty seconds, we act like we’ve been personally slighted. Phone lags two seconds? Betrayal! Patience? Pffft. Most of us can’t even wait for red beans to finish cooking on a Monday morning without hovering over the pot like it owes us an apology. But The Creator? He don’t move on our timeline. He moves when He moves, and when He finally shows up? It’s always perfect, even if we don’t see it yet.

I first felt this in my grandmother’s kitchen at 2688 Jonquil Street. There I was, peeling garlic with a tiny paring knife, trying not to stab myself, while she sliced bell peppers like a seasoned chef. Onions, bell peppers, garlic the holy trinity of New Orleans cooking. You don’t start nothin’ without it. She had her towel draped over her shoulder, wiping her forehead, humming a little. Then she started singing soft, almost like she didn’t want the walls to overhear:

“Pass me not, O gentle Savior, hear my humble cry…”

Celestine, my grandmother, wasn’t Mahalia Jackson, but that voice? It carried weight. You felt it deep down, like something sacred had decided to sit in that kitchen and watch. She looked at me, golden smile breaking, two side teeth shining like little crowns, and asked, “Kateb, do you believe you’re blessed?”

I froze. Jaw on the counter.

Before I could even manage a whisper, she asked again: “Are you thankful? Truly grateful?”

Then, without missing a beat, she leaned in and dropped the scripture like a hammer: “Hold that answer. Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.”

Awkward? Sure. Out of nowhere? Absolutely. Necessary? Without a doubt. That moment wasn’t random it came from everywhere at once. Divine timing.

Life has a way of making you want to quit. Storms hit, pressure builds, and you’re tempted to think, I can’t do this anymore. But storms? Sometimes they’re not there to drown you. Sometimes they’re there to position you, to shape you, to teach you who you are. My struggles weren’t just for me—they were for The Creator to get me ready for this pen, this voice, this calling. I’m no saint, not even close. But the gift? It’s bigger than me. Bigger than my comfort. Bigger than my understanding.

And then there’s Effie. Oh Lord, Effie. Pure 9th Ward energy. Tongue sharp, attitude sharper. She carried herself like she had VIP reservations even if all she was doing was heading to the corner store for a Big Shot cream soda and a bag of Sour Cream Zapp’s chips. One scorching afternoon, she was waiting on the bus down St. Claude, fanning herself with a bent-up church program, sighing loud enough that the pigeons on the porch looked offended.

“Lawd, this bus slower than a trombone player in a second-line with two left feet! My feet hurt, I’m missin’ my soaps, and if one more mosquito bites me, I’ma file a lawsuit on the city of New Orleans!”

Neighbors chuckled. Fussing was Effie’s ministry; she could turn a complaint into a sermon and still make you laugh.

But then wouldn’t you know? the sky flipped. Clouds rolled in, rain came sideways, streets looked ready to float to Lake Pontchartrain. Folks scattered. But Effie? She planted herself right there, wig sliding, lipstick somehow holding on by a miracle, ready to throw up her hands in defeat. And just then, that old, rattling bus crawled up like it had clawed its way out of the grave.

Effie stepped on, water dripping, gold tooth flashing, and hollered loud enough for everybody to hear: “See there? Just when I was ready to quit, salvation pulls up with exact change. Lord sure got jokes!”

Even in her drama, Effie carried a sermon. Don’t quit too soon. The solution, the blessing, the breakthrough it sometimes shows up in the most unexpected, ridiculous, miraculous ways.

And that lesson keeps showing up in every corner of life. Take Alexander the Great, for example. Everyone remembers him for conquering lands, stacking treasure, collecting titles. But his last wishes? That’s the part that hits me deep. He asked for three things:

1. Let the finest doctors carry my coffin. Even the best hands can’t cheat death.

2. Scatter my treasures along the road. All the money, gold, and glitter in the world can’t follow you when you go.

3. Leave my hands dangling out of the coffin. You come in empty-handed. You leave empty-handed.

Every time I hear that, I feel it in my chest. It’s a reminder that titles, money, applause they won’t move mountains. Faith will. And you don’t have to wait until your last breath to figure that out.

I’ve stopped running the rat race. Ladders that reach nowhere? I’m done with them. But faith? Faith reaches heights no ladder can touch. And when a storm comes, sometimes you gotta open your mouth and speak to it. Say, I ain’t quitting yet.

Now I get my grandmother’s song. Every trial, every stumble it wasn’t wasted. It was to sharpen me, to remind me: don’t give up, don’t rush, don’t lean on your own understanding. The moment you’re ready to quit? That’s exactly when The Creator shows up sometimes whispering, sometimes laughing, sometimes rattling down the street like Effie’s old bus.

And here’s the thing life has little moments that teach you the same lesson, over and over. The neighbor yelling at her dog while juggling groceries. The kid screaming on the stoop because he lost his football. The auntie hollering at the gumbo pot to “get it together!” Those small, funny, chaotic moments they remind you that patience, gratitude, and faith are always in season.

Be still. Be faithful. And when that glorious morning comes, you’ll see you never went without, because you learned how to go within.