Don't Hang it Up

When life tempts you to give up, remember: God never hangs up on you.

Welcome to The Resilient Series—a collection of reflections from wise, faith-filled voices exploring what it means to live resilient in Jesus. Each week, we’ll hear from a different writer—authors, pastors, coaches, neurosurgeons, and everyday disciples—sharing their stories, Scripture insights, and hard-won hope. Whether you’re arriving here at the start or joining partway through, each piece stands alone and invites you to draw near to the God who strengthens us through every season.

There’s a moment in Psalm 137 when God’s people stop singing. They hang their harps on the willows and go silent by the rivers of Babylon—grief-struck, homesick, and hopeless. But what happens when we hang up more than a harp—when we hang up our faith, our dreams, our fight? In this powerful piece, Brandon Robinson reminds us that God’s people were never meant to stay silent.

Don’t Hang It Up

Psalm 137 paints a haunting picture:

By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept…
We hung our harps upon the willows.

They were far from home. Far from the temple. Far from hope. Close to breaking down.
As the river flowed, so did their tears.
And as bitter tears poured down their faces, their oppressors poured out taunts.
“Play us one of your joyful songs of Zion.”

But their playlist was stuck on the blues.
They hung up their harps.
They were hopeless, and harpless.

We’ve all been there.
Not hanging up a harp on a willow tree, but hanging up our hope on something else.

• Clothes hanging on the treadmill you swore you’d run on.

• A Bible gathering dust on your nightstand because the reading plan slipped.

• Another abandoned attempt at breaking that addiction.

Not harps on trees, but the towel we have thrown in on our dreams.

Now we are hung up on our hang ups.

A friend once told me: if you’re driving to Disney and make a wrong turn, you don’t cancel the trip and go home. You reroute. You don’t call off a great destination because of a detour.

We don’t have to be victims of the valleys. They’re made for travelers. You walk through them, you don’t build a house in them. You reroute, you don’t retreat.

I know this firsthand.

For years I struggled to read through the Bible in a year. I’d start strong, then fall off. January would slide into February. Before I knew it, I’d quit. But today? I’m on my fourth full read-through. Not because it was easy, but because I learned this:

Don’t give up because you messed up.

Year two, I started in June. I was so far behind, I had to read three-a-days to catch up. It was messy, imperfect, and clumsy — but I didn’t hang it up.

Failures aren’t final unless you refuse to try again. Just because you got off track doesn’t mean stop running the race. Truth is, I would rather have a list of failed attempts than a list of things I failed to even attempt.

For me, the hardest part of sticking to something is because the finish line seems so far away. Often we start thinking, how can I ever make it to that healthy weight, it’s so many pounds away.

How can I read through the Bible? It’s going to take so long. We hang it up often because it feels too far away and too difficult. We can’t seem to see an end in sight. But the blinded Sampson sought the one who could see the end.

Samson’s prayer hits me so hard.

Here’s a man who wasted his strength, compromised his calling, and literally got his eyes poked out because of his failures. But Judges 16 says this:

“The hair on his head began to grow again…”

(No Rogaine required)

And Samson prayed: “Lord, strengthen me just once more.”

One more time.

Sometimes that’s all it takes. Not a lifetime vow. Not a perfect streak. Just a prayer: “God, give me strength one more time.”

It’s the same heartbeat behind AA’s mantra: One day at a time.

Ed Mylett tells the story of his dad, who got sober through AA. Ed once asked, “Dad, how long are you going to stay sober?” His father’s answer: “One more day.” That “one more” added up. One more day became one more month, one more year, one more life restored.

Transformation doesn’t happen by the dozen. It happens by the day. Elephants are eaten one bite at a time. Mountains are climbed one step at a time. And harps are pulled off willow branches one string at a time.

But here’s the danger: every day you quit, the enemy celebrates.

A Navy SEAL once said they had a sign over every doorway: “Your enemy thanks you for not giving 100% today.”

Think about that. Every time I waste hours scrolling, or let shame silence my worship, or hang it up — the enemy is sending thank-you cards.

• Thanks for the Netflix binge.

• Thanks for the procrastination.

• Thanks for the silence. Another day I don’t have to worry about you.

Hell applauds when you hang it up. But Heaven moves when you hold on.

Hopeless is not in God’s vocabulary. The one who was hung up for you on the cross will not hang it up on you. Good fathers don’t run out when their kids are struggling. No, they run in.

History proves it.

Dr. Seuss was rejected 27 times. On his way home to burn his manuscript, he ran into a friend who stopped him. That friend published the book. Today? Over 600 million sold.

He almost burned it up. He almost hung it up.
But “once more” turned into millions.

Abraham Lincoln failed at almost everything before he became president.
Kathryn Stockett got 60 rejections before The Help became a bestseller.

The difference between a rejection and a resurrection?
Not giving up.

Don’t let rejection be the willow you hang your harp on.

Too often we let challenges become cemeteries. Failures are not fatal. They are not terminal unless we stop trying. And the Bible? It’s filled with people who didn’t hang it up.

Paul and Silas were beaten, chained, and locked in a prison cell. The Israelites hung up their harps in captivity — but Paul and Silas refused to let chains choke their praise.

At midnight, they prayed. They sang. Their situation didn’t steal their song. And when the earth shook, chains fell, and doors opened.

A friend of mine put it best: “The chains will break your praise, or your praise will break the chains.”

Music history gives us a glimpse of this truth.
At 14, Andraé Crouch crumpled up the sheet music for a song he thought was worthless and threw it in the trash. His sister pulled it out, told him to finish it, and saved it from being hung up.

That song? “The Blood Will Never Lose Its Power.” A song that went on to touch the world. Treasure pulled from the trash. The gospel itself is built on this truth. Jesus was hung up on a tree so we wouldn’t have to be.

• Hopeless is not in His vocabulary.

• Forsaken is not in His nature.

• Quitting is not in His character.

The blood gives us strength — from day to day.
And it will never lose its power.

So dust yourself off. Rinse and repeat. Repent and retry.

• Don’t hang it up because you slipped up.

• Don’t turn a knockdown into a knockout.

• Don’t let a rut become a grave.

Finish with flaws. Get your harp off the willow. Get your song back.

Because history isn’t written by the ones who hung it up.
It’s written by the ones who held on.

Resilience doesn’t mean never falling. It means refusing to hang up what God still intends to use. Whether you’ve quit, paused, or lost heart, take courage: the same Spirit who raised Jesus from the dead breathes new strength into tired hands. Pick up your harp. Your worship still matters. Your story’s not over.

Next week is a guest post from Pastor Rich Bitterman.

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