For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a high-passion, high-intensity person. I rise early and I run until late. I pour every ounce of energy I can muster into every moment, every conversation, every opportunity. I feel deeply, and I tend to express it even more deeply.

Through most of my days with Jesus, this has meant a “charging hell with a water pistol” zeal—a life marked by fervency and urgency.

I longed to see breakthrough now. Transformation now. To be everything I can be in the Kingdom of God, now.

And certainly, if you spend time with me today, it won’t take long to sense my burning passion for Jesus or my longing for all of his kids to taste and see that he is so very good.

That said, over the past several years, God has been quietly shifting something in my soul.

It isn’t a loss of passion or a weakening of my pursuit. Somehow, he has been deepening it in the most unexpected ways.

I am becoming less reactive and more reflective.

Less driven to “press in” to the next thing, and more content to be fully “present in” what—and who God has placed right in front of me.

Less anxious to do, and more in awe of all he has already done.

After decades of running, I find myself resting into a faith that moves…

Slower

I’m not as anxious as I once was to chase the next spiritual moment, the next answer, or the next breakthrough to rescue me from undesirable circumstances. More and more, I find myself remembering that Jesus has already broken through, and that he delights to use my imperfect circumstances, imperfect relationships, and even my own imperfect immaturities as the clay where he does his best work.

“My grace is always more than enough for you, and my power finds its full expression through your weakness.”

2 Corinthians 12:9 TPT

These days, I’m not in such a hurry to outrun, escape, or even fully understand my discomfort. Instead, I’m lifting my gaze and allowing the Comforter to come close, shaping my fragile heart to look more like his.

Quieter

Along with the slowing of my spirit has come a stillness in my soul.

I find myself less drawn to the noise and pace of the things I spent years chasing the activities and opportunities that I was sure would finally prove I was valuable, significant, or needed.

I’m less satisfied with constant entertainment and more drawn to step away into quiet spaces with Jesus.

“I stand silently to listen for the one I love,
waiting as long as it takes for the Lord to rescue me.
For God alone has become my Savior.”

Psalm 62:1 TPT

When I gather with other believers, I value it more than ever. But I’m less drawn to lights and presentation, and more drawn to being formed by liturgy and conversation.

I don’t want a performance that is polished or trendy enough to gather the masses. I long for the real wrestlings of justice and faith that allow beauty to rise from ashes.

I’m done with the noise of endless online debates and our opinions about where people stand. For too long I fed that machine and ate its fruit.

These days, I’d far rather kneel at the Lord’s table with brothers and sisters, young and old, trusting that the broken body and shed blood of Jesus are the only thing that can make us whole.

Contempt has given way to contemplation. It’s quieter now.

And in that space, I can breathe.

More Humble

I have spent my entire adult life in ministry. Years of study. Decades of preaching and teaching. Hundreds of thousands of pages read. Countless sermons delivered.

And yet, I find myself presently living inside a beautiful paradox. I have never had less confidence in my current “brand” of faith.

And I have never had more confidence in the One who has branded my heart in faith.

I delight in the simplicity and beauty of the finished gospel, where the outstretched arms of Jesus for the sins of the world reveal everything we’ll ever need to know about the nature of our God.

And yet, the closer I get to him, the more I see the ways I still distort my view of him through filters of unhealed brokenness and human frailty. And that’s okay.

I am releasing the need to prove I am right, and resting in the One whose blood made us righteous. The words of James finally make sense.

“My dearest brothers and sisters, take this to heart: Be quick to listen, but slow to speak. And be slow to become angry, for human anger is never a legitimate tool to promote God’s righteous purpose.“

James 1:19–20 TPT

That same passage calls for us to absorb God’s Word planted within us. I love that picture. Living before God as a sponge frees me from the illusion that I can be anyone’s source. The less I grasp for control or demand to understand, the more my heart softens—slowly soaking in his lavish love.

More Patient

Something else has shifted.

For years, I lived like Chicken Little, always on edge for where the sky might be ready to fall.

I was urgent and reactive, driven by what I now recognize was fear. But as God’s perfect love has been doing its patient work in me, I no longer feel the need to impose my will in the name of righteousness.

I’m learning that the way of love is slow.

Waterfalls shape stone into riverbeds not through force, but through steady presence over time. The Holy Spirit works the same way.

“All you thirsty ones, come to me! Come to me and drink! Believe in me so that rivers of living water will burst out from within you, flowing from your innermost being, just like the Scripture says!”

John 7:37–38 TPT

Bolder

Lest you think I have retreated into a marshmallowy faith that has lost its edge, the opposite has been true. Today, I burn for the marriage of justice and mercy more than ever.

This slower life has made me bolder.

Bolder to weep for the brokenhearted and to stand with the forgotten. Bolder to step out from the shadows and risk being misunderstood.

Bolder to champion the politics of heaven, especially where political systems of earth fail to reflect the heart of our Savior.

Bolder to refuse enemies of flesh and blood, and instead walk as a minister of reconciliation, desiring for every enemy to become God’s friend.

“Let every word you speak be drenched with grace and tempered with truth and clarity.”

Colossians 4:6 TPT

The Heart of It

If I were to sum up what God is doing in my life these days, I would say this:

I am learning to believe that the work of the cross is completely finished and we are completely held.

I am remembering that discipleship is simply our souls catching up to what is already true in our spirits.

I am learning that spiritual disciplines aren’t a ladder to climb. They’re a buffet table where we are invited to come and eat.

And I am discovering that in Christ, there is nowhere else we need to run and there is nothing we need to prove. We are his beloved.

And he is ours. Forever.

A Simple Invitation

So, here we are friend. If you have become disenchanted with the pace or posture you see in modern Christianity, I want to invite you to join me.

We don’t need to take up arms and look for someone to blame. We already know where that story leads. Instead, Jesus is inviting us to turn our swords into plowshares.

Because in his Kingdom, we aren’t looking to conquer our neighbors. We are preparing for a harvest. In a restless world chasing what is bigger, faster, louder, and more urgent, we can choose lives that are:

Slower. Quieter. Deeper.

Perhaps that is the quiet revolution of the Spirit in our time not a shinier faith, but a steadier one. Because the breakthrough we’ve been running toward has already been won.

Now, we are simply learning to slow down…and live from it.