When “What’s Next” Becomes a Way of Life
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been plagued by a constant feeling of restlessness.
And I couldn’t figure out why.
Sure, I’ve had my share of hard moments.
I’ve faced challenges and trials.
Experienced a lot of grief and sorrow.
I’ve also sacrificed my dreams.
And walked paths not many would willingly choose.
But those weren’t the only times I felt that restlessness in my spirit.
I’ve also felt it in the good moments…
Spending time with my husband.
Hanging out with the kids.
Cooking something delicious.
Working out.
Creating art.
It didn’t matter what I was doing,
or how meaningful it was to me—
that low hum of restlessness was always there.
For the longest time, I didn’t know why I felt that way.
I couldn’t even find the words to explain what I was feeling.
I was happy… but I also wasn’t.
I was grateful for all the blessings I had.
And yet… deep down, something still felt missing.
I felt full… but also empty.
Content… but also aching.
Present… but always searching.
Hopeful… but quietly discouraged.
And that made me feel something even heavier.
Guilt.
Because how could I feel this way…
when I had so much to be thankful for?
What kind of person feels empty in a full life?
I started to wonder if something was wrong with me.
If there was some missing piece I couldn’t name.
It took me a while to figure out.
Many conversations with God.
Hours spent writing and reflecting in my journal.
Many tears and sleepless nights.
And then it hit me.
I was restless because I felt like I should be doing more.
More with my life.
More with my time.
I’ve always been a classic Type A—
driven, ambitious, and focused.
Always working toward some goal.
Always chasing the next milestone.
Always zeroed in on the 2% I missed,
instead of celebrating the 98% I had accomplished.
A perfectionist.
An overachiever.
A doer.
And without realizing it,
that drive to do seeped into every area of my life—
tainting even the things I once did for joy.
Because when I wasn’t doing,
I didn’t feel settled.
I didn’t feel okay.
But it went even deeper than that.
Because just doing wasn’t enough.
I needed to be achieving.
I needed to be accomplishing.
But here’s what I didn’t see back then—
my definition of success?
It kept moving.
Every time I reached one goal,
I immediately set my sights on another.
No pause.
No celebration.
No moment to breathe.
Just a new target.
A new standard.
A new reason to keep striving.
And without even realizing it,
I had set myself up for a lifetime of restlessness—
because I was always chasing what was next,
instead of being present to what was now.
When Hustle Culture Shapes Our Hearts
Looking back, I realize that my restlessness wasn’t just something I carried on the inside.
It was something the world around me kept feeding.
It mirrored my own inner drive.
Validated it.
And then magnified it.
We live in a culture that glorifies hustle.
That tells us to rise and grind.
That celebrates ambition, productivity, and busyness
as if they were virtues.
We’re praised for what we produce.
Measured by how much we can juggle.
Admired when we push past our limits.
“Keep going.”
“Do more.”
“Don’t waste time.”
It’s everywhere.
And I absorbed it all.
These were the waters I swam in.
The air I breathed.
Somewhere along the way, I started believing the lie:
That rest is laziness.
That slowing down means falling behind.
That I would enjoy life once I had achieved my goals.
“Now” became a stepping stone.
A means to an end.
A moment to get through
so I could reach the next one.
But the problem is—
when we’re always trying to get somewhere else,
we lose the ability to be where we are.
We stop noticing the little things.
We rush through the sacred things.
And eventually, we become blind to the blessings
that are right in front of us.
Scripture warns us about this pull toward the world’s rhythm:
“Do not conform to the pattern of this world,
but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.”
— Romans 12:2 (NIV)
But it’s impossible to be transformed
when we’re racing from one thing to the next.
Transformation happens when we pause.
When we breathe.
When we’re willing to slow down long enough
to let God reorder our hearts.
This world will never stop pushing us forward.
So we need to stop long enough
to hear the gentle call of the Spirit—
Back to presence.
Back to peace.
Back to now.
When God Meets Us in the Mess
Everyone talks about “waiting until life slows down.”
It’s a phrase I’ve used more times than I can count.
But one thing I’ve learned as I’ve gotten older—
Life doesn’t slow down.
The interruptions don’t stop.
The responsibilities don’t magically shrink.
The calendar never clears itself.
There’s always something.
Another errand.
Another appointment.
Another crisis or challenge.
Always someone who needs something.
And if we keep waiting for life to slow down
before we face our feelings,
or sit with our fears…
We might end up waiting forever.
My transformation didn’t happen when life finally calmed down.
It happened when I stopped waiting.
When I made space—right in the middle of the mess—
to meet with God.
At first, I didn’t even know what to say.
But I showed up anyway.
Every morning.
I wrote.
And wrote.
And wrote.
Instead of pushing my feelings down,
I let them come to the surface.
Instead of trying to explain them away,
I sat with them.
I listened to what they had to say.
I cried.
A lot.
And even though I didn’t always feel God’s presence,
I kept talking to Him anyway—
trusting that He was listening.
When We Stay with the Process
Healing doesn’t happen all at once.
Even after I began meeting with God in the middle of my mess—even after I started writing, crying, praying, and sitting with what surfaced—there were still days I felt the old restlessness rise again.
I’d think I had uncovered the thing causing the ache…
Only to find another layer underneath.
And then another.
At first, I thought that meant I was doing it wrong.
That I wasn’t healing fast enough.
That maybe I hadn’t heard God clearly.
But over time, I began to realize: this was the process.
Not a formula to follow.
Not a quick fix.
But a daily return.
A willingness to come back to God—again and again—trusting that He was doing a deeper work, even when I couldn’t see it yet.
Some mornings felt tender.
Others felt flat.
But I showed up anyway.
And each time, God met me with new insight.
New peace.
New clarity.
Not all at once, but like peeling back the layers of an onion—
gentle, slow, faithful.
We live in a world that rushes healing.
That wants answers now and results yesterday.
Transformation doesn’t happen in an instant.
It happens in seasons.
God moves like a gardener.
He tends to our hearts—
gently, patiently, with purpose.
And that kind of change?
It will never come from striving.
It only comes from staying.
And as I stayed…
as I kept showing up in the stillness,
something began to shift.
When God Replaces Lies with Truth
His presence became more real.
Little whispers started rising in my spirit.
Scriptures would suddenly leap off the page.
Insights would come while I was going about my everyday life.
And with every revelation,
I gained a deeper understanding of what was really going on beneath the surface.
God began to peel back the layers.
Gently exposing the lies I had unknowingly absorbed—
about success, productivity, identity, and worth.
He showed me how deeply I had internalized the belief
that I needed to be constantly accomplishing something.
That if I wasn’t producing, achieving, or moving toward some measurable outcome,
I was wasting time.
But here’s the kicker—
what counted as “accomplishment” in my mind?
It was narrow.
First it was school—grades, degrees, academic success.
Then it became business—results, revenue, recognition.
Everything else felt… less than.
Even the things that brought me joy—
cooking a beautiful meal,
working out,
creating art,
spending time with Todd or the kids—
somewhere in the back of my mind,
those moments triggered guilt.
Because I wasn’t “accomplishing” anything.
I wasn’t moving the needle.
I wasn’t building something others could see.
And yet…
God began showing me that everything has a purpose.
Everything.
That exercise?
It’s not a distraction.
It’s worship.
It’s honoring the body He gave me—
a temple of the Holy Spirit.
(1 Corinthians 6:19)
That time spent creating?
It’s not frivolous.
It’s a reflection of the Creator who formed me in His image.
When I paint, write, design—
I’m participating in His divine creativity.
When I spend time with my husband,
when I sit with one of my kids,
when I choose presence over productivity—
I’m nurturing the relationships He’s entrusted to me.
When I run errands,
or make appointments,
or fold the endless piles of laundry,
I’m being a faithful steward of the life I’ve been given.
And when I rest—
I’m honoring the rhythm of grace He designed me to live in.
I’m recognizing that I am not a machine.
That even God rested.
(Genesis 2:2)
Suddenly, I started to see my life differently.
Not as a constant to-do list,
but as a sacred offering.
Every moment—
from the smallest chore
to the biggest dream—
carries kingdom value
when it’s done in faith,
in love,
and in partnership with Jesus.
“Whatever you do, whether in word or deed,
do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus…”
—Colossians 3:17 (NIV)
That truth rewrote everything for me.
Because it meant I didn’t have to divide my life into “spiritual” and “practical.”
Or “important” and “unimportant.”
There wasn’t a spiritual hierarchy of value anymore.
All of it mattered.
I started to see that my life right now—
this beautiful, messy, ordinary life—
is the very ground God is building on.
And every time I bring Him into it—
whether I’m writing a devotional or buying groceries—
I’m partnering with Him.
I’m living in step with Him.
That’s not wasted time.
That’s not failure.
That’s formation.
When the Restlessness Finally Faded
And my restlessness?
Somewhere along the way—
almost without realizing it…
it faded.
That constant tug toward “what’s next”?
It lost its grip on me.
And now?
I’m learning to live in the sacredness of each moment.
Present.
Grateful.
At peace.
When You’re Ready to Come Home to “Now”
Maybe you’re feeling it too—
that low hum of restlessness that follows you from room to room,
through joy and through sorrow.
If you are, you’re not alone.
And you don’t have to wait for life to slow down
to start feeling whole again.
Start where you are.
Bring it to Jesus.
Let Him meet you in the middle of your mess.
That’s where healing begins.
That’s where peace finds you.
That’s where you come home to now.
With love and belief in you,
