When God Says “Be Still”: Learning to Stop Running and Start Listening

“The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.” — Exodus 14:14

I’ve always lived like motion equals meaning.

If I’m moving, I must be doing something right.
If I’m producing, I must be valuable.
If I’m always “on,” maybe I’ll finally be enough.

That’s how I’ve operated for most of my life—filling every waking moment, chasing after what’s next, overthinking every interaction, every opportunity, every silence. And it’s only recently, through some painfully honest therapy sessions, that I’ve begun to understand why.

Where It Comes From

It goes back to childhood, like so many things do. I’ve discovered that my need to always be doing—to strive, to perform, to anticipate every need before it’s even spoken—comes from a place of survival.

I never wanted to be a problem.

So I stayed small. I behaved. I helped. I overachieved. I blended in until I could stand out for doing something right.

I became addicted to performance because it was the only time I felt seen.

And even now, decades later, I realize I’m still that kid in a grown-up body, trying to earn a seat at the table—trying to prove I’m worth keeping around.

But here’s the kicker: I’ve spiritualized it.

I’ve convinced myself that I’m striving for the Kingdom. That I don’t want to miss a moment of what God is doing. That I’m staying busy because I’m available to Him.

But the deeper truth? God doesn’t need me running on empty to fulfill His plans. He’s not impressed with my exhaustion. He’s not looking for burnout. He’s looking for obedience. And sometimes, obedience looks like stopping.

What Would Life Look Like…?

Somewhere between those deep therapy sessions and the words spoken by a special someone in Philly, another thought began to rise—one that felt equal parts beautiful and terrifying:

What would life look like if I became a mother someday?

Let me be clear: I’m not saying I want to have a baby tomorrow. But motherhood is a desire that’s lived in my heart for a long time. It’s something I’ve prayed over, dreamed about, and held close in quiet moments with God. And lately, I’ve sensed that He’s been gently, intentionally preparing my heart for that chapter—not with urgency, but with depth. Not with pressure, but with space.

Because becoming a mother—when that time comes—won’t just require physical readiness. It will demand emotional presence. Spiritual steadiness. A soul that knows how to slow down and simply be.

Would I know how to be fully there?
Would I be able to pause long enough to see the moments that matter—messy, ordinary, sacred?

And it’s not just about motherhood.
It’s about the kind of person I want to be, now.

The kind of person who’s present enough to notice when a friend is hurting.
Someone who’s emotionally available to sit in silence and hold space.
The kind of woman who can say, “This moment is enough,” instead of rushing to the next.

I started to realize that my constant motion might be causing me to miss the very moments I’ve been praying for. The ones that come softly. Unannounced. Wrapped in stillness.

What if the most God-ordained moments don’t look like mountaintop victories—but like quiet, holy pauses?

A Slow Saturday in Philly

The shift started in the most unexpected way: a slow Saturday in Philly. My first one in over three years. Three years of back-to-back weekends full of movement, plans, ministry, and momentum—suddenly interrupted by stillness I didn’t plan.

And in that stillness, I met someone who unknowingly spoke into my chaos.

We were just talking—nothing serious, nothing heavy—and then, in a moment of clarity that cut straight through my spirit, they looked at me and said:

“You really need to chill. Calm down.”

They didn’t know my story. They weren’t trying to be prophetic. But in that sentence, they voiced the whisper God had been trying to get me to hear for months.

It wasn’t just casual advice. It was an invitation.

When God Forces the Pause

That moment, combined with my therapy sessions and the creeping weight of exhaustion, became God’s megaphone: It’s time to stop carrying things I never asked you to carry.

I’ve been reevaluating everything.
My rhythms.
My relationships.
My desires.
Even my dreams.

Because what I’m slowly learning is this: God isn’t looking for my constant activity—He’s longing for my availability. And I can’t be fully available if I’m constantly on the run.

Stillness is no longer optional. It’s spiritual survival.

The Freedom in Slowing Down

I don’t have this all figured out. I’m still tempted every day to check another box, start another project, earn another “well done.”

But I’m also starting to realize:

• I’m not a burden if I stop.

• I’m not forgotten if I rest.

• I’m not any less called if I’m not constantly moving.

And most importantly: God is still God when I’m still.

The Kingdom does not collapse when I lay down. The world does not fall apart when I take a breath. In fact, it’s often in those moments of surrender that I see Him most clearly.

“Be still, and know that I am God.” — Psalm 46:10

Rest Is Not a Sin — It’s Obedience

Here’s something else I’ve had to face:

There is no shame in resting.
There is no guilt in taking a day off.
There is no failure in saying “no.”

We live in a world that celebrates hustle and glorifies exhaustion—but heaven doesn’t.

God Himself rested after creating the world. Jesus took time away from the crowds to be with the Father. The Sabbath wasn’t a suggestion—it was a command. Not because God needs our compliance, but because He knows we need the permission to stop.

We were never designed to run 24/7.
We were never meant to say yes to everything.
And we certainly weren’t made to feel guilty for stepping back to breathe.

You are allowed to take a nap. You are allowed to have boundaries. You are allowed to not be available all the time.

Rest isn’t selfish. It’s sacred.
Boundaries aren’t walls—they are wisdom.

So if you’ve been carrying that shame, let it go. Jesus doesn’t hand out gold stars for burnout. He’s far more interested in your heart than your hustle.

If You’re Like Me…

If you’re someone who fills the silence because silence feels like failure…
If you’re always “doing” because you fear being overlooked…
If you serve God out of striving instead of rest…

Friend, you’re not alone.

And God is not asking you to be the hero of your story. He’s asking you to trust Him enough to sit down and let Him hold the pen.

There is a kind of peace you can’t earn. There is a kind of rest that doesn’t come through sleep. And there is a kind of love that sees you, values you, chooses you—even when you do nothing at all.

Let Him meet you there.

Let Him quiet your striving.

And let Him prepare your heart to be the kind of person who is present enough to notice the moments that matter—the baby that needs a present mama, the friend who just needs your eyes, not your advice, and the gentle nudge of the Spirit that’s easier to hear when everything else slows down.

A Prayer for the Overachiever

Lord, I confess—stillness scares me. It feels like losing control.
But I’m tired of carrying it all.
I’m tired of striving.
I’m tired of needing to be seen through my doing.
Help me rest in Your love that doesn’t require performance.
Help me believe that I’m enough, even when I’m still.
Quiet my soul with Your presence.
Teach me to rest without shame, to say “no” without guilt,
And to live like someone who is already loved.
Amen.