2 Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, 3 because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. 4 Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.
James 1: 2-4 NIV
I have to be honest—being an adult was not what I expected. One morning over breakfast, I was thinking about the news from the day before. I shed a tear… and then it hit me: I’m officially an adult.
As a kid, I used to think adults were so cool. They had money. They could buy what they wanted. But what I didn’t realize back then was that the key word wasn’t “have”—it was earn. I didn’t see that adults had to work for everything they had.
I imagined life being like Command & Conquer, where aid drops from the sky with a parachute whenever you're in trouble. But real life? Not quite. Your mind might be at war. Your body might be at war. Your whole life might feel like a battlefield. But aid doesn’t just fall from the sky.
In the game, those aid drops only happen because of behind-the-scenes diplomacy—alliances, promises, support from other nations. And now that I think of it, that reminds me of our relationship with Christ.
God does send help. Not through a care package falling from the clouds, but through people, moments, opportunities, a friend, a job, or even a stranger. But we also need to be in relationship with Him—to know His heart. Because what’s the point of receiving help if what we’re asking for isn’t even what we need?
Lately, I’ve been asking myself what it really means to persevere. I’m not proud to say it, but I have a low tolerance for hardship. I’ve jumped between jobs, let go of relationships I couldn’t handle, and often felt completely lost. I don’t regret any of it, but still—what does it mean to stick it out? Does being an adult mean we just keep pushing through?
I haven’t fully unfolded the meaning of James 1:2–4 yet. But lately, I’ve noticed myself being more irritable—more reactive to things and people that normally wouldn’t even get a second thought. And I hate to admit it, but during those moments, I forget I’m a Christian. And that makes me feel worse.
But maybe perseverance isn’t just about enduring big, painful things. Maybe it’s about remembering. Remembering that I’m already saved. That I can show a little more grace. That I don’t need to carry everything on my own. Maybe it’s about choosing kindness over frustration. Choosing hope. Choosing joy.
Maybe that’s what perseverance looks like.
These days, I don’t want to just get older—I want to grow up. I want to be mature. I want to be a graceful woman. Someone who reflects light, who walks like Christ. That would be cool.
Actually, that would be awesome.