Walk Softly, Wait Patiently, Trust Deeply

Walk Softly, Wait Patiently, Trust Deeply

by Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

There are moments in life when I realize just how small my mind is compared to the vastness of the Creator’s knowledge. You ever look up at the night sky, see a billion stars scattered like sugar across black velvet, and then have the nerve to think you’ve got life figured out? That’s us walking around with our little pocket-sized wisdom, while the Creator holds galaxies in His hand. It’s almost comical if you think about it. We act like toddlers with crayons trying to redraw the Mona Lisa.

But that’s why humility, patience, and trust are so necessary. They aren’t just fancy spiritual words we toss around in sermons or self-help books. They’re survival tools for the soul. Without humility, pride will trip you up. Without patience, frustration will eat you alive. And without trust in the Creator’s plan, your heart will be restless, always chasing answers that aren’t ready to be revealed.

Now, don’t get me wrong patience doesn’t come naturally to me. And if you’re honest, probably not to you either. We’re microwave people serving a slow-cooking  Creator. We want our blessings reheated in 30 seconds, while the Creator is still marinating the meat, slow roasting it with purpose, seasoning it with lessons, and letting the flavor settle into our soul. And here we are tapping our foot at the stove like, “C’mon now, I’ve been waiting five whole minutes!”

Life has a way of teaching patience, whether we sign up for the class or not. And trust me, I’ve sat through more than a few lessons I didn’t want to enroll in. Times where bills stacked up higher than my faith. Times where friendships ended without explanation. Times where I felt abandoned by the very Creator I prayed to. I’ve had moments of shaking my fist at the heavens, demanding, “Why me? Why now? Why this?”

But here’s what I’ve learned: not every “why” gets answered right away. Sometimes the Creator answers with silence. Sometimes He answers with a lesson years later. And sometimes the answer never comes until eternity. But even then, He knows. He knows every detail every tear, every sigh, every unspoken prayer. He knows when a leaf falls to the ground; how much more the weight of a human heart?

I can still hear my grandmother’s voice on that porch on Orleans and White Street, cicadas buzzing in the summer heat, her rocking chair squeaking like it was testifying to the truth she was about to drop. She leaned over to me and said, “Kateb, treat people the way you want the Creator to treat you on Judgment Day.”

Now, that might sound simple, but let me tell you, that line shook me more than a Sunday morning sermon. Because when you really chew on it if I’m impatient, unkind, stingy with forgiveness, how can I stand before the Creator expecting Him to shower me with patience, kindness, and mercy? Grandma didn’t need a pulpit. She didn’t need big words. She had porch wisdom short, sharp, and straight to the soul.

And let’s be honest, most of us struggle with that. We want mercy but don’t always give it. We want people to understand us but we barely try to understand them. We want grace for our mistakes but gossip about somebody else’s. My grandmother’s words were a mirror, and let me tell you mirrors can be rude. But they don’t lie.

Now, let me shift gears a bit and share a little folklore because wisdom sometimes hides better in a story.

There was once a fisherman in a small coastal town who prayed every day for a big catch. He said, “Creator, bless me with abundance, and I’ll share it with the whole village.” Day after day he cast his nets, but only pulled up a few small fish. Frustrated, he cursed the sea, stomped home, and muttered that the Creator wasn’t listening.

Down the road, there was an older fisherman with a rickety boat, half a net, and one good eye. Folks laughed at him, said he was too old and too weak to bring in much. But every day he went out, hummed songs to the sea, pulled in a modest catch, and always gave away half of what he had. One season, a storm tore through the town, sinking boats and scattering nets. The younger fisherman lost everything. But the old man’s little shack, built humbly on high ground, stood firm. And when the storm cleared, his garden, fed by the rain, bloomed wildly. He had food when the market was empty, and he shared it freely.

When the younger fisherman finally swallowed his pride and asked how he had survived with so little, the old man smiled with that one good eye and said, “I never measured blessings by size, only by timing. The Creator always gave me enough. And enough is plenty when you trust.”

That’s humility. That’s patience. That’s trust. It may not sound like a miracle, but let me tell you it’s the kind of everyday miracle most of us miss because we’re too busy waiting on the lottery of life instead of recognizing the daily bread in our hands.

And humor has its place in all of this too. I can’t help but laugh sometimes at how we act with the Creator. We’re like kids in the back seat on a long road trip: “Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?” Meanwhile, the Creator is steady at the wheel, saying, “If you’d stop asking every two seconds, you might actually enjoy the scenery.”

Humility is realizing we’re not the driver. Patience is learning to enjoy the ride. Trust is knowing the destination is worth every bump in the road.

And here’s the kicker our intentions matter more than we realize. The reward of every deed is tied to the intention behind it. You can fool me. You can fool your neighbor. You can even fool yourself if you try hard enough. But you cannot fool the Creator. He sees through the masks, past the polished words, right into the core of your heart. If I’m kind just so people can see me as holy, I’ve already received my reward. But if I’m kind because I know the Creator has been kind to me, then the angels themselves smile and lower their wings in delight.

That image humbles me the thought of angels lowering their wings out of pleasure for the one who seeks knowledge and walks humbly. It makes me want to live in a way that heaven nods at. Not because I’m perfect, but because I’m trying.

And maybe that’s the point. The Creator never asked me to be perfect. He asked me to be patient, to be humble, to trust. Perfection isn’t the path to paradise intention is. Seeking knowledge with sincerity is. Walking humbly with others is. Trusting deeply even when the road makes no sense is.

So let me say it plain: the Creator’s wisdom is beyond our grasp. Our understanding is limited. And that’s okay. Because if I understood everything He did, He wouldn’t be The Creator  He’d just be another person with an opinion. The mystery of His plan isn’t meant to frustrate me it’s meant to free me from the illusion that I have to control everything.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s the biggest joke of all that we spend half our lives trying to control what was never in our control to begin with.

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Now, if we’re being real, one of the hardest things to do is to wait without complaining. Patience isn’t just about passing time it’s about how we carry ourselves while we wait. Anybody can sit around tapping their foot, rolling their eyes, and sighing loud enough for the neighbors to hear. That’s not patience, that’s attitude with a clock. True patience is being able to say, “I don’t know what the Creator’s doing right now, but I trust He hasn’t forgotten me.”

That’s tough, though, isn’t it? Because from our point of view, it can feel like we’ve been put on hold, and we’re listening to that elevator music of life that makes no sense. You know what I’m talking about that tinny little loop that repeats and repeats until you’re about to lose your mind. You want to hang up, but deep down you know the call is too important. That’s patience in real time: staying on the line with the Creator when every part of you wants to slam the phone down and storm off.

And you know what really gets me? We pray for patience, and then we get mad when the Creator gives us chances to practice it. It’s like asking for muscles but complaining when the trainer hands you weights. You don’t build strength by watching other people lift you build it by sweating, straining, and sticking with it. In the same way, patience isn’t learned in the easy seasons; it’s forged in the fire of delay, disappointment, and detours.

My grandmother used to laugh at me when I was younger because I hated waiting for anything. If she was making cornbread, I wanted it out of the oven before the crust was even golden. If she said, “We’re going to the store later,” I’d be by the door in five minutes with my shoes on. She’d look at me, shake her head, and say, “Baby, you don’t put a cake in the oven and take it out raw just because you’re hungry. Some things take time to rise.”

That’s wisdom. And you know what? Life is a lot like baking you’ve got to let the heat do its work. Take it out too soon, and you’re left with a mess that sticks to the pan. Let it bake in its proper season, and you get something nourishing, something worth sharing.

I think about that every time I catch myself rushing the Creator’s plan. I want things to happen on my schedule. But my schedule is built on impatience; His schedule is built on eternity. And eternity always wins.

Let me tell you another little story, a bit of folklore that carries its own kind of truth.

There was once a traveler who came upon a farmer digging in his field. The traveler asked, “What are you planting?” The farmer replied, “Date palms.” The traveler laughed and said, “Do you know it takes nearly a hundred years for those trees to bear fruit? You’ll be long gone before that happens!”

The farmer leaned on his shovel, wiped his brow, and said, “I eat dates today because someone planted trees long before me. My job is to do the same for those who come after.”

That’s patience not just for yourself, but for generations you’ll never meet. That’s humility knowing you’re part of something bigger than your own lifetime. And that’s trust believing the Creator’s plan stretches further than your eyes can see.

Now here’s where the humor sneaks back in. Most of us aren’t planting date palms; we’re planting microwave dinners. We want results in minutes, not centuries. We’re so focused on our “now” that we forget there’s a “later” being woven into everything we do. And sometimes the Creator’s timing feels like He’s working on a century-long plan for our five-minute prayer. But if He’s the one writing the story, don’t you think He knows the ending better than we do?

Here’s another porch truth I learned the hard way: leaning on your own understanding is like leaning on a chair with a broken leg. It might hold you for a second, but sooner or later you’re going to be on the floor, wondering why you didn’t trust something sturdier. My own wisdom can carry me only so far. But the Creator’s wisdom it never buckles.

And speaking of buckling, let me just admit something I’ve been stubborn more times than I can count. I’ve tried to force open doors that the Creator clearly locked. I’ve pushed against walls thinking I could climb them on my own. And do you know what happened? I ended up flat on my back, staring at the ceiling, finally realizing, “Maybe I should’ve just trusted instead of wrestled.”

But here’s the beautiful thing: the Creator doesn’t shame us for those moments. He uses them. Every fall becomes a lesson. Every delay becomes a teacher. Every “no” becomes protection we can’t see yet. And when the answer finally comes, it often makes us laugh at ourselves. “Oh, that’s why You didn’t let me have that job, or that relationship, or that opportunity back then!” Suddenly the dots connect, and what once felt like punishment looks like mercy.

I remember once praying hard for something I won’t say what, but let’s just call it “a situation I thought I needed.” I begged, bargained, promised the Creator all kinds of things if He’d just let it happen. And guess what? It didn’t. At the time, I was crushed. I thought my prayers bounced off the ceiling. But years later, I looked back and realized that if He had given me what I wanted, it would’ve wrecked me. It wasn’t a blessing it was a bullet disguised as one. And He loved me too much to hand me the gun.

That’s when trust gets real when you look back at the “no’s” and realize they were actually the biggest “yeses” for your life.

And don’t forget, humility isn’t weakness. Patience isn’t passivity. Trust isn’t laziness. People confuse those all the time. Humility is strength under control it’s knowing you could fight but choosing peace. Patience is endurance with hope it’s waiting without losing your joy. Trust is active faith it’s moving forward even when you can’t see the whole staircase.

So when we walk humbly, wait patiently, and trust deeply, we’re not just surviving we’re aligning ourselves with the very rhythm of heaven. And let me tell you, that rhythm is steady. It doesn’t rush, it doesn’t stall. It flows like a river, and if you let it, it will carry you exactly where you’re meant to be.

Now, I’ve got to throw a little humor in here because life is funny when you think about it. Have you ever noticed how kids ask “why” about everything? “Why is the sky blue? Why do dogs bark? Why can’t I eat ice cream for breakfast?” We laugh at them, but honestly, we’re the same way with the Creator. “Why did I lose that job? Why didn’t this relationship work out? Why do I have to wait so long for breakthrough?” We’re basically grown-up toddlers with more vocabulary.

And maybe the Creator smiles at us the same way parents smile at their kids knowing the child couldn’t possibly understand the answer yet, so they just say, “You’ll see one day.”

That’s faith. That’s trust. That’s the long game of spiritual maturity.

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Now, one thing about trusting the Creator is that it’ll make you look a little crazy sometimes. Folks will watch you waiting patiently when they would’ve already quit, and they’ll think, “Why hasn’t he given up yet?” They won’t understand how you can smile when things don’t add up, or how you can keep walking forward when the road is dark. But that’s what trust does it makes you steady in storms that should’ve knocked you flat.

I’ve had people say to me, “Kateb, I don’t see how you keep your faith when everything seems stacked against you.” And I tell them straight: “Because I’ve learned that just because I don’t see the Creator moving doesn’t mean He’s standing still.” His energy, His frequency, His presence it’s everywhere. If He knows when a leaf falls, if He knows the path of every drop of rain, then He surely knows the weight I carry.

And sometimes, I’ll be real with you, I laugh at myself when I get impatient. I’ll sit there and pray for something on Monday, and by Wednesday I’m already saying, “Well, I guess it wasn’t meant to be.” Really? Two days? I can’t even wait for delivery packages without checking the tracking number five times, and here I am acting like the Creator of the universe runs on my Amazon Prime schedule. Patience means giving up my timeline for His, and honestly, His track record is a lot better than mine.

Let me share one more folklore story that carries a big truth wrapped in a little humor.

There was once a king who wanted everything in his life to go his way. He told his wise servant, “Bring me something that will make me happy when I’m sad, and sad when I’m happy.” The servant thought long and hard, then returned with a small silver ring. On it were three simple words: This too shall pass.

The king wore that ring every day. When he was sad, it reminded him that sadness wouldn’t last forever. When he was overflowing with pride, it humbled him by reminding him that joy and triumph also pass with time. And in both seasons high and low it reminded him that the only thing permanent was the Creator’s will.

Now, that’s patience in a nutshell. That’s humility. That’s trust. And it makes me chuckle because we humans are so dramatic we act like every setback is the end of the world and every victory means we’ll never struggle again. But the truth is, both pass. The only constant is the One who wrote the story.

And speaking of stories, my grandmother always said, “Kateb, the way you treat people is the way you’re writing your own Judgment Day.” Whew. That’ll sober you up real quick. Because it’s easy to talk about patience and trust when it comes to the Creator, but the real test is how we deal with each other. Am I forgiving? Am I merciful? Am I kind? If I can’t extend what I hope to receive, I’ve missed the whole point.

Let me keep it real here: I’ve failed that test plenty of times. I’ve held grudges, I’ve been impatient, I’ve been harsh when I should’ve been gentle. But the Creator keeps giving me chances to learn, and for that, I’m grateful. Sometimes I joke that He’s more patient with me than I am with Him and maybe that’s the truth.

Humility means admitting we don’t have it all together. Patience means accepting that growth takes time. Trust means resting in the fact that the Creator isn’t finished with us yet. And when you put those three together, it changes how you see everything.

Think about it: when you’re humble, you don’t demand explanations for everything you accept that some answers belong only to the Creator. When you’re patient, you don’t rush the process you let life unfold in its proper time. When you trust, you don’t crumble under pressure you stand firm knowing the Creator’s hand is steady.

And here’s the beautiful irony: the more you trust, the lighter life feels. The more you let go, the freer you become. We spend so much energy trying to control what was never ours to control, and it wears us out. But the moment we surrender, we find peace. It’s like unclenching a fist you didn’t even realize you were holding tight. Suddenly the blood flows again, the hand relaxes, and you can breathe.

I’ll leave you with this: don’t underestimate the power of intention. The Creator weighs not just what we do, but why we do it. Every act of kindness, every prayer, every moment of patience it all counts when it’s done with sincerity. And the angels themselves lower their wings in delight for the one who seeks knowledge and truth. Imagine that the unseen world bowing in honor, not because you’re perfect, but because your heart is turned toward the Creator.

So here’s my encouragement to you: walk softly, wait patiently, trust deeply. And don’t forget to laugh along the way. Life is hard, but it’s also funny. The Creator has a sense of humor you can see it in the giraffe’s neck, the platypus’ face, and probably in some of the choices we make. He laughs not at us, but with us, knowing that in the end, everything will make sense.

So let’s stop rushing, stop complaining, stop trying to rewrite the story. Let’s be humble enough to admit we don’t know it all, patient enough to let the plan unfold, and trusting enough to believe the destination is worth the wait. Because if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s this: the Creator has never failed, and He’s not about to start with you.

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