We are often tempted, in the aftermath of suffering, to prove our worth by our usefulness. The child who was once silenced seeks now to shout through deeds; the soul once diminished becomes industrious, not because it is free, but because it is afraid. We measure our healing by our productivity. But this, dear reader, is not Christianity—it is commerce.
God is not a taskmaster. He is not tallying up the number of days you “held it together” or the projects you completed to distract yourself from the pain. He does not love you for what you achieve, nor withdraw when you falter. He loves you because you are. You, not your performance. The leaf does not earn the sun. The child does not earn the parent’s gaze by the cleverness of her speech. She is—and that is enough.
There is, to be sure, a time for doing. The good tree bears fruit. But first it must be rooted. And the roots grow in silence. In the dark. Not in the applause of others, but in the long, unseen abiding with God. We who have been wounded may find it hard to be still—for to be still is to feel, and to feel is to remember. But healing is not always in the running. Often it is in the resting.
The world is frantic with motion, and it will praise you for your busyness. But Heaven is concerned with your being—your soul, your essence, the self beneath all striving. Let that be the self you tend to. Not the mask, not the résumé, not the tireless achiever, but the beloved child of God who simply is.
Do not be ashamed if you find yourself unable to “do” as others do. You are not broken—you are becoming. And becoming takes time. It takes stillness. It takes grace.
And, above all, it takes Love.
B🤍
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