The Strength in Stillness A Reflection on Discipline and Patience

The Strength in Stillness A Reflection on Discipline and Patience

By Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

You know, growing up, I was that kid who didn’t understand why I had to wait for anything. Patience? What was that? I wanted the cookies before they cooled, the answers before the lesson, and the rewards before the work. Life, though it has a funny way of flipping your perspective when you least expect it. And if there’s one lesson that’s come knocking on my door time and time again, it’s this: discipline and patience aren’t just good traits they’re lifelines. Real talk.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sat with my head in my hands, frustrated and on the verge of giving up, just because something didn’t come quickly enough or easily enough. But then I'd hear my grandmother Celestine’s voice in my head soft, warm, but firm saying, “Baby, good things take time... and staying power.” She didn’t say discipline and patience directly, but oh, she lived them. Whether she was standing over a simmering pot, waiting hours for Sunday dinner to be just right, or guiding me through the smallest of tasks with a kind of grace that only the seasoned understand, she was showing me how it’s done.

Discipline, let me tell you, ain't always loud. Sometimes it’s in the quiet choices we make when no one's watching. It’s waking up early even when the bed is whispering sweet nothings to your soul. It's saying “no” to things that feel good in the moment but rob you of your long-term peace. It’s not glamorous, but it’s real. And it pays off.

Patience? That’s its twin sister. She shows up when things move slower than molasses in winter. She walks with you when folks doubt you, when you doubt yourself, and when life decides to put up traffic cones on every road you try to travel. I had to learn this the hard way. I used to rush the process, trying to microwave what God clearly intended for the slow-cooker.

Now, let me sprinkle a little truth on this gumbo: I was always told, if a man can control his belly, he can control just about anything inside and out. And I’ve tested that wisdom more times than I can count. That belly ain't just about food, either it’s about appetites. It’s about what you crave when you’re lonely, what you reach for when you're stressed, what you indulge in when no one’s around to see.

That’s why fasting? Oh man fasting changed the game for me. It was like spiritual spring cleaning. I didn’t just lose weight though shoutout to the slimmer jeans I lost baggage. I lost anger. I lost bad habits that had me in a chokehold. Fasting helped me wrestle with my demons in ways that no conversation or self-help book ever could. It's like every hunger pain had a lesson tucked inside it. I was starving my distractions and feeding my purpose.

And you know, there's something ancient and powerful in that. "O my reader," as the sacred text says, “Fasting is prescribed for you and me, just like it was for those before us, so that we may develop God-consciousness.” Let that sink in. This isn’t some new-age trend or diet gimmick it’s a divine strategy. It slows you down, helps you listen better, feel deeper, and move with intention.

There were nights I sat under the stars, my stomach growling louder than my prayers, and somehow I felt closer to the Creator than I ever did on a full belly. That empty space made room for something holy.

Discipline taught me how to sit still when I wanted to run. Patience reminded me that the seeds we plant in silence bloom in time, not on our schedule. And both together have kept me grounded when the storms of life tried to knock me flat.

There’s a quiet kind of freedom that comes with discipline. Like, the more I practiced it, the more I felt in control not of everything, but of myself. That’s huge. In a world that’s always pulling at you, trying to tell you who to be, how to feel, what to chase discipline is that inner anchor that says, “Nah, I got this. I know who I am.”

And patience? She’s the balm. She keeps your spirit from getting brittle while you wait. She softens the hard edges of frustration. She whispers, “Hold on. It’s not over yet.”

You ever bake bread from scratch? Not that pre-sliced stuff, but the real deal yeast, kneading, rising, waiting, punching it down, rising again. That’s life. That’s growth. That’s us. No shortcut, no cheat code. Just time, intention, and love.

So yeah, I’ve fumbled. I’ve fallen. I’ve thrown tantrums at the heavens. But each time I returned to discipline, each time I embraced patience, I got a little stronger. A little softer, too. And I realized that every setback wasn’t a punishment it was a classroom.

We talk about blessings, but don’t forget discipline is a blessing. Patience is a blessing. They’re like the roots beneath the fruit. Without them, what we build won’t last. It might look good on the outside, but it’ll crumble under pressure.

Now I walk differently. Not perfectly, but purposely. I still get tempted. Still mess up. Still talk to myself when the fridge starts calling my name at midnight. But I know now I’ve got tools. I’ve got memories. I’ve got a belly that’s been trained to listen, not just eat.

And you, dear reader, you’ve got that same power. You might not feel it yet, but trust me, it’s in you. The strength to say no when you need to. The patience to wait when it's hard. The discipline to stay the course even when every part of you is begging to quit.

So here’s to the slow road. The quiet path. The moments that shape us in silence. Here's to fasting, to fighting our shadows, to listening to the Creator’s whisper over the noise of the world. Here’s to becoming.

And if all else fails, remember this: if you can control your belly, you can control anything. That’s not just grandma wisdom that’s soul truth.

Stay grounded, stay patient, and trust the process.

Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

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Author’s Note

This artwork? It's more than just color on canvas it’s me, wrestling with my own spirit and coming out with a few scratches... and a little wisdom.

See, discipline and patience aren’t exactly glamorous concepts. They’re not the kind of things that light up a room when you walk in, but they’re the backbone of every meaningful transformation I’ve experienced. And I wanted this abstract piece to show that. The swirling shades, the layered textures, the light bumping into the dark it all mirrors those days when I was trying to fast while everything inside me was screaming for snacks... and peace. Sometimes at the same time.

Those bold strokes you see? That’s the chaos of old habits throwing tantrums as I tried to break free. And those soft glows tucked between the madness? That’s the stillness that eventually came when I got quiet enough to hear my Creator whisper, “You’re growing.”

There’s even a little humor here because if you’ve ever tried to fight off a craving at 2 a.m. with nothing but prayer and a bottle of water, you know that spiritual growth can be hilariously hard.

But every brushstroke carries a story. Every color shift is a moment where I almost gave up but didn’t. This painting isn’t perfect, and neither am I. But that’s the whole point. It’s real. It’s raw. And it’s rooted in truth.

So, take it in slowly. Let your eyes wander. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll see your own journey tucked somewhere in between the lines and colors. And if not, at least you’ve got a piece of my soul to carry with you for a little while.

Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar