Tossing Turtles

There’s a song called Fruit Takes Time.

I heard it one day while driving, and it hit me square in the chest. The very first verse says:

I asked the Lord for patience, and He threw me into the waiting.
I told Him to make me righteous, and I almost became a bitter man.
Asked Him to heal His church and He put my face to a mirror.
I sought the strength of God, and I found it in my weakness.
Oh what a funny thing.
Thank God Your ways are better than mine.
Break my heart if that’s what it takes. Find me faithful.
Good fruit takes time.

Oomph.

I learned a long time ago not to ask God to make me patient. I want nothing to do with that prayer—and neither does anyone with good sense. Because the only way to learn patience is by waiting. Forever.

Here’s the thing: everything the Lord teaches us is painful. Every single lesson. Kingdom living is the direct opposite of our nature. We are, by default, impatient, unloving, and unrighteous. And most of the time, pain is the only thing that gets our attention long enough for us to even consider changing.

I recently heard someone say, “Every trial isn’t just a trial—it’s an upgrade. It takes you to another level. And when you finally master that level, there’s another devil waiting for you there.”

That sank in.

Every time the Lord tests my faith, He expands it. Why? Because I find Him faithful in something bigger than I’ve trusted Him with before. And every time I discover His faithfulness, my faith grows stronger.

I think of it like Mario Brothers.

You start on the first level, run the course, and enter a castle—only to find a dragon waiting for you. He starts throwing axes, and you think, What in the world is this? You fail. Over and over. But eventually, you learn the pattern. You master the course. And then—bam! You beat the dragon.

Cue the mini celebration.

Until you enter the next level and meet a bigger, faster dragon…with spikes.

That is life.

You keep running the course, learning the obstacles, finding the hidden treasures, and still encountering that dumb dragon. Just when you think you’ve figured things out, you hit a level where you’re sliding across ice while turtles—or some other nonsense—are flying at your head.

It’s exhausting. But all the while, you’re learning. Growing. Changing.

Here’s the difference between the game and real life: in the game, you’re the only good guy. In real life, you have a Coach. And He’s running right alongside you, teaching you how to survive the course.

When you fail, He says, “That’s okay. Let’s try again.”

How long it takes us to master the course depends on how well we listen.

Sometimes we get tired and just sit down. Arms folded. Done. And that’s when the Coach kneels down, encourages us, reminds us not to quit. Sometimes we get up. Sometimes we don’t.

Either way, the course doesn’t disappear. The turtles keep flying. The dragon keeps taunting. And between the flames and the nudging, we feel like quitting altogether.

In a video game, you can turn it off and go to bed.

The good news is—you can do that in real life too. Sometimes all you need is a nap and a snack. And suddenly, you’re ready to try again.

That’s a good day.

Fighting the good fight is exhausting, but for me, I’d rather be in the fight than in the wait.

Waiting is my nemesis.

We recently survived Snow-mageddon 2025. I took my grandson with me to volunteer at the food bank because people’s needs don’t stop just because it snows. On the way, we pulled up to a red light on a side road…and sat there. And sat there. The light wasn’t registering us.

I looked left. Looked right. Looked for cops. And then I went.

My grandson gasped. “Mimi! That’s illegal!”

Yes. But I was done waiting.

That’s me.

And waiting for a miracle—for healing, provision, relief from grief—can feel just like that. You want to run the red light. But you can’t. Because this isn’t something you can fix yourself.

So you wait on God. And He is not on our timeline.

So what do you do when you’re stuck in the waiting?

You encourage yourself in the Lord.

I’m waiting right now—for something critical. My future hinges on it. And nothing is happening. The temptation is to believe God doesn’t care, that He’s watching me squirm. Those thoughts are flaming turtles—meant to make you quit and doubt your Coach.

So here’s what I do.

First, I douse the flames. I refute the lies—out loud. The enemy can’t hear your thoughts, and your brain needs a new narrative anyway.

Then I open Scripture and read God’s promises back to Him.

“You said this, Lord. On this day. I believed You. You haven’t changed. You promised. And Your Word says blessed is she who believed You would fulfill it.”

I pour it out. I’m honest. I tell Him I’m out of patience and need more grace.

And He is faithful.

Am I still waiting? Yes. But I begin to see a cloud the size of a man’s hand. And I know rain is coming.

This isn’t manipulation. It’s encouragement. God hasn’t changed—but I have. My posture shifts from discouraged to expectant. And faith ignites.

When you declare His Word, your heart remembers. And the enemy hears it too—and it irritates him to no end. It’s like grabbing the turtle mid-air and throwing it right back at the dragon.

So if you’re in the waiting, encourage yourself in the Lord. Remind Him of His promises. And wield yourself a turtle.

It’s always a good day when you get to do that.

Stay strong, my friend.
Your answer is coming.