I finished my first nonfiction read of the year today: Now and Not Yet by Ruth Chou Simons.

Three quotes stood out to me enough to write them in my notes. They were:

“Our fixations become the rudders that steer the ship of our hearts’ desires.”

Our fixations.
What we fix our eyes on.
What we behold.
What we meditate on, mull over, obsess about.
What we can’t get out of our heads.
What keeps us up at night.
What quietly drives our days.

I have to ask myself honestly: What am I fixated on right now?

In different seasons, that place has been occupied by work, kids, illness, running, entertainment—good things, necessary things—but not always the right thing.

Scripture tells us, again and again, to fix our eyes on Jesus.
To behold Him.
To look at Him.

Because when we fixate on Jesus, He begins to steer our hearts toward what is good and true. Our desires slowly reorient. We begin to want what He wants. We start to see from His perspective.

Jesus, would You steer the ship of my heart’s desires?
Would You be my one thing—my main thing?

The second quote stopped me in a different way:

“We don’t rise to the level of our expectations. We fall to the level of our training.” —Archilochus

We see how true this is everywhere in life.

When I ran my marathon in 2024 and hit a hill, I repeated the same phrase in my head:
You trained for this. You trained for this.

And I had.
I made it up that hill running while many others stopped to walk—not because I was stronger, but because I had trained on hills for months beforehand.

The same is true spiritually.

If we want to live the way Jesus lived, we have to train the way Jesus trained.
We have to sit with His word.
Commune with the Father.
Spend time in prayer.
Practice faithfulness in the ordinary.

There is no shortcut. No instant maturity.
No “super Christian” switch that flips overnight.

And yet—here’s where I often get discouraged.

I’ve been training.
Showing up.
Practicing the rhythms.

But my circumstances haven’t changed much.
The fruit isn’t as visible as I’d hoped.

That’s when the third quote met me with gentleness:

“You don’t always have to be blooming to be growing.”

Deep breath.
What a relief.

Scripture reminds us of this truth, too. Psalm 1 says that the one who delights in the law of the Lord is like a tree planted by streams of water—yielding its fruit in season.

In season.
Not on demand.
Not all the time.

The absence of blooms does not mean the absence of growth.

So today, I am encouraged again to settle into the rhythms of everyday life.
To fix my eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of my faith.
To run my race with endurance—showing up each day to train. To establish routines that draw me closer to Jesus, not because I have to do these things to be loved by him, but because his love compels me to know him more and more.

And to loosen my grip on output, results, and visible progress.

I can trust that fruit will come in its season—because God is faithful.

“Do not grow weary in doing good, for at the proper time you will reap a harvest if you do not give up.” —Galatians 6:9