Learning to Be Still When Stillness Isn’t Easy

Psalm 27:13–14“I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.”

Lately, the Lord has been inviting me into something simple—but not easy.

Be still.

This invitation came alongside words I read recently from Peyton Garland’s piece, “Slow Life Has Sold Us Too Many Lies.” A few lines stopped me in my tracks:

• “Slow isn’t easy and guarantees failure.”

• “Slow is not easy, and it challenges my patience, selfishness, and ideas of money.”

• “The slow life will fail you because you were never meant to be sustained by your performance.”

  
  

And so I wonder:

Is this Stillness a part of my performance?

Just be still.

Those words named something I’ve been living, even before I had language for it.

Over the past month, I made a conscious decision to stop adding new clients to my coaching practice. Instead, I felt the Lord asking me to tend to the ministry of my heart, my family, and the work of establishing the Revive West office. (More on that exciting news to come).

I thought I understood what being still would look like.

What I didn’t expect was how quickly the stillness would stir everything up.

When Stillness Brings Unsettling

We often imagine slowing down as peaceful—quiet mornings, clarity, rest, and gentle whispers from God. But we forget something important: we have an enemy who is deeply invested in keeping us too busy, too anxious, or too afraid to hear the Father’s voice.

Yesterday was, on the surface, a beautiful day. Sunshine in January. No coat needed. My granddaughter’s giggles filling the air. Addy singing Forrest Frank’s “Your Ways Are Better” on repeat, all day long. Sitting in the driveway watching her create little houses for her sister and our family.

cuteness overload

It was a gift.

And I was grateful.

But when the girls left to spend time with their other grandma, and I finally sat down to be still, something shifted.

The quiet made space—and the space made room for unrest.

I noticed the familiar thoughts:You should be working.You should be making money.You should be putting things away.

Instead of rest, I felt heavy.

Winter has a way of doing that to me, but this felt deeper. I couldn’t understand how I went from joy-filled grandmother to aching, confused, and unsettled in such a short span of time.

The truth is, slowing down doesn’t just bring rest—it brings buried fears to the surface.

When the Enemy Whispers in the Quiet

As the day went on, a bone-deep tiredness settled in. After a short nap, the questions came fast and loud:

What am I doing?

Why would God ask me to wait?

What happens to our finances if I’m not coaching?

Will I lose my purpose if I stop striving?

By suppertime, I was checked out.

When John and Noah talked about future travel—Disney, maybe Hawaii—my heart didn’t leap with excitement. It tightened with fear. And underneath that fear was a lie I didn’t recognize at first:

You have no value. You have no purpose.

That’s when the spiral began.

I moved into flight mode—walking away, shutting down, trying to escape the discomfort.

It’s an old protection mechanism, one I usually recognize and gently correct. But this time, I resisted doing what I knew would help. Being still before the Lord.

Instead, I started tearing down Christmas.

Angry cleaning took over.

A need to purge.

Broken lights.

Frayed ribbons.

Anything imperfect felt intolerable.

In hindsight, I can see it clearly: my identity was under attack.

The accuser is patient.

He waits for quiet moments to speak loudly.

And shame felt heavy that night.

Sitting With God Instead of Running

I wish I could say today feels instantly lighter.

It’s getting there—but slowly.

And that’s okay.

I’m not forcing joy.

I’m not pretending everything is fine.

I’m not rushing myself back into productivity or purpose.

I’m sitting here with God.

Quiet.

Still.

Waiting.

Being still is not easy. It stirs up hopes and fears. It exposes the places where I still try to control outcomes, security, and identity.

But God is trustworthy here.

I’m learning that:

• Panic is not purpose.

• Waiting is not failure.

• Stillness is not abandonment.

  
  

God is moving—even when I can’t see it.

He is working—even when I am not producing.

And the enemy has been called out and told to leave.

This season is revealing what still needs surrendering—not so God can take something from me, but so He can give me freedom.

A Good Father in Every Season

I know this season will pass.

I know winter will loosen its grip.

I know I will struggle—but not in vain.

God has always met me in the still places. Not with urgency, but with transformation.

Not with demands, but with love.

I’m learning I cannot force revelation.

I’m learning that rest requires trust.

I’m learning—again—that I have a good, good Father.

No matter the season.

No matter the waiting.

No matter how unsettled I feel.

I’m learning to be still.

And to know—deep in my soul—that He is a good and loving Papa.

Closing Prayer

Father God,

Teach me to wait without striving and to be still without fear.

Quiet the voices that accuse and remind me that my value is secure in You alone.

Meet me in the slow places, the uncertain places, and the tender places of my heart.

I trust that You are working even when I cannot see it.

Help me rest in Your goodness and know, deeply, that You are a good and loving Father.

Amen.

Shel Dammann

Rhythms of Grace