Stillness

There are moments when Scripture comes alive—moving beyond the page and speaking directly to where you are. The words feel less like instruction and more like an invitation. I’ve experienced many of those invitations along the way, and if I’m honest, He’s still inviting me every time I turn the page.

One of those invitations spilled onto paper. I wrote and released a song called King Jesus with Living Edge Worship, and it remains one of my favorite releases to date. Later, I released a second version of it on a solo project. When it comes to songwriting, I’ve learned that to really feel it, I have to write from inside the moment. Much of this song was shaped by Psalm 46—a word spoken in the middle of chaos: Be still.

Was I surrounded by chaos? Not at all. From the outside, life looked steady. But beneath the surface, there was a quiet unrest—questions about timing, purpose, and whether faithfulness in a season that felt routine or overlooked actually mattered. There was, again, that familiar pull toward more—more than where I was, more than what I was doing, more than the impact I could see. Psalm 46 didn’t meet me in noise or crisis; it met me in the tension between what lay ahead and what God had placed right in front of me.

Don’t get me wrong—I faced real challenges in that season. But when did He ever promise we wouldn’t? Pause. Let’s just go there real quick. Some of the challenges we face are our own—battles with pride, mismanaged expectations we haven’t communicated, past trauma, or expectations we simply need to surrender. For me, that became the clearest voice between the lines, revealing how I had been projecting my unrest onto the world around me—and teaching me to allow His voice to guide me right in the middle of it all.

I remember the moment one of my best friends challenged me—not to retreat, but to lean in. The clarity I was searching for didn’t come through answers, but through obedience to the voice echoing in the in-between—leaning in, having hard conversations, extending grace, and releasing things I’d been holding onto that were quietly breaking trust with the very people God had placed beside me.

What I had to learn was that the invitation wasn’t to escape the challenges, but to stand still and be rooted right in the middle of them. In some ways, it quietly refined the inner turmoil I had been projecting onto the world around me. It was also an invitation to trust that His presence, not my effort, was what held the ground beneath me.

In that same season, my wife and I received a word: Set your roots deeper, and I’ll extend your branches. That word stayed with us—it followed us farther than I realized at the time, all the way to where we live now in Georgia. That’s what I’ve come to understand as God calling us from the future into the future—whispering where we’re headed while inviting us to stay steady and walk patiently as He forms the character required for what’s ahead.

It became important for me to recognize that chaos doesn’t always announce itself. Sometimes it shows up disguised as discontentment—restlessness, striving instead of striding. It surfaced as the urge to rush ahead or wish away what was actually working for my good. In fact, the very place I wanted to rush past was where He was perfecting my songwriting.

Being rooted in Him meant learning to be rooted where I was. Rooted in the work in front of me. Rooted in the relationships entrusted to me—both the easy and the challenging. Rooted in obedience that didn’t come with immediate affirmation or visibility. Stewardship became less about preparing for the future and more about honoring the present.

Someone reading this may feel stuck. If that’s you, see it as an invitation to address the unrest within. Being still is not being stuck—it’s being positioned. Don’t look to what’s ahead or to what’s missing. Instead, look to the One inviting you into a season of trust.

I’ve discovered that He is not absent in our waiting. He is not rushed by our timelines. He is a refuge right now, not just later. When He says, “Be still, and know that I am God,” He isn’t offering a suggestion. He is speaking into the noise—the panic, the pressure, the instability. He’s speaking into the chaos that crowds our view. It’s a call to rest: stop striving, stop trying to control, and remember who is actually holding everything together, reigning over it all.

I’ve had to ask myself: what does faithfulness look like today, and not someday when it all makes sense? It’s about tending the ground that is actually nurturing your growth. Don’t get caught up in the chaos around you—God’s got that, and the unrest inside you, He will handle too if you’d only be still.

Stillness isn’t passive. I’ve learned it isn’t found in the absence of movement, but in the presence of trust.