You can spend years searching for healing in hustle.
But healing doesn’t answer to hustle.
It answers to presence.
And lately?
I’ve been meeting Him in places that don’t come with applause.
Not in a room full of hands raised.
Not with music turned up.
Not even in the words of someone else’s sermon.
But in the quiet.
In the nothingness.
In the just me and breath and awareness.
This stillness isn’t a timeout.
It’s an invitation.
An invitation to stop performing for a healing that was never meant to be earned.
To stop bargaining with your breakthroughs.
To stop outsourcing your peace to the next fix, the next post, the next person.
Because in the secret place—He’s already there.
And He’s not waiting for you to show up perfect.
He’s waiting for you to show up present.
What the Stillness Sounds Like
It doesn’t sound like silence.
It sounds like the breath you finally paid attention to.
The thought you didn’t ignore this time.
The release you didn’t try to rush past.
Stillness isn’t the absence of movement.
It’s movement without chaos.
It’s direction without distraction.
And when you tune in?
You’ll hear the whisper:
“I am in your every thought,
your every breath,
your every idea,
your every movement.”
And you’ll find yourself—like I did—
sitting in stillness,
feeling something holy begin to wrap around you.
A single tear rolled down my cheek…
Not from sadness, but from recognition.
From the quiet weight of nearness.
And I whispered,
“I can feel You.”
And I heard Him answer:
Yes, because I’m in it all.
I’ve Been Meeting Him Here for Years…
Not once. Not just recently.
But over and over again—for years.
Not when life was peaceful.
But especially when it wasn’t.
I didn’t find Him in the hype.
I didn’t hear Him in the storm’s roar.
I didn’t feel Him in the noise of performance or the pressure to produce.
I found Him in the stillness.
I heard Him in the whisper.
Right in the eye of the storm.
Because the eye of the storm?
That’s where the wind stops.
That’s where the world quiets.
And that’s where He speaks.
He’s been meeting me there for years—
in the places no one else sees,
in the pauses no one else understands,
in the silence that somehow says everything.
This Is Where Healing Begins (And Continues)
Not at the altar call.
Not in the protocol.
Not even in the journal prompt.
But in the moment you stop resisting stillness.
Because healing doesn’t always look like crying on the floor.
Sometimes it looks like sitting still and not running from yourself.
Sometimes it looks like the surrender no one sees.
The inhale no one claps for.
The obedience no one preaches about.
But Heaven knows.
And that’s enough.
If you found yourself here, you didn’t stumble in.
You were guided.
Led.
Whispered to.
Drawn behind the veil, because your spirit was tired of noise dressed up as connection.
Tired of the stage.
Tired of the striving.
Tired of believing you had to do more to be whole.
This blog isn’t a blog.
It’s a sanctuary.
A quiet hallway with a cracked-open door.
For the ones who feel Him most—not in shouting—but in the soft.
You made it in.
Now stay awhile.
“Be still, and know that I am God.”
Psalm 46:10