The rain had been falling since morning — a slow, steady drizzle that made everything feel heavier.

Mira sat by the window, her laptop open but untouched. The blinking cursor on the empty document looked like a heartbeat she could no longer feel.

Deadlines. Messages. Expectations. Everything around her demanded something — but she had nothing left to give.

She used to be the kind of person who woke up early, made lists, prayed with enthusiasm, and believed that purpose was something you could reach if you just tried hard enough. But lately, her prayers felt like whispers lost in the noise of her own exhaustion.

“God, are You still listening?” she murmured, tracing the fog on her window with her finger.

There was no answer — not in words, not in feelings, not in signs.

For weeks, Mira had been waiting for clarity — for God to tell her what to do next, to fix what was breaking inside her. But the silence grew louder each day.

At church last Sunday, Pastor Daniel had preached about patience — “God’s timing is perfect.” Everyone nodded and smiled. But Mira had only smiled out of habit. Inside, she wanted to shout: If His timing is perfect, why does it hurt so much to wait?

That afternoon, her friend Leah stopped by, bringing coffee and her usual brightness.

“Still working on that project?” Leah asked, setting the cups down.

Mira gave a weak laugh. “Trying to. But honestly, I just… can’t focus.”

Leah studied her quietly for a moment. “You know,” she said softly, “maybe you don’t need to force it. Maybe this is one of those seasons where God isn’t silent — He’s just slowing you down so you don’t burn out.”

Mira sighed. “But I feel useless, Leah. Like I’m wasting time. Everyone else seems to be moving forward, and I’m just… stuck.”

Leah smiled gently. “Sometimes being still is moving forward. You just can’t see it yet.”

That night, Mira lay awake staring at the ceiling. Leah’s words echoed in her mind.

She realized she had been treating faith like a to-do list — pray, believe, wait, receive — expecting God to move at the same pace she did. But maybe, faith wasn’t about keeping up. Maybe it was about letting go.

She reached for her Bible, the one gathering dust beside her bed, and flipped it open. Her eyes landed on a verse she’d underlined months ago:

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

The words hit different this time. They didn’t promise speed. They promised presence.

Mira closed her eyes and whispered a prayer that wasn’t perfect or poetic — just honest.

“God… I’m tired. I don’t know what You’re doing, but I’ll wait. Just don’t leave me here alone.”

And for the first time in weeks, she didn’t feel the weight pressing down as hard. The silence didn’t feel empty — it felt gentle, like the pause between heartbeats.

The next morning, she woke up before her alarm. The rain had stopped, and sunlight peeked through the curtains. Her problems hadn’t disappeared. Her project was still due. But something small had shifted inside her — peace, quiet and fragile, but real.

She brewed herself a cup of coffee, opened her laptop, and began to type.

Not because she had everything figured out, but because she finally understood that God wasn’t slow.

He was steady.

And maybe that was exactly what she needed to become too.

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...🌿 Sometimes, God’s silence is not absence — it’s preparation. When He feels slow, He’s often aligning things faster than we can imagine....

The world outside buzzed with noise — cars honking, phones ringing, people rushing somewhere, anywhere.

Inside her tiny apartment, Rhea sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at a half-written to-do list.

Laundry. Work emails. Groceries. Church volunteering. Call Mom.

She looked at the list, then slowly folded it in half. For once, she didn’t want to do anything. Not even pray.

It had been months since she’d let herself rest. Every time she tried to take a break, guilt whispered, You’re wasting time.

Every moment of stillness made her feel like she was falling behind — like the world would forget her if she didn’t keep moving.

Last week, her manager had praised her for being “always on top of things.” Her friends called her “the responsible one.”

But no one knew how much she cried in the shower, hiding the exhaustion behind her polite smile.

She used to believe peace meant sitting quietly with God — now it just felt like another task she didn’t have energy for.

That afternoon, her brother Aaron dropped by unexpectedly.

He glanced around at the quiet room and asked, “You okay? It’s rare to find you not doing something.”

Rhea shrugged. “I’m just… tired. I think I’m burned out.”

Aaron nodded, setting down a small paper bag. “Mom made your favorite—pancakes. She said you’ve been sounding distant lately.”

Rhea chuckled softly. “I’ve just been busy. If I stop working, everything falls apart.”

Aaron leaned against the wall. “Or maybe everything’s already falling apart because you never stop.”

His words stung more than she expected.

That evening, after he left, Rhea sat by the window with a plate of pancakes and the Bible her grandmother had given her years ago. She hadn’t opened it in weeks.

When she finally did, her eyes landed on Matthew 11:28 —

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

She read the verse again and again, tears blurring her vision.

I will give you rest.

Not I will make you lazy. Not I will make you fall behind.

Just rest — the kind that doesn’t ask you to earn it.

Rhea realized she had spent years confusing peace with passivity. She thought slowing down meant weakness. But peace wasn’t laziness — it was trust.

It meant believing God could hold everything together even when she wasn’t.

The next morning, instead of rushing into work, Rhea did something she hadn’t done in a long time — she sat quietly with her coffee, no phone, no background noise.

She let the silence breathe. It was uncomfortable at first, like standing still after running too long. But slowly, her mind began to settle.

She whispered a simple prayer:

“Lord, teach me how to rest without guilt. I don’t want to live fast and empty. I want to live steady and full.”

Later that day, she decided to go for a walk in the park. She noticed small things she hadn’t in months — sunlight glinting on the leaves, a child laughing as he chased a pigeon, an old couple sitting quietly on a bench.

It felt strange — like the world had slowed down just for her. But maybe, she thought, it was always this peaceful. She had just been too busy to notice.

When Rhea returned home, she looked at her folded to-do list on the table.

She smiled, then crossed out everything except one line at the bottom she hadn’t written before:

“Be still with God.”

That evening, she journaled a few words — nothing fancy, just honest:

“I used to think peace meant doing less. Now I see it means trusting more. God doesn’t rush. And maybe I don’t have to either.”

She placed her pen down, feeling a lightness she hadn’t felt in months. The world outside still buzzed, but inside, something sacred had settled.

For the first time, Rhea didn’t feel lazy for resting.

She felt safe.

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...🌿 Peace isn’t the absence of work — it’s the presence of God. When you stop striving, you give Him space to move....

The notification pinged again.

“Sarah just got promoted!”

“Look at John’s new car!”

“Emma is traveling to Europe next month.”

Lina scrolled through her phone, heart sinking a little more with each post.

It wasn’t that she didn’t celebrate her friends’ successes. She did. She truly did.

But somehow, seeing everyone moving forward, achieving, thriving, made her feel… small.

Lina worked at a small nonprofit, helping underprivileged children with after-school programs. She loved her work, but it didn’t come with flashy promotions or expensive rewards. Most days, it barely paid her bills.

And yet, everyone around her seemed to be winning. Everyone except her.

That evening, she sat on her tiny balcony, staring at the city lights twinkling in the distance.

Why can’t I be like them? she thought.

Why am I stuck while everyone else is moving ahead?

Her Bible lay on the corner of the table, dusty but familiar. Lina sighed and opened it almost absentmindedly.

Her eyes fell on Galatians 6:4 —

“Each one should test their own actions. Then they can take pride in themselves alone, without comparing themselves to someone else.”

The words hit her like a splash of cold water.

She realized she had been measuring her worth by everyone else’s milestones. Her joy, her energy, her faith — all tied to what others were doing. And no wonder she was exhausted.

The next morning, Lina decided to take a small step. Instead of scrolling through social media, she went for a walk to her favorite park.

As she walked, she watched a young boy teaching a younger sibling to ride a bicycle. They fell and laughed, over and over. A woman was painting quietly on a bench. A couple held hands as they jogged past.

None of it looked like success by the world’s standards. Yet, each moment was full of life, full of purpose.

Back at home, she opened her journal. She wrote:

“I am not my friends’ achievements. I am not their Instagram posts. I am not my neighbor’s salary or their vacations. I am Lina, and today, I will measure my life by what God calls meaningful, not by what the world applauds.”

It wasn’t easy. The pull to check her phone lingered all day. But each time, she reminded herself: peace grows in focus, not in comparison.

That evening, she prayed aloud, letting the words tumble honestly:

“Lord, teach me to walk my own path. Help me celebrate others without feeling small. Remind me that Your plan for me is enough, even if it looks different from theirs.”

Days passed, and Lina noticed subtle changes. She stopped scrolling mindlessly before bed. She celebrated her own small victories — finishing a report, connecting with a child who finally learned to read, cooking a healthy meal for herself.

Her joy returned slowly, quietly, like sunlight after a storm.

One Saturday, she visited her friend Emma — the one whose travels she had envied. Emma showed her photos from Europe, full of smiles and stunning sights.

Instead of feeling jealous, Lina found herself genuinely happy. She realized she had stepped out of the trap — the comparison trap.

She smiled to herself on the way home, whispering:

God’s timing, God’s plan. My journey is mine. And that is enough.

That night, she journaled one last thought:

“I will measure my worth by the love I give, the faith I walk in, and the life I live with intention. Comparison only steals joy. God only gives enough, and His enough is perfect for me.”

And for the first time in months, Lina felt a deep, steady peace — not because the world had slowed down, but because she had stopped racing against it.

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...🌿 Comparison steals joy. Trust God’s plan for your life, walk your path faithfully, and celebrate the victories He places before you, no matter how small....