The Unlosable Assignment

“I don’t say this out of need, for I have learned to be content in whatever circumstances I find myself. I know how to make do with little, and I know how to make do with a lot. In any and all circumstances I have learned the secret of being content, whether well fed or hungry, whether in abundance or in need. I am able to do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”- Philippians 4:11–13 (written by the Apostle Paul from a first-century prison.)

Well, it’s cold, the type of cold that makes you question the choice to walk in the woods once you arrive. The car heat is nice and warm, but it’s worth it. Old footsteps have frozen hard and uneven, so I leave them and take the deeper snow beside them. The sun sits low and bigger than usual over the ridge; a dull red ball hangs heavy in the winter air, close enough to the horizon that I can look straight at it without turning away. At the crest of the hill, where the ground levels out before falling away again, a small pool rests. To me this hill feels like a mountain and this water like a lake, though I’ve seen larger of both; they are simply about that size. Snow-covered beaver dams cut across the surface, and the water itself appears shallow, broken up by low islands of cattail. From a distance, most would take it for a swamp or bog.

The difficulty of the journey doesn’t cancel its purpose, and the comfort we leave behind doesn’t define the value of the act. Following another’s path isn’t always the faithful way; you must step where God gives you to go. Sometimes that step is enough, even without clarity, just for the quiet reward of a better view of the sun. 

The pool holds yellow perch, smallmouth, turtles, and other living things ordered to the place; nothing dangerous, though at present it lies covered beneath a firm ice and a thick blanket of snow. Nothing to fear but the cold. Just as the creatures persist beneath the ice, God’s work continues even when we cannot perceive it. Faithfulness does not depend on seeing or measuring the fruit; it depends on participation. The water is alive even if the eye sees only ice. Even now, men arrive on weekends by the truckload to fish through the ice, hoping for a glimpse of the life below, as people always have. They come better equipped than before, with tools that let them see into what was once only guessed at. Ice fishing is no small undertaking; it demands hauling heavy gear across frozen, uneven ground, chipping through thick ice with a hand auger or noisy power tool, bracing against wind that slices through layers of clothing, and sitting for hours on a small stool in near-silence while the cold seeps into fingers and bones. Most would rather stay inside with warmth and comfort, but these men endure it anyway, drawn by patience and the promise of hidden life beneath. But today the water beneath lay still, and I alone walked its frozen surface. 

I scan the water and see the dams and the scattered tracks, though without knowing better, one might think there was only ice, wet wood, and dirty snow, no pool at all; still, it was a pleasant place to stand. The sun, no longer whole, still showed itself clearly as a cloud passed before it. I have been here in every season, and in this one the birds do not sing. Yet I am still grateful.  

Even here, where the pond lies frozen under ice and snow, where the birds do not sing, there is enough to inspire it. Faithfulness and goodness do not require notice; they exist whether we see them or not. I am merely a witness here, not the pond’s master. I do not command the ice to crack or the fish to stir. My role is simply to observe, to be present, and to walk where I am given. The ice does not owe me revelation, and the birds do not owe me song. I can step carefully, notice the frozen beaver dams, feel the cold in my hands, and give thanks. God doesn’t promise you a sense of impact. He only promises that obedience is never wasted. Paul didn’t wake up every morning with some fresh cosmic mission download. His certainty didn’t come from clarity about outcomes, locations, or results. It came from something simpler.  Paul knew who he was. “Paul, a servant of Christ Jesus.” Before apostle. Before missionary. Before church planter. Servant of Christ. To be a servant of Christ isn’t small or weak. It means your identity is given, not earned, and it is secure in a way nothing else can be secure. Being a servant of Christ is beautiful because it is universal. It doesn’t belong only to Paul, or an apostle, or someone “gifted” or recognized. It belongs to anyone willing to live faithfully in their place, using what they’ve been given for the good of others. Paul wasn’t a servant for himself. He was a servant for all and was someone who followed the ultimate example found only in Jesus. There’s freedom in it, too. You don’t have to chase recognition, fame, or validation. Your “success” isn’t measured by outcomes but by faithfulness. You no longer have to discover identity but can receive it. To be a servant of Christ is to belong fully to a mission bigger than yourself, a work that continues forever for all. For Paul, the mission was to witness to Christ in word and life wherever he was. Not “be understood.” Not “avoid prison.” Not “feel effective.” Just speak truth when permitted. Live faithfully when constrained. Endure when silenced. The form changed. The circumstances changed. The assignment did not. It hasn’t. Even for us, it hasn’t. Your assignment is not a role. Not a career. Not a project. Not a calling you have to figure out. Your unlosable assignment is this: to be faithful to Christ in the circumstances you didn’t choose, using the capacities you didn’t make, for the good of others, without needing visibility or justification. That means receiving your circumstances as your assignment. Not fixing them. Not escaping them. Not interpreting them. But treating them. Your age, your intelligence, your height, your imagination, and your landscape, all of it as the field, not the problem. You can lose everything else. You cannot lose faithfulness unless you abandon it. 

I am grateful this spot isn’t on the top five lists you see in print, so no one comes here just for pictures or a quick feeling. That is not what this is for. The short days and long nights can weigh, but here it is good to watch that cycle slowly fade. I pray the car warms up soon.

𝕯𝕰𝖀𝕾 𝖁𝖀𝕷𝕿 . 𝕹𝖔 𝖌𝖚𝖎𝖑𝖙 𝖎𝖓 𝖑𝖎𝖋𝖊, 𝖓𝖔 𝖋𝖊𝖆𝖗 𝖔𝖋 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍, 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖎𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖕𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖋 𝕮𝖍𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖙 𝖎𝖓 𝖒𝖊 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝖑𝖎𝖋𝖊’𝖘 𝖋𝖎𝖗𝖘𝖙 𝖈𝖗𝖞 𝖙𝖔 𝖋𝖎𝖓𝖆𝖑 𝖇𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍. 𝕵𝖊𝖘𝖚𝖘 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖘 𝖒𝖞 𝖉𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖞!!!!

𝕭𝕰𝕹 𝕬𝕹𝕿𝕳𝕺𝕹𝖄 𝕾𝕴𝕸𝕺𝕹

Writing as 𝖂𝕴𝕷𝕷 𝕱𝕺𝕽𝕲𝕰

𝕻𝕴𝕷𝕲𝕽𝕴𝕄 𝕻𝕺𝕹𝕯𝕰𝕽𝕴𝕹𝕲𝕾 𝕸𝕴𝕹𝕴𝕾𝕿𝕽𝖄