I’m back after… I don’t even know, probably six weeks since my last post. You know how life can be sometimes. One of the things they tell you when you’re trying to do something “official,” like a podcast or a blog, is that you’re supposed to be consistent. Well—sorry about that.
But sometimes, you just need a break.
And speaking of breaks, can I ask—am I the only person who feels addicted to constantly moving, constantly scrolling, and always feeling like I have to be productive? Even when I have a day off, I feel this nagging guilt, like what am I supposed to be doing that I’m not doing?
I really think that’s a result of our culture—the pace we live at here in America. Things are so progressive, so full, that we’ve lost touch with what it really means to be alive. We don’t live in the present moment because our minds are scattered in hundreds of directions. We live in a society that’s so media-driven, so fast-paced, and jam-packed that we’ve accepted “busy” as normal.
You can go like that for a while, but eventually, you burn out.
It took me years to realize that the way I was living—always striving—was actually sin for me. It sounds harsh, but I was living in a way I wasn’t meant to live, and it caused anxiety, depression, and constant exhaustion. I wasn’t trusting God or walking in rhythm with the Holy Spirit.
And honestly, we’re not so different from the Israelites. We read their story and think, “How could they be so stubborn? Why wouldn’t they just trust God?” But we do the same thing. We live enslaved to busyness, to striving, to doing more than God ever asked of us.
Addicted to Busy
We grow up watching people around us working nonstop. Even as kids, we’re conditioned to fill every hour—school, sports, activities, more commitments than our souls can carry. Somewhere along the way, we lose our anchor. We go through the motions without understanding why.
That was me for so many years.
It’s only been in the last couple of years that I’ve started to get clarity about this idea I call the art of being still. It’s taken time for me to change how I think about productivity and to stop using busyness as a measure of worth.
We act like the busier someone is, the more important they must be. But is that true for us, too? If we’re not constantly doing, do we lose value?
The truth is, when we get too busy, we lose the substance of who we are—and the fruit we produce becomes shallow and tasteless.
Here in East Texas, we know the difference between a homegrown watermelon and one that’s been shipped in from somewhere else. The local one is rich, juicy, full of flavor. The other? It looks the same but has no life in it.
That’s what our lives look like when we’re too busy. We might still look productive, but the fruit isn’t rich. It’s hollow.
When God Makes You Stop
Not long ago, my husband talked me into going on a retreat. I fought him on it—“I don’t have time! What about my work, my loans, my clients? What if people need me?”
But he made me go.
By the second day, I didn’t care if I ever saw my phone again. It was liberating. For the first time in a long time, I was quiet enough to actually hear the Lord.
And that’s when it hit me—my phone wasn’t just a distraction; it had become my master. Every ping and notification was another voice louder than His.
If all you ever hear are other voices—text messages, news, social media—then how can you possibly hear God? He doesn’t shout over the noise. He waits until you’re still.
Sometimes God will require you to be still before He releases a word.
He wants us to rest, to breathe, to stay calm so that He can remind us that He’s with us, that He’s for us, and that He already has a strategy. But how can He give you strategy if you’re never quiet enough to listen?
The Israelites at the Red Sea
I love this story from Exodus 14:14 — “The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.”
The Israelites had just been set free from Egypt, and now they were stuck between Pharaoh’s army and the Red Sea. They didn’t have weapons, they didn’t have a plan, and fear was screaming at them.
But God told them to be still.
When I looked up that Hebrew word for “still,” it means to be calm—even to be deaf. It’s as if God was saying, “Be deaf to what the enemy is saying to you.”
That’s powerful.
Because the enemy roars like a lion, but God speaks in a still, small voice. He’s saying, “Be quiet, be calm, stop listening to fear.”
Learning to Live Still
Stillness isn’t something you do once during a crisis; it’s a way of life. When you learn to live from a place of calm before God, you’ll be better prepared when chaos hits.
We’re triune beings—body, soul, and spirit—and when one part is in chaos, the others follow. So learning to quiet yourself physically and emotionally is just as spiritual as prayer.
Lately, I’ve started doing short Christian meditations—10 or 15 minutes of stillness and reflection on scripture. It’s been so grounding. Because when you calm down, you can hear Him.
You can’t hear Him when you’re constantly running for your life.
We’re all trying to control so much that’s beyond our control. But freedom comes when you learn to surrender.
What Stillness Really Means
Being still doesn’t mean you’re doing nothing. It means you’re doing the right kind of nothing.
Stillness is surrender. It’s trust. It’s alignment.
And God often works the most in the silence between seasons. Just because it looks quiet doesn’t mean He’s not doing something. Think about a seed—it looks dead in the dirt for a while, but something is growing beneath the surface.
Stillness is the soil where faith grows roots. We just don’t stay in it long enough for them to take hold.
Stillness Is Worship
We treat stillness like laziness, but spiritually, it’s warfare. It’s saying, “I trust God enough not to manipulate the outcome.”
It’s also worship.
It’s standing in reverence and saying, You are God, and I am not.
And sometimes, God has to prune us like the Vine does to an overproducing branch—cutting back the busyness so we can heal and bear healthy fruit again.
How to Practice Being Still
Here are a few simple ways to start:
- Silent drives or walks. Leave your phone at home. Just breathe.
- Morning Selah. Ten minutes with no music, no phone, no words—just awareness of His presence.
- Surrender prayer. “God, I trust You to move where I cannot.”
- A still day. Pick one day a week to unplug completely. No phone. No noise. Just rest.
A Final Thought
When you stop striving, you start seeing.
When you stop talking, you start hearing.
Stillness takes courage, but it’s where your strength and peace are renewed.
“Be still, and know that I am God.” — Psalm 46:10
Listen to the podcast episode here:
https://grace-grit.castos.com/episodes/the-art-of-being-still
