That’s the word that keeps surfacing.
Not in a dramatic way—but in the quiet, creeping way that steals balance while convincing you you’re doing something worthwhile.

I’m someone who sees a task, a need, a gap—and jumps in with both feet. I want to do it well. I want to do it excellently. I crave knowledge. I hunger to do things right and keep reaching for that next level of competence. I’ve always held myself to a high standard. Some might call it perfectionism. Maybe that’s fair. Maybe it’s just how I’m wired. These parts of me aren’t inherently good or bad—they’re simply there. A part of how I was created.

But when I’m not careful, they overtake me.
I get out of alignment.
I start chasing the doing and lose track of the being.

Many of you know that in recent years, I’ve been so deeply focused on work that my health—especially my physical and spiritual well-being—has quietly taken the back seat. I told myself it was for good reasons. And in true task-oriented fashion, I even justified the overwork in very organized, very efficient ways. I did it well.

I mean… when your bosses start telling you to take a vacation and insisting you unplug—maybe that’s a clue. But even in rest, my thoughts would spin back to what needed to get done.

Here’s the thing: I have a God who loves me—so much so that He gave His Son for me. I have a husband who truly cherishes me—who lives out kindness and generosity in ways that bring me to tears. I have a family that loves me, friends who care, a home filled with peace, and a job that fits me like a glove—designed around my strengths and passions. I have more blessings than I can count.

And yet… I still didn’t choose better priorities.
I knew I was off course. I prayed that God would rekindle my hunger for Him. That He would help me put Him first again. That my love for Him would deepen and lead the way.

And in His kindness, He responded.

Sermons. Devotionals. Songs. Conversations. All echoing the same invitation: Set your heart back on Me. Be still. Come close.

And still—I resisted. I told myself, “Tomorrow, I’ll start. Tomorrow, I’ll reorient.”
But my thoughts remained tangled in work.
Hard-headed, I know.

So I fell.
Literally.

A little over four weeks ago, while heading to church, I tripped—one of our sweet little dogs underfoot—and I fell down the stairs. Hard. I broke my pelvis. Just moments after praying that I would glorify God through our orchestra rehearsal… I ended up on the floor, unable to walk.

Since then, life has looked very different.
I’ve been still. I’ve had to be still.
I can’t shower without help. Can’t cook. Can’t fetch a glass of water without asking. And while I’ve been able to continue working remotely, everything else has come to a screeching halt.

And my husband? He’s been… remarkable.
Gentle. Selfless. Steady. Never once complaining.
He’s cared for me in every way, showing love through every meal made, every shower assisted, every ride to the doctor. And while he has quietly delighted in serving me, I’ve sat here—frustrated, ashamed, emotionally exhausted.

Eventually, I did what I always do. I started strategizing how to “do recovery” really well. Researched healing protocols. Started chair boxing for fitness. Counted calories. Began a structured Bible study. I was going to be excellent at healing.

And then, in the middle of one of those Bible lessons, I heard it.

Be still and know that I am God.
Be still and trust that I have you.
Be still and let Me order your days.
Be still.

That voice—tender, firm, unmistakable.
I heard You, Lord.

So I’ve tried. I’ve softened. I’m not clenching my jaw at night. I’m not obsessing over my inbox. I’m noticing beauty again. But—true to form—I was also a little proud of how well I was “being still.”

And today, at a follow-up appointment, the doctor told me I’ve got 2–4 more weeks of recovery. And in that moment, it hit me:

I’m still not ready to do this on my own.
I won’t ever be ready to do this on my own.
Stillness… surrender… trust… these aren’t checklists to master.
They are invitations to dependency.

And that’s when it really clicked: the joy I’ve seen in my husband’s eyes as he’s helped me—that’s a reflection of God’s joy in being near, in helping, in walking with me through weakness and learning. God is not rolling His eyes at my need. He delights in carrying me. He delights in showing His faithfulness.

And I? I will always need Him.
To help me still my soul.
To reset my priorities.
To remind me who I am and whose I am.

Because, truly, He is the only One who can.

So I’ll say it again…

Please, Lord. Help me be still.
Help me know You more each day.
Let You be what consumes me.

“Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,
for His compassions never fail.
They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness.
I say to myself, ‘The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for Him.’
The Lord is good to those whose hope is in Him, to the one who seeks Him;
it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord.”
—Lamentations 3:22–26