When the Dust Settles
Pain is a great teacher, but it’s not the only one.
If God could birth enlightenment from distress, how much more could He birth from peace? The very peace He was intentional about leaving to those who depend on Him.
John 14:27 states, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.”
When you’re connected to the Lord, you have the ability to bear fruit amid all circumstances.
I’m sharing the scripture above to highlight the peace of God and, in doing so, shed light on the fact that since that peace is from God, what flows from it must also be from God.
When chaos becomes your normal, and consequently the very environment you’ve grown the most within, not because you chose to, but because you had no other choice, peace, when it finally finds you, can feel disheartening. According to what you’re used to and your track record, it feels unnatural. Like a virus entering a live host, peace becomes unconsciously unwelcomed because of its stranger-like nature, and is therefore rejected, causing full-on war within.
This is why what’s meant to be peaceful instead feels like warfare, not because you’re under attack, but because you’re fighting against what’s good simply because it’s unfamiliar.
What if you’re not at war with the enemy, but instead at war with God’s plan for your life in this season?
What would surrendering to the silence look like for you today?
I’m an extremely busy person. Not because I’m necessarily busy, but because I intentionally busy myself. If there’s space in my schedule, best believe it will be filled by the end of the week.
I didn’t realize I was doing this until recently. It’s a way I avoid heavy realities. If I stay busy enough, and only have time to sleep, maybe, just maybe, I can avoid the pain that sometimes comes with reality. Because although my environment is now peaceful, the present does not cancel out the history that led me here.
Am I alone in this?
I think the scary thing about this behavior is that it’s oftentimes done unconsciously. I don’t intentionally avoid. Much like most of us, I intentionally lean toward comfort, only to later realize that comfort for me, is often found in avoidance.
So it’s very possible that when your reality is painful, and the quiet magnifies that pain, you try to fill that space, that silence, with motion in order to feel some type of control over what is likely out of your control.
It is equally true that in many of these cases, peace can feel like a setback. Because pain seemed to propel you forward throughout the years, you’ve attached growth to what you must first endure. But what if God wants to continue your growth from a place of peace? Where you don’t have to suffer to grow. All you must do is rest in Him and in His presence.
I can 100% relate to this. I’ve grown so much amid chaos that at times I’m tempted to believe that within silence, I’m not accumulating much growth. As if a life without warfare is a useless life.
To go a little deeper, the reason behind avoidance becomes far more layered and complex. In my case, it didn’t manifest solely because of the reality of the past, but also because of the quieter, yet equally real, reality of the present.
That reality is being carried into a season of freedom that has not yet yielded arrival; the arrival of answered prayers, opened doors, and long-awaited promises. It is easier to accept unanswered prayers and closed doors when you’re fighting almost daily. It becomes much more difficult when there is peace; stability.
Amid a battle, the goal is almost always to get to the other side because on the other side is where you expect to find relief and answered prayers. Yet you arrive at peace only to discover that some of the things you were hoping would meet you there have not yet arrived.
What happens when the dust settles only for you to find yourself standing in a silent field, sword in hand, completely alone? No allies. No enemies. Just you, your sword, and the clouded air slowly clearing from the battle ended.
Do you see it? Can you imagine it?
That’s where many of us are. That’s certainly where I am. And honestly, it’s terrifying because in the silence, you’re forced to face what just happened. The war you just emerged from, the grief you’ve yet to deal with.
You know what making myself look busy in my everyday life resembles within the post-war metaphor I just gave you? It looks like me running in circles in a completely empty field, kicking up dust, convincing myself there’s still a fight to be won, when in reality, it’s just me, my sword, and an empty field.
You see, the dust I’ve kicked up is the illusion that there’s still a battle, when the truth is I have yet to accept that it’s over. Because accepting that it’s over also means accepting that there was no grand prize waiting at the end.
This is where I’m at currently.
Maybe you are as well. Or maybe your story differs a bit from mine. And that’s okay. This can still be for you too.
What I want you to take from this message, if anything, is this:
There’s still so much God is working on within you. And maybe, like me, you’re in a season where God wants to do a new thing in your life, but this time from a cup that overflows instead of one that is depleted.
You’ve learned how to grow and reach heights amid the storm. Now it’s time to learn how to do the same, and so much more, from a place of peace and stability.
Stillness is not an indication of setback or lack of progress. It’s an opportunity to come to know and experience God in a new way, not just who He is when all hell is breaking loose, but who He is on the other side, where the storms cease. Not necessarily in a place where every prayer is answered, but in a posture where you’re finally still enough to better appreciate the grandeur of His essence.
