Over the past week, I’ve spent a great deal of time evaluating the perspectives I hold, the things I believe the Lord has unveiled to me over the course of my 43 years on this earth, and especially what He has been revealing over the last six years.

One conclusion continues to settle deeper within me:

One of the most damaging things we can do is to close ourselves off to the reality that all truth finds its source in Christ.

Too often we discover a framework that has helped us, and instead of allowing it to remain one piece of God’s unfolding wisdom, we begin treating it as though it is the whole picture. We become convinced that the answer we’ve found is the only answer God intends to use.

Sometimes we even reject the wisdom He places before us simply because it doesn’t fit the system we’ve become comfortable defending.

I realized a long time ago that I don’t fit comfortably inside many of the existing boxes.

And I’ve come to believe that perhaps I was never supposed to.

I believe God is continually revealing new pathways, not because truth changes, but because our understanding of His truth continues to mature.

Living Between Two Worlds

For those who don’t know me well, I serve as a residential substance use disorder counselor. Every day I work with individuals whose lives have been profoundly affected by addiction, trauma, depression, anxiety, abuse, and emotional pain.

Because of the population I serve, I cannot afford to operate apart from the leading of the Holy Spirit.

If I become led by the emotional atmosphere in the room rather than by the Spirit of God, chaos quickly follows.

My responsibility is not to be pulled into the emotional instability around me, but to remain rooted in Christ so I can help create an environment where peace, clarity, and hope become possible.

But here’s what I’ve learned.

Being led by the Spirit does not require me to reject psychology.

Nor does it require me to spiritually bypass the very real work of healing.

The renewing of the mind isn’t evidence of weak faith.

It is part of God’s design for transformation.

The Soul Was Never the Enemy

I grew up in church environments where the soul was often spoken of as though it were something inherently flawed that couldn’t be trusted and needed to be suppressed.

I’ve come to believe something very different.

I believe the soul has a sacred purpose.

The mind, the will, and the emotions were not accidents.

They were created by God.

The soul is where spiritual realities become understood, interpreted, and lived.

This is precisely why renewal is necessary.

Renewing the mind isn’t replacing something evil.

It’s restoring our way of seeing until our thoughts increasingly agree with the truth revealed in Christ.

Isaiah 61 paints this picture beautifully.

Jesus came to bind up the brokenhearted.

He came to restore those whose inner world had been fractured by trauma, grief, abuse, oppression, and despair.

Notice what He restores.

He doesn’t discard the person.

He heals them.

He brings the entire person into wholeness.

Spirit.

Soul.

Body.

Redemption has always been about restoration, not replacement.

I See Jesus Everywhere

This is where some people may disagree with me.

But I cannot ignore what I continue to see.

When I study Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, I see principles that remind me of renewing the mind.

When I study Carl Rogers’ Person-Centered Theory, I see the incredible value of seeing people with dignity, compassion, and unconditional worth.

When I study Erik Erikson’s stages of development, I see a deeper understanding of how people mature and how identity forms over the course of life.

When I study Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, I see a reminder that human beings are integrated creatures whose physical, emotional, relational, and spiritual lives all matter.

Do I believe every theory is completely correct?

No.

Every researcher interprets their discoveries through a particular worldview.

But I do believe this:

Every genuine discovery about how human beings function ultimately reflects something God designed.

Because Jesus is the source of all truth.

If something is true, it belongs to Him.

Our responsibility isn’t to reject truth because someone outside the Church discovered it.

Our responsibility is to discern it, redeem it, and understand it through Christ.

Revelation Should Always Produce Reformation

One thing I’ve become convinced of is that revelation was never meant to stop with inspiration.

Revelation exists to produce reformation.

The Kingdom of God is meant to become visible on earth.

And the earth begins to look like heaven when people begin to think, love, forgive, and live more like Christ.

That includes our minds.

Our emotions.

Our relationships.

Our behaviors.

Our communities.

Everything.

This is why I spend so much time studying psychology, counseling, trauma, addiction, development, neuroscience, and spiritual formation.

Not because I’ve become less convinced of Christ.

Because I’ve become more convinced that Christ is present in places we have often refused to look.

The Next Generation of Ministry

I believe God is raising up ministers who will not simply preach truth.

They will demonstrate it.

They will understand both the language of heaven and the language of human experience.

They will help people see that God’s wisdom isn’t threatened by genuine scientific discovery.

It is revealed through it.

The Church has nothing to fear from truth.

Truth belongs to Christ.

Always has.

Always will.

The systems we’ve built may pass away.

The traditions we defend may change.

But truth remains.

And wherever truth is found, Christ is waiting to be recognized.

In the Heart of the Father

I want to begin by saying this is not written with religious scholars or theological experts in mind. I have come to understand that this is not my audience. This is not the people I was sent to.

Instead, this is for those who wonder if God is real. It is for those who have walked through such dark places in their minds, hearts, and circumstances that simply believing He exists feels like a miracle in itself.

Recently, I found myself reflecting on words written nearly two thousand years ago by the Apostle Paul. He wrote them from a prison cell—not because he had committed a crime or deserved punishment, but because he refused to stop proclaiming the Gospel that had transformed his life.

In Philippians 4:11-12, Paul writes:

“I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.”

Other translations say:

“I have learned to be satisfied in any circumstance.”

Like many believers, I have read this verse countless times. I thought I understood it. But after forty-three years of navigating trauma, depression, addiction, broken relationships, financial struggles, and the long journey of healing, these words carry a weight I never recognized before.

God has a way of teaching us lessons long before we understand what we are learning.

Looking back, I can honestly say that much of my life has felt like training ground experiences. Yet while I was in them, I rarely understood what God was doing. Most of the time, I wasn’t trying to learn anything. I was simply trying to survive.

A few months ago, while facilitating a recovery group with some of my clients, I heard a phrase that I have not been able to shake:

Irritable. Restless. Discontent.

The facilitator on the training video described these as the characteristics of a heart that has not yet found peace.

Immediately, something inside me recognized those words.

They described me.

Not just for a season. Not just during difficult years.

My entire life.

The instructor went on to explain that a heart that is irritable, restless, and discontent will constantly seek entertainment or busyness. It will always need something external to distract it from the discomfort within.

That statement hit me like a revelation.

I realized I had spent most of my life searching for something to satisfy me. When I wasn’t entertaining myself, I was staying busy. When I wasn’t busy, I was pursuing another goal, another relationship, another achievement, another answer.

Then he said something that changed everything:

People do this because they believe happiness is found outside of themselves.

Suddenly, Jesus’ words echoed in my heart with new clarity:

“Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

For years, I had heard that verse. I had preached it. I had quoted it. I had highlighted it in my Bible.

Yet in that moment, I finally understood it.

A restless heart is an exhausted heart.

A person who is constantly searching is a person who is constantly carrying the burden of believing that peace exists somewhere just beyond their reach.

So what had Paul found that so many of us miss?

He had found rest.

Not rest from hardship.

Not rest from suffering.

Not rest from uncertainty.

He had found rest in Christ Himself.

I think many of us, even with our theology, sermons, Bible studies, and carefully crafted spiritual language, are still searching. We are still looking for joy. We are still looking for peace. We are still looking for validation.

We are often trying to fill an internal void with external things.

I know because I spent most of my life doing exactly that.

As a child, I thought happiness would come through receiving love from other people. First my mother. Then my father. Then other family members.

I believed that if they had loved me differently, I would somehow be whole.

Later it became friendships and acceptance. If I could just fit in, I thought I would finally be okay.

Then it became marriage and children. Surely having a family of my own would satisfy the ache.

When marriage did not bring the healing I hoped for, I looked elsewhere. Perhaps I simply needed a different kind of love.

Then came education.

Degrees.

Titles.

Positions.

Achievements.

One by one, I pursued things I believed would finally make me feel valuable, secure, and complete.

But none of them could give me what I was looking for.

Eventually the suffering inside became so profound that happiness no longer seemed attainable. At that point, I didn’t even want happiness.

I wanted peace.

And when peace felt impossible, I wanted escape.

I wanted an ending.

Yes, I am telling you that I—the person many know as optimistic, faith-filled, and hopeful—once believed death might be my savior.

And it was there, in one of the darkest moments of my life, that Jesus made Himself known to me.

Not through a sermon.

Not through a conference.

Not because someone convinced me with a theological argument.

But because on the side of a road, sitting in my car, surrounded by despair, I encountered a peace that did not belong to this world.

What I eventually came to understand is that peace is not the absence of pain, struggle, uncertainty, or loss. Peace is the presence of Christ in the midst of those things.

My circumstances did not immediately change.

I still had wounds to heal.

Patterns to unlearn.

Consequences to face.

Yet something inside of me shifted.

The endless search had begun to end.

I was no longer looking for life from the outside because I had encountered the One who is Life itself.

That is what Paul found.

He discovered that contentment was not rooted in circumstances but in union.

He found a place of rest so deep that prison walls could not take it away.

He found a reality that existed beyond comfort, success, freedom, or suffering.

He found Christ.

Today, when I look at my life, I realize that the chaos around me cannot touch what is eternally true within me.

The peace of God is not something I must earn.

The love of God is not something I must chase.

The Kingdom of God is not something far away.

It is present.

It is near.

It is within.

Perhaps our greatest struggle is not the absence of God’s presence but our inability to recognize it.

We spend our lives searching for externally what has already been given internally through Christ.

And so if you are reading this and you recognize yourself in those three words—irritable, restless, and discontent—I want to encourage you.

Maybe your answer is not found in another achievement.

Another relationship.

Another promotion.

Another distraction.

Maybe the thing your soul has been searching for is the very thing that has been waiting for you all along.

Christ.

He stands at the threshold, inviting weary hearts to leave the wilderness of striving and enter the promised land of abiding.

He is waiting to teach you how to rest.

Because the Kingdom is not merely a place we go someday.

It is a reality we awaken to today.

And perhaps the keys Jesus spoke of were never meant to unlock a distant heaven.

Perhaps they were given to unlock the Kingdom already planted within us—a Kingdom where restless searching gives way to peace, discontent gives way to joy, and fear gives way to perfect love.

That is the rest Paul found.

And it is the rest still waiting in the heart of the Father.

Recently, I’ve spent a great deal of time thinking about how much of my life has been spent pursuing goals that I believed embodied who I wanted to become.

Now, I am a goal-oriented person. I am not suggesting that goals themselves are dysfunctional. What I am saying is that my constant pursuit of achievement has never truly made me happier or more secure in my value. In many ways, it has often had the opposite effect.

Years ago, an aunt told me that once you reach your forties, your understanding of success begins to shift. At the time, I was in my twenties and likely rolled my eyes at the thought. But now, as a woman approaching her mid-forties, staring down menopause and watching my children step fully into adulthood, I can say those words were truer than I could have understood when they were first spoken.

Where I once measured success by titles after my name or positions I could attain, I now find that success means something altogether different.

I no longer feel the same desire to accumulate credentials. Instead, I find myself longing to be settled.

Let that linger for a moment.

Because where I once believed I needed a particular title, platform, or position to matter, life has taught me that some of the deepest wisdom flows from a seated and settled posture. It grows in people who have allowed the love of God to sink deep into their hearts, planting roots that run far beneath the surface.

Today, I reflected on many of the goals I have pursued throughout my life and found myself asking the Lord a difficult question:

“Were these goals born from Your heart working through me, or were they born from an unsettled place within my soul—a weary space still searching for validation?”

The honest answer is that many of them were the latter.

That is not easy to admit.

Even after encountering the love of God, there have been places within me that still sought worth through accomplishment, significance through achievement, and identity through recognition.

So what do we do when we become aware of this?

For me, the answer is simple.

I ask the Lord to recalibrate my heart.

To align my desires with His desires.

To teach me the difference between ambition that flows from love and striving that flows from lack.

To quiet the loud cries of the inner child still longing to be seen and heard, and instead anchor me in the voice of a Father who has already called me beloved.

Perhaps true success is not found in becoming more, achieving more, or acquiring more.

Perhaps it is found in becoming settled enough to believe that we already are loved, already are seen, and already are enough.

From that place, everything else becomes fruit rather than proof.

The Storm does not govern you, you govern the storm

The best lesson I’ve learned in life was not found in some deep theological framework or revelation that would gain attention online. It was not something flashy enough to gather a million followers or make people marvel at my spirituality.

Instead, it was something much quieter.

It was something learned as a woman waking up each day and continuing to walk step by step through life with Jesus.

What I have come to realize is this: the promise of God is not that storms will one day completely cease. The promise is that we can find a place of rest even while the storm rages around us.

This is the reality Paul speaks of when he writes about “learning to be content in all things.” Contentment was never about having perfect circumstances. It was about discovering stability in the middle of instability.

I think many of us unintentionally over-spiritualize what transformation looks like. We ask God for the dramatic moments — the parting of seas, the visible miracles, the sudden breakthroughs. Yet often we overlook the miracles unfolding quietly within us every single day.

My life itself is a miracle.

Not because, from the outside, it necessarily appears extraordinary. In fact, many people might overlook it entirely. But what makes my life miraculous is that every statistic that should have defined me was defied. Every lie that once governed my thinking was undone. Every ounce of chaos that once existed within me has steadily been dismantled.

And this did not happen through one massive event.

It happened through the unveiling of Christ within me.

Scripture says that “Christ in you” is the hope of glory. I used to think glory was something distant — some future manifestation of heaven. But I’ve come to realize that glory begins unfolding the moment Christ becomes unveiled within the human heart.

God restores us so that we can restore everything we touch.

The life we live outwardly is deeply connected to the internal reality we carry. The frameworks we build, the truth we embody, and the peace we release into the world all flow from the revelation of Christ formed within us.

Recently, my spiritual mother shared a message about the cornerstone that I have not been able to shake. She spoke about how the cornerstone becomes the central point by which everything else is aligned.

That message stayed with me because I realized something profound:

As long as my focus remains fixed on the cornerstone, eventually everything around me must come into alignment.

Not immediately.
Not perfectly.
But inevitably.

Some time ago, I had a dream that now makes much more sense to me.

In the dream, I was standing in the middle of a storm. At first the winds were manageable, but gradually the storm intensified. The pressure increased until I literally began lifting off the ground. I was losing stability. Everything felt out of control.

Then suddenly, I saw Jesus.

What struck me most was that He did not remain distant from the storm. He did not stand safely on the sidelines shouting instructions from afar.

He stepped directly into the middle of it with me.

He took both of my hands, and as my eyes became fixed on Him, something changed. The winds began to settle. The storm lost its power. Peace returned. My feet became stable again.

For years I would have interpreted that dream by asking, “What does this reveal about me?”

But now I understand something different.

The dream was never primarily about me.

It was about revealing something about Him.

It revealed His nearness.
His steadiness.
His willingness to enter directly into the middle of human chaos and become our peace there.

So often we think freedom means the complete removal of hardship. But many times, freedom is actually the ability to remain internally anchored regardless of what surrounds us externally.

Scripture says, “Guard your heart above all else, for out of it flow the issues of life.”

Many translations use the word “issues,” but the deeper meaning carries the idea of boundaries, sources, and even the shaping of life itself. In other words, the condition of our inner world directly influences the reality we experience outwardly.

This does not mean life will become perfect.

Paul still faced imprisonment.
Peter was still crucified.
Storms still came.

But what changed was that they were no longer ruled by the storm.

And perhaps this is one of the greatest revelations we can come to know:

If we keep our eyes fixed on Jesus, we ourselves become stable in the storm.

Only then can we speak peace into chaos.

Only then can we say to the wind, “Be still.”

Today I learned something about myself that, if I’m honest, I’d rather not know.

During a conversation with my clients, we were discussing the importance of knowing ourselves. They asked me simple questions like, “What do you watch on television?” or “What do you do for fun?”

And I realized something uncomfortable…

Those questions are more difficult for me to answer than they should be.

I should be able to identify what I like and what I do not like. But the truth is—I struggle to do so.

When I began to ask myself why, I noticed something interesting. The answer has changed over time, and I suppose that brings some level of comfort.

There was a time when I would have struggled to answer because I was too focused on what others would want me to say. My answers would have been shaped by perception, not authenticity.

But now, it’s something different.

Now, it’s that I’ve never truly taken the time to enjoy being in my own skin enough to even know the answer.

The Restlessness Beneath the Surface

I often talk about the space of being irritable, restless, and discontent.

It’s that internal state of constant searching—always looking for something we believe will finally “complete” us. Something that will quiet the noise. Something that will make us feel whole.

But what I’m realizing is this:

We are weary of the wandering.

Jesus said in the Gospels, “Come to me, all who are weary, and I will give you rest.”

And I think sometimes we misunderstand what we’re actually weary from.

We aren’t just tired from life—we are tired from searching.

In a state of wandering, all we can be is weary.

But when we begin to realize how wholly and completely we are loved—when that truth sinks deeper than just a concept—the response isn’t striving… it’s relief.

A deep, full-bodied sigh of relief that can be felt in every part of us.

What Rest Has to Do With Knowing Yourself

So what does this have to do with knowing ourselves?

Everything.

Because it’s in the quiet… in the stillness… in the place of rest…
that we finally have the space to look at Him.

And in that same stillness, something else happens.

We begin to see ourselves clearly.

Not through expectation.
Not through performance.
Not through pressure.

But through presence.

For so long, I was always looking, always searching, always striving. And in all of that movement, there was no space to actually listen—to His voice, or even to the quiet parts of my own heart.

Now I’m learning something simple, but incredibly freeing:

It’s not a crime to have a favorite movie.
It’s not shallow to enjoy sitting in your favorite chair with a good book.

The problem was never enjoyment.

The problem was the constant noise of who I thought I should be.

That noise drowned out any chance of discovering who I actually am.

The Freedom to Be Known

Let this sink in:

The God of the universe likes who you are.

Not a future version of you.
Not a perfected version of you.
Not the version of you that finally “gets it right.”

You.

He intentionally created you the way you are. And within you, He placed treasures—things to be discovered, not manufactured.

He saw you as worth the cost.

He considered you worthy to be the place He calls home.

That truth alone has the power to quiet so much striving.

An Invitation to Rest

We’ve been told a lot of things about who we should be, how we should act, and what we should become.

But very few things are as freeing as the words of Jesus:

“Come to me… I will give you rest.”

So maybe today, the invitation isn’t to figure everything out.

Maybe it’s not even to “find yourself.”

Maybe it’s simply this:

Come to Him.
Sit with Him.
Rest.

And from that place…
discover that it’s actually okay to enjoy being you.

Because today, I’m starting to believe this:

His greatest joy isn’t in what I produce.
It’s in giving me rest.

And maybe—just maybe—that’s where I’ll finally begin to learn what I actually like.

Starting the Day Anchored Instead of Running

This morning I woke up earlier than I ever do. Maybe because I went to sleep earlier, too.

When I got up, several things were on my mind. But at the front was this:
I don’t want to start my day running.

These days, my days can be pretty intense. But today, I wanted to start my day with Him.

What We Expect vs. What We Receive

I’m learning something vital in these quiet moments.

What we expect is not often what we get.

Now this isn’t a statement meant to lay a foundation for negativity, but one meant to bring a sober-minded reality back into play—that there are many different arenas of life, and when we are sent, it is not always to places that look like we thought they would.

I had a picture in my mind.
If I’m being honest, that picture may have been more about what I thought and believed than what was really needed.

We’ll come back to that.

The Lesson in Ezekiel

This morning, the Lord has had the book of Ezekiel on my mind yet again. It’s one of my favorite books of prophecy always has been.

But why is it on my mind today?

Not because I’m looking at it the way I once did as a picture of what the life and ministry of a prophet looks like but because of a lesson I’ve come face to face with over and over during the past few years:

The first lesson you learn as a leader but not just any leader, a sent one is that this is about the people.

If you study Ezekiel, especially the first few chapters, you realize two things happen in a specific succession:

• First, God reveals Himself
• Then, God reveals who Ezekiel is
• And after that… God tells him about the people

Now does this mean you and I do not matter? Of course not.
But the message, the ministry, the call it is all about the people.

When Our “Helping” Is About Us

When God tells us the people we are sent to, He tells us what they need.

And this is where our idea of what is needed often begins to be revealed as surface-level and often about us.

For me, I would have said I loved to help people. I loved to support people. And I’m not saying that isn’t true.

But truthfully, in my self-centered immaturity, I loved being the one people gave acclaim to for helping and supporting them.

Leadership is not about this.

Letting Go of the Picture

I struggled to write this.

Because in my mind I considered, What if people think differently about me after reading it?

But to my heart came:
“Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus…”

And I realized something:

When I hold my picture up higher than the picture He is painting, I get in the way of His ministry to the people.

Eating the Scroll

I spent weeks pondering and meditating on the passage where the Lord told Ezekiel to “eat the scroll.”

Yes, it was the message.
Yes, it was the understanding of what was to come.

But if the scroll is the Word of God, maybe it’s also this:

Before we can be sent, we have to partake of the Lamb in His wholeness.

“Eat the whole body, or you can have no part with me.”

Eating the whole Lamb includes the parts where our plans and vision have to die.

Open Hands

I know those who have walked around for 30 years holding close to a vision they believe is from God but not for us, the body for them.

They hold it close like a toddler holding toys.

But the Lord calls us to come with open hands
willing to let go of everything but Christ,
understanding that His ways are higher than ours.

What People Really Need

What does this mean?

Sometimes the picture we’ve had the things we thought we’d need to navigate and the things we thought others would need are too surface-level.

• We think people need a mouthpiece, but they really need a mother
• We think they need a word, but what they really need is a hug
• We think they need encouragement, but what they really need is accountability

What’s my point?

What they need flows from the heart of the Father.
What we need flows from the heart of the Father.

The Cost of Being Sent

It’s only when we are willing to die to self—

When someone you came to help is angry at you for what helps…
When you have to say the same things over and over…
When you have to trust the Lord to speak to you…
And you have to learn to listen even to the simple things…

—that you begin to walk this out.

Why I Didn’t Want to Start Running

So why did I want to start my day with Him?

Because He is my anchor.

I cannot do this without Him.
He is not an option He is the breath.

So yes, I could get up running…

But I’d rather wake up breathing.

There’s something I’ve noticed recently in my life, and it’s something I’ve become really passionate about—leaning into the Spirit of God’s voice and allowing Him to bring things full circle into a complete manifestation in my life.

I felt like it was something worth sharing, because maybe others have experienced it too—seen it, felt it, and sensed the Lord’s heart in it.

How We Learn Stability the Wrong Way

For a long time especially before I began working predominantly in recovery had a very specific idea of what it meant to be stable.

And I’m going to tie this to scripture, because to me, scripture is in everything. There is nothing in my life that I look at where I don’t see God His heart, His nature, His Word, His voice resounding in it.

But what I began to realize is this:

A mind that is unwell perceives stability very differently than someone whose heart and mind have actually become settled.

What I Thought Stability Was

I recently had a situation where I had to address some things with some of my clients. These weren’t things people were excited to deal with. They were things that people had avoided things they had learned to tell themselves were “okay.”

And as I was walking through that, I began to reflect on my own life.

If I look back five years ago, four years ago, even a year ago—my idea of stability was completely different.

At the time, I wouldn’t have been able to say it like this, but now I can see it clearly:

The more settled my heart became,
the more at rest my soul became,
the more I aligned with the image of Christ…

the more my expectation of what a stable life looked like began to change.

The Lie I Believed

There was a time where I truly believed that peace, stability, joy, and happiness were just slightly out of reach.

My mindset was:

• If I get this, then I’ll be happy.
• If I fix that, then I’ll be okay.

But what I failed to acknowledge is that true joy and true peace are not things we achieve…

They are things found in a place of rest.

Why We Don’t See It

And here’s what I began to understand:

Until the mind is renewed, we are not able to discern truth clearly.

That’s a hard pill to swallow especially for those of us who have leaned into spiritual things without addressing our internal framework.

Do I believe people can encounter God outside of that? Yes.

But sustained change real transformation, real stability comes through the renewing of the mind.

Because without that, we interpret everything through:

• our experiences
• our wounds
• our learned patterns

And we end up filtering truth through something that was never built on truth to begin with.

Delivered… But Not at Rest

The Bible says in the book of Hebrews that the Israelites were delivered out of Egypt, but they never entered into rest.

And that made me start asking:

What is this rest?

What does it actually mean to enter into it?

Because the Word tells us to strive to enter His rest—which sounds like a contradiction at first.

But the more I sat with it, the more I realized…

This is not about working to earn something.

This is about laying down everything that keeps us from trusting it.

When Chaos Becomes Normal

At one point in my life, chaos didn’t feel like chaos.

It felt normal.

And the reason for that wasn’t because it was good it was because it was familiar.

So when things were still…
when things were calm…
when things required me to slow down…

it didn’t feel like peace.

It felt uncomfortable.

Sometimes even unsafe.

The Life of Striving

When we haven’t entered into rest, we live a life of striving.

We are constantly:

• searching
• fixing
• fighting
• trying to figure everything out

We chase moments that we think will give us peace, joy, and love…

When in reality, those things are already found in rest.

The Only Thing We’re Told to Strive For

Scripture never tells us to strive for:

• position
• acceptance
• approval

But it does tell us to strive to enter into His rest.

Why?

Because we have to move through so much just to believe that rest actually holds what we’ve been searching for.

“The Lord Is My Shepherd”

I believe Psalm 23 gives us a picture of this.

“The Lord is my shepherd.”

That means I take the position of being led.

It means I trust:

• that what I need will be provided
• and what I don’t need will be removed

But here’s where we struggle:

We want the promises of Psalm 23…

without actually allowing ourselves to be shepherded.

Because being shepherded means letting go of our own framework.

Letting Go of Our Framework

For a long time, I believed it was my responsibility to figure everything out.

To find the answers.
To make things work.
To hold everything together.

But that mindset doesn’t produce stability.

It produces striving.

And striving is not rest.

What Stability Actually Looks Like

What I’ve come to understand is this:

Stability is not about everything going right.

It’s not about feeling good all the time.

It’s about being:

• rooted
• steady
• grounded

It’s about being able to bear fruit in every season.

Laying Down the Fight

As my understanding of stability has shifted, I’ve noticed something else:

I’ve started laying down battles that are not worth fighting.

Because the truth is:

I could fight every battle for the rest of my life…

But that’s my soul trying to be right.
That’s my soul trying to win.

And that…

is not stability.

About five years ago, I began having dreams from the Lord, each one carrying a common thread woven through it.

It was always a river.

I was always in a river, jumping into a river, or standing near a river. Through these moments, God was revealing something to me about the age we are now stepping into.

Over the past six years, being in ministry circles and observing how different ministries function, I’ve noticed a tension a push and pull between production and flow. Between producing something and being led by the Spirit.

As I’ve reflected on these dreams and visions, one thing has become clear: the river was never just a setting. It was a symbol. A reminder that I was designed to live in the flow of His Spirit.

Every time I’ve tried to place myself within a rigid system where everything must be done a certain way—the result has always been the same: internal chaos and unrest.

But the more free I become…
The more untethered I am from systems, methods, and man-made expectations…
The more I find myself flowing effortlessly in the river of His Spirit.

When I look at Scripture, especially the early Church, I do not see rigid systems.

Do I see order? Yes.
Do I see organization? Yes.
But do I see rigidity? No.

And yet today, many expressions of ministry seem consumed with outcomes reaching a plateau, achieving a result, or becoming something.

But this mindset is inherently flawed.

Because the beauty of union with the Lord is not in arrival it’s in flow.

It’s in living, moving, and being in Him.
In flowing with Him through every moment, every space, every season.

A Dream That Changed My Understanding

I once had a dream where I believe I was watching the span of the church age.

I saw vehicle after vehicle drive up. People would step out, grab wheelbarrows from the back of their trucks, walk to a river, fill them with water, load them back into their vehicles, and drive away.

At the time, I didn’t understand what I was seeing.

But years later, it became clear.

This is how ministry has often functioned.

We create vehicles; ministries, organizations, systems, and we go to the river to “collect” something. We gather what we believe is the presence of God, package it, and carry it into the places we feel called to go.

And when we feel empty, we return to the river for another encounter—another filling—so we can go out and do it all over again.

But this cycle reveals something deeper:

We have forgotten that we are the vessels.
We are not meant to carry the presence we are meant to be filled with it continually.

The Shift Into a New Age

What the Lord began to show me is that we are stepping into another age—an age not of carrying, but of being.

The age of the river.

In this age, there is no need for a vehicle to transport His presence because we live in constant union with Him.

As it says in the book of Acts:

“In Him we live, and move, and have our being.”

This is the invitation to flow in tandem with the Spirit of God.

To become the very expression of His life, His power, His grace moving through us.

We are the fruit He spoke of.
The grain of wheat that fell to the ground and bore much fruit.

Understanding the Tension

So when you look around and see ministries struggling or even collapsing, understand this:

This is not simply disorder.
This is not the world unraveling.

This is transition.

Some time ago, the Lord gave me a message called “The Tension Between Two Ages.” And what we are experiencing right now is that very tension.

We can feel that something is shifting.
We know something is changing.

But we don’t always have the language for it.

And I believe that’s intentional.

Because He is not looking for us to define it, systematize it, or contain it.

He is not inviting us to build a new structure to hold it.

Because it was never meant to be held by a system.

It was always meant to be held by you.

An Invitation

So in this age of the river…

Live freely.
Love freely.
Flow freely.

Let go of the need to produce.
Let go of the pressure to arrive.
Let go of the desire to define what was never meant to be contained.

Instead fix your gaze on Him.

Be transfixed by His presence.

And let the river of His Spirit carry you.

“Come to me, all who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”
— Matthew 11:28

There’s a feeling I’ve been trying to describe my entire life, but I never quite had the language for it—until recently.

In preparing a group for my clients, I came across a phrase often used in recovery:

“Irritable, restless, and discontent.”

The moment I read it, something in me settled. Not because the feeling went away—but because I finally had words for it.

That’s the feeling I’ve known for as long as I can remember.

The Life of Reaching

For most of my life, I lived with a quiet sense that wherever I was… was just short of where I was supposed to be.

Like if I could just get the right job, the right relationships, the right recognition—then everything would finally settle.

So I lived in a posture of reaching.

Always searching. Always striving. Always believing peace was just one step ahead of me.

Even after coming into a deeper understanding of my identity in Christ, if I’m honest… that didn’t immediately go away.

The language changed. The justification changed. But the posture? It was still there.

I just spiritualized the striving.

When Striving Looks Like Purpose

Those closest to me have seen it.

Chasing position. Wrestling for clarity. Longing for affirmation.

All while being convinced I was following God.

But here’s what I’ve come to realize:

That same “irritable, restless, discontent” state we talk about in addiction can exist just as easily in spiritual pursuit.

And the solution isn’t to replace one pursuit with another.

It’s to stop striving altogether.

The Question That Exposed Everything

Before my ordination, the Lord asked me a question I couldn’t escape:

“If no one knew your name, would you still do this?”

Would you still love? Still serve? Still give your life away… if no one ever recognized it?

I said yes.

But the truth was… the answer was no.

Because something in me was still trying to resolve that inner unrest through being seen.

I hadn’t died to the need to be known.

What Contentment Really Means

In Philippians 4, Paul says, “I have learned to be content in all things.”

Contentment isn’t passivity. It’s not laziness.

It’s the absence of striving.

It’s what happens when you are no longer reaching for something outside of what has already been given in Christ.

We were never created to live searching for life.

We were created to live from it.

From seatedness. From union. From being fully known and fully found in Him.

The Invitation Into Rest

“Come to me… and I will give you rest.”

Not distraction. Not improvement. Not a better strategy.

Rest.

The Only Place Peace Is Found

The answer to that lifelong feeling of being irritable, restless, and discontent is not to fill your life with more.

It’s to lay your life down.

Because the only place that feeling truly dissolves is in the realization that you are already held, already known, already complete in Him.

I’ve tried to find peace in many things—identity, achievement, calling, even purpose.

But the only place I ever truly found it was in surrender.

The Dream That Became Reality

Years ago, I had a dream.

I was on a rooftop, busy doing all the things I thought would bring fulfillment—but I wasn’t at peace.

Then I saw a river.

I knew that the river was the life of Christ—His Spirit, His flow, His fullness.

And suddenly, nothing on that rooftop mattered anymore.

All I wanted was the river.

So I jumped.

The Invitation Still Stands

Will you keep striving to become something?

Or will you step into the One who already is everything?

Maybe the peace you’ve been searching for your entire life is waiting on the other side of letting go.