My dad and I were going back and forth about hopes and dreams the other day. He kept coming back to patience. How we should pray for it, practice it, and trust it.
And I hate that.
So I texted him back, “Yeah… but patience doesn’t get the worm.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “True, but patience with a worm gets the fish!”
Shoot, I thought, that's really good.
I can sit by the water all day long and practice patience over and over and over again, but without the worm . . . I'm guaranteed nothing.
In the midst of patience, effort still matters.
Getting up early, doing the work, controlling what I can - that’s real and purposeful and desperately needed. To catch the fish, I need to get the worm.
But the worm isn’t the win. It just earns me the chance to fish. Once the line is in the water, however, I don’t control what happens next.
I can choose the spot, choose the appropriate bait, and cast with precision. But I can’t force the fish to bite. Because that’s where patience lives—not as passivity, but as trust. As endurance. As staying in it long enough for it to matter.
Discipline earns the cast.
Patience lands the catch.
Both are required. One not more important than the other. And I hate that. I want to force success to happen, to control the outcome, to ensure success. But I can't.
Fish need time to bite.
No worm? No chance.
No patience? No catch.
The work - and perhaps the hardest work - is knowing the difference.
Get the worm early. Then, have the patience to fish long enough for it to matter.
Otherwise, it's just a boat of frustration, soggy worms . . . and no fish.
That’s what I’ve been thinking about lately.