How is your sittin’ leather holding up?
Sittin’ leather was an idiom used by an older generation in my family to talk about patience, as in: “That child will never catch a fish. She doesn’t have enough sittin’ leather.” This comment was generally directed at my younger sister, Cathy, who was known to be energetically daredevilish and averse to spending a long afternoon with our grandparents’ siblings dipping bamboo poles in the river behind Uncle Fritz’s farm.
The oldsters had a semi-permanent setup on the riverbank—an outpost born of Depression Era ingenuity. Old farm equipment had been repurposed into outdoor furniture: camp stools cobbled together from rusted plow parts and metal tractor seats. Viewed from a distance, it looked like an avant garde sculpture garden. Up close, it was all uncomfortably utilitarian. The oldsters would beckon the youngsters to accompany them on a walk from the farmhouse, through the cornfield, and to the water’s edge. They would plop straw hats upon our heads to protect us from the sun, bait our hooks with nightcrawlers because we were squeamish, and help us cast our lines. But after that first flurry of activity, we were then expected to settle in, quietly, and wait. Wait. Wait. Wait as the sun beat down. Wait as the improvised steel chairs heated up. Wait as iridescent green bottle flies whizzed around us.
I think it was the indeterminate length of the waiting that caused the greatest exasperation for us as elementary school-aged kiddos.
“How long do we have to sit still?”
“As long as it takes to catch supper.”
“How long will that be?”
“It will be as long as it will be.”
“Will it take as long as a Scooby-Doo cartoon? Or as long as Lawrence Welk ?”
“I don’t know, but if you keep scaring the fish away by talking, it will take longer.”
I don’t think that I am any more or less patient by nature than my sister is. Just more lethargic. This is probably why there’s a picture of me in a family album proudly displaying a 24” catfish, but not one of Cathy doing the same. No doubt, she ran out of sittin’ leather and sprinted off to turn cartwheels, chase butterflies, and find trees to climb.
The capacity of our sittin’ leather has been vigorously tested for a full year now as we arrive at the first anniversary of our world locking down against the forces of pandemic pestilence. Tedious all along, this entire 12- month period of quarantining and isolating and limiting and modifying has seemed interminable. And yet, here we are. We have made it this far, though not without struggle and worry and sorrow and distress. We have lasted this long, though not without boredom.
Patience, though, seems to be the exact thing we need to practice diligently for a little while longer. The end of the Covid-19 epoch is apparent! Hope is on the horizon, and the horizon isn’t as obscured as it once was! Still, because we are called to care deeply for one another—called to love our neighbor with at least the same intensity that we love ourselves—we need to find the fortitude to see this through to the end. To let loose of our good discipline now would be premature. Be encouraged, and keep up your mask-wearing, hand-washing, distance-keeping practices.
“Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” Galatians 6:9
The time for cartwheels and butterflies and fresh adventures will come soon, but for the indeterminate number of weeks ahead, we simply must not give up on catching supper, on staying seated and quiet until the creel is full and the mission is completed.
Enduringly,
Pastor Chris
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