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Why We’re All Tired (and What to Do About It)

May 22, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Over the next 8 weeks we’re going to pause on Thursdays for what I’m calling a Common Ground Project. It’s a reflection on what we have in common in life. This week it’s exhaustion. Yeah, you’re not alone. It’s not just you.

You’re not imagining it. You’re not weak. And you’re definitely not the only one who wakes up more exhausted than when you went to bed, even if you technically “slept.” Something deeper is going on, and everyone feels it.

Sure, life is full. But this is more than busy. This is like a soul-tired kind of feeling. Deep in your core you’re just exhausted.

We’re trying to carry everything from work stress, to endless news cycles, to aging parents, to demanding schedules, to that invisible weight of trying to be okay for everyone else. Even our “free time” feels like another item on the to-do list. And somehow, we still think the answer is to do more, be more, hustle more.

But what if the answer is actually less? What if less is more?

Here’s the truth: We weren’t made to live like machines. Constant output, zero margin, endless comparison. We were made for rhythm. That ebb and flow, work and rest, noise and silence. But somewhere along the way, we replaced rest with scrolling, and silence with streaming.

So what do we do?

It’s actually far easier than we might think. So for starters don’t overcomplicate it. Here are four small but powerful ways to start fighting your soul-tiredness today:

1. Name It

Take 10 minutes. Just you and a notebook and your favorite pen, and ask yourself: What’s actually wearing me out right now? Is it physical? Emotional? Mental? Relational? You see getting honest about the source helps you stop blaming the wrong things. And when we stop blaming the wrong things we’re able to tackle the right ones.

2. Build Micro-Margins

You might not be able to take a two-week sabbatical, but you can create 15-minute moments of calm. A walk without your phone. A slow cup of coffee. Sitting in the car in silence before going inside. Don’t underestimate the restoration that can come from tiny moments of peace.

3. Let Something Go

Not everything needs to get done today. Seriously. Choose one thing this week you can stop doing. Maybe it’s a social obligation, a load of laundry, a screen time habit, and simply trade it for breathing room. Rest takes intention. It’s a choice, not an accident. You can accidentally fall asleep but you can’t accidentally rest.

4. Ask for Help

You don’t get extra points for doing life alone. Tell someone what you’re feeling. Ask a friend to take your kids for an hour. Let your partner know you’re running on empty. Community doesn’t fix everything, but it keeps you from falling apart alone. Remember even the Lone Ranger had his trusty friend Tonto by his side.

Here’s the good news: This tired doesn’t have to be forever. You can rebuild rest into your life. No, not the kind of rest that’s just sleep (though that matters too), but the kind that lets your soul exhale. The kind that reminds you that you’re human, not a machine.

You’re not broken for being tired. You’re just human. And being human means learning how to live at a livable pace again.

So maybe today, you don’t need to push harder.

Maybe you just need to breathe.

Never Quit. Even If You Have to Crawl Across the Finish Line

May 21, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Earlier this week, I went to my daughter’s final track meet of the season. Now, before you picture me in running shorts and a stopwatch yelling, “Let’s go!”—let’s get one thing straight: I do not run. I respect running. I admire people who run. But me? If you see me running, call the police because something has gone terribly wrong.

So there I was, dad on the sidelines mentally applauding every single runner for voluntarily doing what I would only do if chased by a bear.

Then came her event, the 4×800 meter relay. Now, this was brand new territory. She’s trained as a sprinter. Give her a 100 meter dash and she’s golden. 200 is even cool. Her comfort zone is short, fast, and done. But there she was, taking on two full laps around the track. And when that baton hit her hand, she launched off the line like she was running the 100-meter dash.

The first lap was great. She was out front, flying. I was proud and also slightly nervous. Because, well, pace matters. You can’t treat an 800 like a sprint… unless you’re trying to see Jesus early.

Then came the second lap.

Halfway around, you could see it. That burst of speed had caught up to her. Her arms got heavy. Her face said, “Why did I agree to this?” And honestly, I felt it too. Not in my legs, of course, but in my soul.

She was tired. Gassed. Ready to throw in the towel.

But she didn’t.

She kept going. Slower? Yes. Suffering? Probably. But quitting? Not an option. She made it to the finish line, gave everything she had, and handed off the baton with pure grit and determination.

And that, friends, is the picture of perseverance.

You and I? We’ve all had “second-lap” moments in life. We start strong. The new job, the big dream, the spiritual commitment, the fresh relationship. But then reality sets in. The pace gets heavy. The excitement fades. We get tired. Discouraged. Maybe we’re ready to give up.

But don’t.

Push through. Even if your pace slows to a crawl. Even if you’re limping through pain or panting through exhaustion. Even if you have to walk, crawl, roll, or yes even puke before you get there… just don’t quit.

Because quitters don’t finish, and finishers don’t quit.

We’re not called to be perfect. We’re called to endure. To finish our race. To hand off the baton of faith, love, and hope to those coming after us. So keep going. One step at a time.

And if you’re ever tempted to give up? Just picture a tired teenager on her second lap, digging deep to find strength she didn’t know she had because sometimes the greatest victories come not from speed, but from stubborn, courageous endurance.

Never quit. You’ve got this.

What If You Were Meant for More?

May 20, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Out There – Part One

There’s a lie we’ve all been sold, and it’s a sneaky one:
Life is about surviving the week, paying the bills, and maybe squeezing in some happiness when you can.

We wake up, grind it out, scroll a bit, sleep a bit, then it’s like rinse and repeat. Maybe post a photo to prove to everyone (including ourselves) that we’re doing okay. But somewhere in the noise, there’s a quiet, persistent question that keeps bubbling up:

Is this it?

Even if your life looks full on the outside with everything you could want job, family, goals, money, faith – there can still be this weird emptiness. A sense that you were meant for something more. And no, you’re not crazy or ungrateful. That ache for “more” isn’t selfish or wrong. It’s a sign of life. A signal. A whisper from God that you were made for something bigger than just getting by.

But here’s where it gets real.

Most people hear that and think bigger means more platform, more attention, more followers. Nope. That’s the world’s version of “more.” Jesus flips that upside down. His version of more is deeply personal, incredibly intentional, and often quieter than we expect.

“As the Father has sent me, even so I am sending you.” – Jesus (John 20:21)

That line isn’t church talk. It’s a mission. It’s Jesus saying:
“The same way I was sent to bring healing, hope, and truth? Yeah, now it’s your turn.”

And he didn’t say that to perfect people. He said it to regular folks. People with doubts. People who had failed. People who weren’t totally sure they were even qualified to be part of God’s story.

Which means you and I are exactly the kind of people he’s talking to!

So what does it actually mean to be “sent”?

It doesn’t mean you need to pack up and move to another country (though for a few people, it might). It means you wake up tomorrow with your eyes open. You start seeing your everyday life, everything from your block, to your workplace, to your gym, and even your school – as a place where God might actually want to work through you.

It’s asking questions like:

  • Who around me needs someone to listen?
  • What would it look like to bring peace instead of chaos today?
  • How can I show up for people with no strings attached?

This is what we’re made for! Not a life of safe routines and filtered happiness, but one that risks love, risks presence, and risks purpose.

That doesn’t mean you have to be loud, impressive, or preachy. In fact, the best kind of sent people are the ones who are simply present. Who love without needing credit. Who take the time. Who choose kindness even when it’s not convenient.

Jesus didn’t send out superstars. He sent out available people. People willing to step into the mess, not run from it. People willing to see themselves not just as believers, but as difference-makers.

So yeah, maybe you’re meant for more. Not in the “build your brand” kind of way. But in the “change the temperature of the room” kind of way.

And it all starts with a decision:
To stop seeing your life as small… and start seeing it as sent.

Want to know where to start?

Come back next week for Part Two: “It Starts at Your Front Door.”
Spoiler alert: You don’t need to preach a sermon. You just need to say hello.
We’ll explore what it looks like to live with purpose, one sidewalk at a time.

Dead or Alive

May 19, 2025 / / 1 Comment

Let’s get one thing straight: Life doesn’t just work better with Jesus, without Him, there is no life at all. This week in our “Rooted and Ready” series, we hit one of the most honest, humbling, and hope-filled passages in the Bible. Ephesians 2 doesn’t sugarcoat anything. Paul starts with a punch:

“And you were dead in the trespasses and sins…” (Ephesians 2:1)

Dead. Not hurting. Not confused. Not limping. Spiritually DEAD.

That’s the state we were all in, walking corpses, following the world’s chaos, giving in to the devil’s whispers, driven by our inner selfish cravings. We weren’t “mostly good” with some bad behavior. We were rotten. Like that forgotten takeout container in the back of your fridge, sealed up and festering, and when you finally crack it open… the stench hits you. That’s not something you clean up. That’s something you throw out.

Paul says that was us. Pretty on the outside, moldy and dead on the inside. “Children of wrath,” he says. Not misguided. Not slightly off track. Under judgment. That’s a bold, painful truth, but we need to hear it. Because only when we understand how far gone we were can we fully grasp what God has done.

Then come the best two words in the whole Bible:

“But God…”
“…being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us… made us alive together with Christ…” (vv. 4–5)

But God. Not but you prayed harder. Not but you finally cleaned up your act. No. You were dead. But God acted. But God moved. But God resurrected.

Because of His mercy. Because of His love. Because of His grace.

You see, life works best with Jesus because life without Him isn’t life at all, it’s death. But Jesus didn’t wait for you to get your life together. He came to you when you were a spiritual corpse, and by grace, He made you alive.

This is more than inspiration. It’s resurrection.

And now?
You’ve been raised. You’ve been seated with Christ in the heavenly places. You’ve been saved by grace through faith, not by your doing, but by His gift.

You are now God’s workmanship. Not a project to be ashamed of, but a masterpiece with purpose, created in Christ Jesus for good works He’s already prepared for you to walk in.

So here’s the invitation today: Stop trying to look alive on your own. Stop pretending that sin is just a bad habit. Own the truth. You were dead. But God rich in mercy made you alive.

So now? Live like it. Walk in the works He’s prepared. Stay rooted in His Word. Be ready for what’s next.

Because life doesn’t just work better with Jesus—it only works with Him.

Stop Mistaking Empathy for Compassion

May 15, 2025 / / 0 Comments

They’re Not the Same, and It’s Hurting Us

Let’s cut through the fluff: empathy is not compassion. And pretending they’re the same is making us soft in all the wrong places, blind to what’s broken, and oddly proud of standing still while people suffer.

Empathy says, “I feel your pain.”
Compassion says, “I see your pain, and I’m going to help you do something about it.”

See the difference? One sits in the mud with you and calls it solidarity. The other reaches in, lifts you up, washes you off, and walks with you toward healing. That’s compassion — and it’s what we need more of.

Let’s be honest: empathy sounds nice. It’s trendy. It sells. It wins likes on social media. “I see you.” “I hear you.” “I’m with you.” But here’s the hard truth: empathy, when left alone, is passive. It doesn’t fix anything. It just wallows in shared misery. And worse — it can become a mask for cowardice. We use it to avoid confrontation, delay hard conversations, and excuse inaction.

We say, “I don’t want to judge,” when what we mean is, “I don’t want to deal with the mess.” We say, “I’m just empathizing,” when we’re actually enabling. Empathy left unchecked coddles dysfunction. It listens without challenging. It observes pain without interrupting the cause. And in the end, it lets sin fester, addiction deepen, and wounds rot — all in the name of “understanding.”

That’s not love. That’s apathy dressed in empathy’s clothing.

Now look at compassion. Real compassion feels — yes — but it moves. It confronts. It speaks the truth in love. It’s gentle, but it’s not soft. It’s kind, but it’s not afraid to correct. It knows that healing sometimes stings and growth is often uncomfortable. Compassion refuses to leave people in their pain — it enters in with purpose.

Think of Jesus. He had compassion on the crowds — and He healed them. He taught them. He fed them. He called them out of darkness into light. He didn’t just say, “Wow, that’s tough,” and keep walking. He did what needed to be done — even when it meant flipping tables or confronting hypocrisy. That’s what love looks like when it has a backbone.

So let’s get this straight:
Compassion does what empathy won’t.
It makes the hard phone call.
It says, “You’re not okay — and I’m going to help you get there.”
It tells the addict, “I love you, but I’m not going to watch you destroy yourself.”
It tells the friend, “You’re spiraling, and I’m stepping in.”
It’s the parent who says “no” out of love.
The leader who holds a line.
The friend who speaks truth, even if it hurts.

This world has had enough of people “feeling for” others without actually helping them. What we need is a revival of compassion — gritty, loving action that heals instead of coddles.

You can feel with people all day long and never lift a finger to help them change. But compassion? Compassion rolls up its sleeves. It doesn’t just listen. It acts. It builds. It restores.

Empathy might leave you stuck. Compassion will carry you forward.

So here’s the challenge: stop applauding yourself for your feelings, and start asking what your love is actually doing. Is it changing anything? Healing anyone? Calling anyone to more?

Empathy whispers, “Stay where you are.”
Compassion says, “Let’s go — I’ll walk with you.”

Choose wisely. One path leads to deeper pain. The other leads to real freedom.

When Questions Are Silenced, the Church Suffocates

May 14, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Let’s stop pretending the Church is fine.

It’s not.

The numbers say it. The exodus of young people says it. The stale worship. The empty classrooms. The leadership pipelines that dried up a decade ago. They all scream what no one wants to admit: we are stuck. Not in doctrine. Not in Jesus. But in methods, mindsets, and models that have lost their grip on reality.

And every time someone dares to raise a hand to ask, What if we tried…? the answer isn’t curiosity. It’s control.

Let’s name the poison: fear.
Fear of change. Fear of innovation. Fear of losing comfort, influence, or nostalgia. Fear that masquerades as faithfulness.

And under the weight of that fear, creativity is choked out, ideas are left to rot in meeting minutes, and the Spirit-led boldness that marked the early Church has been traded for policy manuals and committee reports.

When questions are silenced instead of answered, the Church doesn’t just stagnate. She suffers. People suffer.

Whole communities go unreached. Entire generations leave because they were told their questions were divisive, their ideas disruptive, their creativity unorthodox.

All the while, Jesus weeps.

The Gospel is unchanging. But the way we carry it never was.

Jesus didn’t call the disciples to maintain a system. He called them to overturn one. He didn’t say, “Find the most comfortable way to reach people like you.” He said, “Go make disciples of all nations.” That meant language barriers. Cultural shifts. Wild methods. Radical risk.

He preached from boats. He taught with stories. He sat with outcasts. He blew up traditions that had calcified into idolatry.

“You have heard it said… but I say to you…” That wasn’t safe. That was revolutionary.

Yet in 2025, the Church shrinks back from that same edge. We cling to what’s known, what’s approved, what’s “how we’ve always done it.” We turn down the volume on innovation. We run creative leaders out of the room. We label new ministries unnecessary. We crush Holy Spirit dreams under layers of bureaucracy, protocol, and denominational red tape.

Jesus flipped tables in the temple. It seems the best we can do is form a committee to discuss whether the tables are Lutheran enough (insert your own denomination there).

And we wonder why no one’s listening. The world doesn’t care how it’s always been done. They care how Jesus lived, loved and lead.

Silencing questions is not just bad leadership. It’s spiritual malpractice!

When we shut down the dreamers, we shut out the very people God is calling to lead the next generation. When we ignore the young leader with a passion for digital ministry because “we’ve never done it that way,” we lose a voice who could reach those we’ve never reached. Heck we’ve probably never thought of reaching some of these people!

When we refuse to plant new ministries because “the budget doesn’t allow,” what we’re really saying is, “We don’t trust God to provide for the things He inspires.”

When we fail to mentor new leaders because we’re afraid they’ll do things differently, we’re not protecting the Church. We’re burying the talent God gave us and expecting applause for our caution. Newsflash friend, Jesus condemned that talent burying servant as wicked and worthless. I think we might be on the wrong side of this argument.

The Church is dying not because the Gospel lacks power—but because the Gospel-bearers lack courage.

Courage to ask, “What if?”
Courage to step out of the boat.
Courage to let go of sacred cows and grab hold of a cross.

Do we believe the Holy Spirit still speaks? Still moves? Still creates new things?Then why do we act like the Great Commission was fulfilled in 1965 and now we just need to maintain the property?

Jesus didn’t die so we could die on the hill of tradition. He rose so we could move forward with the message of the resurrection into our neighborhoods.

Here’s what has to change:

  • We need leaders who ask dangerous questions. Not heretical ones, but honest ones.
  • We need churches that give permission to fail, to experiment, to build what’s never been built.
  • We need to stop confusing liturgy with legacy. Tradition with truth.
  • We need denominations that empower churches instead of controlling them.
  • We need new expressions of the unchanging Gospel. And we need them now.

This is not a call to throw out doctrine. This is a call to remember that Scripture and our tried and true doctrine is the foundation, not the ceiling. That methods are tools, not idols. That ministry is mission, not museum curation.

If we keep silencing questions, we’ll silence the Church.

But if we listen? If we empower? If we unleash Spirit-filled, question-asking, tradition-challenging, Gospel-rooted pioneers?

Then maybe, just maybe, the next generation will stop walking away. And start walking in.

The Church doesn’t need more meetings. It needs more movement.

Let’s stop being afraid of the unknown. The God I serve…He’s already there.

Towel-Bearers in the Wild: Stories of Real Leaders Doing It the Jesus Way

May 13, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Part 7 of the “Towel-Bearers: Redefining Leadership” Series

They don’t wear name tags that say “hero.”
They don’t have book deals, podcasts, or one of those larger than life cardboard checks.
But they have towels. And they’re soaked.

These are the leaders you won’t find in conference lineups.
But heaven knows their names.

Because they’re doing it the Jesus way.

The Youth Leader Who Keeps Showing Up

She preps lessons no one seems to remember.
Deals with middle school chaos and sticky floors.
Listens when a kid says, “My dad left.”
And she doesn’t flinch.

Nobody claps.
But she shows up again. And again. And again.

That’s what Jesus looks like.

The Grandma Who Prays in Secret

She doesn’t hold a title.
She can’t stand long enough to volunteer.
But every day, her Bible is open and her hands are raised for her family, her church, her nation.

No one sees the war she’s fighting on her knees.
But the heavens shake because of her faith.

That’s what Jesus looks like.

The Pastor Who Refuses to Climb the Ladder

He’s been overlooked.
Passed over for bigger churches, flashier pulpits.
But he keeps loving his people.
He weeps with them. Marries them. Buries them. Disciples them.
No fanfare. Just faithfulness.

That’s what Jesus looks like.

The Business Leader Who Leads Differently

She could build her brand.
She could chase profit.
But instead, she raises up employees with dignity.
She writes checks to single moms who can’t pay rent.
She mentors with grace and serves without needing credit.

That’s what Jesus looks like.

This Is the New Definition of Leadership

It’s not influence. It’s integrity.
It’s not followers. It’s faithfulness.
It’s not building a name. It’s bearing a cross.

Towel-bearers don’t wait for recognition.
They don’t chase platforms.
They chase Jesus—and stoop to serve.

One Day, the Towels Will Be Traded for Crowns

Maybe nobody sees you right now.
Maybe it feels like you’re throwing seed into dry ground.

But one day, the King will come.
And He’ll say the words the world could never give you:

“Well done, good and faithful servant.”

Not for how loud you were.
But for how low you knelt.
Not for how much you built.
But for how much you poured out.

You didn’t quit.
You carried the towel.

So Here’s to You—The Towel-Bearers in the Wild

You’re the real leaders.
The brave ones.
The hidden ones.
The faithful few.

Keep serving.
Keep loving.
Keep kneeling.

The world may not know your name—but heaven already carved it in glory.

Hope. Worth. Power.

May 12, 2025 / / 1 Comment

There’s a prayer in Ephesians that punches through the noise of our weary, distracted lives. Paul writes to believers—people already following Jesus—and he doesn’t pray for their circumstances to change. He doesn’t ask for them to be more successful, less anxious, or more comfortable. He prays they see. That the eyes of their hearts would be opened to what they already have in Jesus.

Let’s not miss that. This is a prayer for Christians. Not that they would get something new, but that they’d finally realize what’s been right in front of them the whole time.

Hope. Worth. Power.

Let’s start with hope—not the vague, wishy-washy kind the world offers. This is hope that is anchored in Jesus. Paul says we’ve been “called” to it. And when Jesus calls something into being, it happens. This hope isn’t fragile. It’s not on backorder. It’s a done deal—certain, real, and alive. You don’t have to wonder if God will come through. The cross and the empty tomb already proved He has. Your hope isn’t hanging by a thread; it’s standing in front of you with nail-scarred hands.

Then Paul prays we’d see the “riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints.” That’s not just future language—some pie-in-the-sky promise. That’s worth. Right now. God has already placed infinite value on you. Not because of what you’ve achieved or how holy you act, but because Jesus chose you, adopted you, and calls you family. You’re not a spiritual orphan trying to earn your place. You’re a loved, named, claimed child of God. That’s your worth. And no failure, label, or lie can undo that.

And finally—power. The same power that raised Jesus from the dead now lives in you. That’s not metaphor. That’s resurrection reality. This is not about mustering up your own strength. This is about tapping into the power source that conquered sin, death, and hell. Paul stacks up words for it: immeasurable greatness… according to the working of his great might… that he worked in Christ when he raised him from the dead. That’s a power no enemy can touch. And it’s yours. Today.

We live like we’re powerless. We walk around as if we’re barely scraping by spiritually. We forget the very Spirit who raised Jesus lives inside us. Paul’s prayer is that we wake up to that power—that we stop living like victims and start standing in victory.

So let me ask you:
Do you see the hope that’s already yours?
Do you know your worth in Jesus is already settled?
Are you walking in the resurrection power you already possess?

You don’t have to beg God for more. You don’t need to prove yourself. You just need eyes to see what’s already true.

Open your Bible. Read Ephesians 1:15–23 again. Then pray this:
Lord, open the eyes of my heart. Let me see the hope, the worth, and the power that are already mine in Jesus. Amen.

Don’t Drop the Towel: What to Do When You Want to Quit

May 8, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Part 6 of the “Towel-Bearers: Redefining Leadership” Series

You’ve prayed. You’ve poured out. You’ve kept showing up.
But if you’re honest—you’re tired.
Not just physically. Soul tired.

Ministry can hurt in ways you didn’t know possible.
People ghost you.
Plans fall flat.
Recognition for carrying the extra load never comes.
The critics? Oh, they never miss a beat.

And somewhere deep inside, you hear it:

“Just walk away. Drop the towel. You gave it your best shot.”

But hear me out:
Don’t do that!

Jesus Didn’t Quit—Even When Everyone Else Did

When things got hard, the disciples scattered.
The crowds vanished.
The miracles weren’t enough to keep people loyal.

But Jesus didn’t drop the towel.
He picked up the cross.

And He kept walking—for you.

You’re not carrying something He doesn’t understand.
He felt betrayal. He knows rejection. He walked the lonely road.

Hebrews 12:3 (ESV): “Consider him who endured from sinners such hostility against himself, so that you may not grow weary or fainthearted.”

He didn’t quit on you.
Don’t quit on what He’s put in you.

3 Ways to Hold the Towel When Everything in You Wants to Let Go

1. Name the Burnout. Don’t Fake the Strength.

You’re not superhuman. You’re not weak for needing rest.
You’re honest. That’s holy.

Jesus rested. Jesus wept. Jesus withdrew.

If He needed it, you definitely do.
So name it. Own it. And then bring it to Him.

2. Let Others Carry You for a While

Even Jesus let someone else carry His cross for a stretch. (See: Simon of Cyrene.)

So why are you trying to be the hero?

Ask for help. Tell someone you’re worn out.
You’re not less of a leader for leaning on others—you’re just finally leading real.

3. Reconnect to the Why

You didn’t start this to be famous.
You started because Jesus flipped your life upside down with grace.
You said yes because people matter. Because eternity matters.

When the “what” feels heavy, remember the “why.”

And remember Who you’re doing this for.

Grace Is for You Too.

Sometimes the hardest person to show grace to is the one in the mirror.
You preach it to others—now preach it to yourself:

You’re not failing. You’re not forgotten. You’re not done.

The towel might feel soaked with sweat, tears, and frustration—but it’s still in your hands. And Jesus is still washing feet with you.

Before You Quit, Remember This:

Quitting might quiet the pain—but it also silences your calling.
What you’re doing matters. Even if no one claps. Even if no one sees.

So no, don’t drop the towel.
Wipe your brow.
Fall into the arms of grace.
And keep going.

Because He’s not finished with you yet.

Next up in Part 7 of the Towel-Bearers series:
👉 “Towel-Bearers in the Wild: Stories of Real Leaders Doing It the Jesus Way” — a celebration of the unfiltered, unpolished, radically faithful.

When the World Goes Quiet: The Hidden Face of Trauma

May 7, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Trauma doesn’t always look like what we expect. It’s not always tears or trembling hands. It isn’t necessarily someone lying in bed, unable to move, or openly speaking about the nightmares that haunt them. More often, it’s hidden in plain sight—in the bright light of day, in the loud, busy moments when the world keeps spinning. Trauma wears a mask, and many people wear it so well you’d never know it was there at all.

In the daylight, trauma can look like a successful professional who hits every deadline. It can sound like laughter at a lunch meeting or appear in the form of perfectly crafted social media posts. Highly functioning individuals are often the ones carrying the heaviest burdens, because they’ve learned how to keep going no matter what. Not because they’ve “healed,” but because continuing to move feels safer than stopping. To stop would mean facing what waits in the silence.

And that’s when trauma speaks loudest—when the world shuts down.

In the quiet of night, when distractions fade and the demands of the day are gone, trauma comes out from the corners where it hides. For some, it shows up as insomnia or racing thoughts that make sleep impossible. For others, it’s a sudden wave of sadness, anxiety, or fear that seems to come from nowhere. The mind replays moments long buried, feelings long suppressed. There’s no applause for surviving in the dark. There’s no one to witness the fight. But it rages on.

We often assume that if someone is functioning—working, parenting, creating, joking—they must be okay. But trauma doesn’t work like that. It doesn’t need permission to exist. It doesn’t check your calendar before showing up. Trauma from years ago can feel as fresh as something that happened yesterday. And recent trauma can hide behind a smile so convincing even the person wearing it might forget it’s there—for a time.

This is why compassion matters. This is why slowing down and looking beyond the surface matters. Not everyone will talk about what they’ve been through. Not everyone has the language, the safety, or the support to name their pain. But that doesn’t mean it’s not there.

So the next time you’re tempted to assume someone is “fine” because they seem fine, take a pause. Understand that for many, survival looks like achievement. Coping looks like productivity. And healing? Healing is often messy, invisible, nonlinear, and deeply personal.

Let’s normalize checking in with our strong friends. Let’s hold space for those who appear to have it all together. And most importantly, let’s remember that trauma isn’t defined by how loud it screams in public—but by how silently it haunts when no one is watching.

In the stillness, when the world goes quiet, some people are still fighting battles. Just because you can’t see them, doesn’t mean they’re not real.

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