A Fiction Prose Reflection, Book VIII of XI
byChrisWhite – 2025
On the Series:
This series weaves together the eleven cardinal virtues: Hope, Charity, Prudence, Kindness, Faith, Love, Temperance, Fortitude, Wisdom, Patience, and Justice, through a synthesis of literary prose and poetry. Each reflection reaches into the marrow of human experience, drawing on both original verse and timeless lines from poets who gave voice to the sacred. This, the eighth installment is Fortitude, the unyielding root that holds the body upright when the mind fractures and the heart falters.
There’s a stretch of road in Giles County, where the asphalt’s cracked and the kudzu fights for the fenceposts. There you’ll find Miss Evelyn, eighty-four years old, living in the last house still standing on a once-crowded ridge. The roof sags. The mailbox leans. The screen door’s patched with duct tape and bruised memory. But she stays.
She has lived through flood and fire. Buried her husband, two sons, and most of the neighbors who once traded eggs and stories across the red dirt lane. Still, every morning she makes coffee before the sun wakes, tends to the roses her long dead mother planted, and reads from a Bible that’s as weathered as her hands.
When the county sent someone to ask why she hadn’t moved into town, she answered without looking up:
“Because this is my land. And my people are in it.”
They didn’t ask again.
The wind don’t ask if you’re ready to stand,
It don’t wait for the strength of your hand.
Storms come sudden, hard and fast,
And only the rooted are built to last.
—Chris White, The Backbone of the South
Fortitude doesn’t always march.
More often, it endures.
It doesn’t show up in speeches or salutes.
You see it in the woman working two jobs and caring for a father who no longer remembers her name.
You see it in the young man in line at the hardware store, buying nails with a jar of coins to patch the porch where his children sleep.
You see it in the teacher who stays after school to hear a boy who’s stopped speaking.
You see it in what doesn’t break.
Rudyard Kipling wrote of such strength in If—, that poem often misquoted and little understood. He said:
“If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’”
—Rudyard Kipling, If—
That is fortitude. Not blind force, but holy endurance.
Not noise, but nerve.
Not bravado, but intentional breath.
The world is loud with certainty and swagger. But Fortitude speaks with fewer words. It does not chase after vengeance. It waits for justice. It does not seek applause or attention. It just gets up again. It just does.
In this virtue, we find our ancestors. The women who gave birth in barns and fed children from gardens planted in drought. The men who bled under the sun and never once called it noble. The veterans who came home, took off the uniform, and spent fifty years trying to build something gentler.
There is another voice, Maya Angelou, who knew how to speak fire and dignity in the same breath. In her poem Still I Rise, she wrote:
“Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.”
—Maya Angelou, Still I Rise
Fortitude is that rising. Not because it is easy. Not because it is fair.
But because there is no other choice that honors the soul.
Fortitude is the virtue of the backbone.
It steadies the spine in the face of loss.
It says: You may bend. But you will not bow.
It stays with the child in the ER waiting room.
It keeps the lights on in the soul when the whole town goes dark.
It is not glamorous. It is not loud.
But it is the reason anything gets built, anything is saved, anything endures.
So let us stand in the clay. Let us be rooted. Let us hold the line.
Because there is more good in this world than the wind can scatter,
and more strength in quiet souls than any banner can carry.
And when the storm passes, and it will pass,
we will still be standing.
Because Fortitude walked with us.
So when the wind howls and the river swells,
When justice falters and reason fails,
Stand like the oak, deep in the clay,
For fortitude walks where faithful stay.
—Chris White
Ramblings & Revelations 
Responses
This was so lovely. i would love to hear more about Miss Evelyn. She sounds like a woman more should aspire to be.
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Thank you Violet.
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I am so pleased to have discovered Chris White’s blog. He had like one of mine. I always like to respond by checking someone out in turn. I love his writing style, my mind is easily triggered. My husband Thomas died, and we had a rare and wonderful relationship. We were so intertwined. He wrote beautifully about Thomas and his wife. I was very moved.
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Thank you so much Pejj, you’re a terrific artist, love your site and your art. I grew up with a big sister who’s an artist—that’s all she’s ever done. As such, I’ve collected and appreciated fine art my entire adult life.
I rarely pass by an artist’s blog without taking a peek, but I’m picky so I don’t always leave a breadcrumb. I just had to leave one for you because you’re one of those rare and natural artists who can do anything you set your heart on doing.
Thank you for your kind words about my writing.
Chris
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So wonderfully expressed, Chris <3
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Thank you Rosaliene
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This is the kind of strength the world needs.
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Especially now Willie.
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Wonderful post. I have seen this type of strength called fortitude, and you write of it beautifully.
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Thank you Diana. This little experiment I’m undertaking, writing fictional examples of virtues we’ve all learned through religious context, seems to resonate with a lot of people. More than I would have imagined. I’m delighted of course, but it brings up another question—why? We’re about the same age, I suspect having read your blogs, so we’ve grown up with these lessons. But our younger generations—maybe not. We now grow up with video games and the internet. I suspect, had I written these with a stronger religious context, perhaps our younger readers might skip past it.
It’s an interesting idea anyway.
I’m honestly enjoying this journey, writing this series. It’s working against me; making me more mindful of my own shortcomings. LOL
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I agree that writing these with a stronger religious context might turn off some folks—young and old. However, I am not sure that our younger generations aren’t learning some valuable life lessons, including this one. After all, they have lived through 9/11, a pandemic, various wars, and great political “unease” in this country and the world. I absolutely hope the younger generations are learning lessons that will help them long after our generation is gone. Your writings are one way to help ensure that. Thanks for the interesting posts!
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Good observations, and thank you.
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thanks for visiting my site. I would be thrilled if you’d write a guest blog post for my site. If you think it might be fun or helpful to have my followers (who total about 10k across my various social media) meet you, here’s the link for general guidelines:
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You’re welcome. What type/genre of post would you like to see contributed to your site? I’m working on a fiction post which will be a bit spooky. Probably 700 to 1000 words. I enjoy the dark Gothics with a southern voice.
Thoughts?
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Thank you for leaving your mark at JanBeek so I could find you. Your blog is amazing, inspiring, and thoughtful. I noted, “…more strength in quiet souls than any banner can carry.” And said, Amen! 🙏🏽 Fortitude … yes, a necessary ingredient for loving souls reaching out into a hurting world. Bless you!
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Jan, thank you so much for taking the time to send such a thoughtful regard. I appreciate you so much. Chris
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You’re welcome, Chris. Thank you for your thoughtfulness.
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That sounds wonderful. Also there are suggestions for topics at the link. Whenever you’re ready or if you have questions please email me at contactdaal@gmail.com
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I don’t have words, except to say wow. The description is beyond my imagination. Thank you
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Thank you for the blessing to know. To know that the simple efforts of a sinner can be used in divine ways.
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