By: Rebecca Feere
Anyone who knows me knows that my natural speed is slower than most. I need time — to process, to decide, to take that first step. For much of my life, I felt like an oddball because of this.
I grew up hearing, “Hurry up!” “Make up your mind!” I quietly believed I would be more worthy if I could just do more, faster. I often felt behind — like I was losing some imaginary race everyone else seemed to be winning.
We live in a culture that prizes productivity and performance. In some ways, that pressure can be helpful. I’m a musician, and without deadlines or performance dates, I might not push myself to grow. Structure can be a gift.
But somewhere along the way, healthy structure turned into relentless pressure. With technology promising to save us time, expectations only increased. We’re told to do more, in less time, and to do it perfectly. Urgency has become our default setting.
Yet I’ve learned something freeing: there is deep value in slowing down.
In the middle of 2020, after months of sheltering in place, I turned to my family and said, “I don’t rush well.” They laughed — but it was true. My engine runs slower than most. And I’ve come to realize that isn’t a flaw. It’s part of how God designed me.
When I rush, I become frustrated and discouraged. My mind and body feel the strain. And I know I’m not alone in that. Many of us carry the quiet exhaustion of trying to keep up. But here is what the Lord has been gently teaching me: slowing down is not failure — it is faith.
We are not machines. Machines are built to produce endlessly. We are emotional, spiritual, relational beings — made in the image of God (Genesis 1:26-27). When we reduce ourselves to output and efficiency, we forget who we are.
Rest was God’s idea. Sabbath was not a suggestion; it was a gift. Throughout the Old Testament, God repeatedly reminded His people to stop and remember Him. He knew how easily they would slip into striving — trying to muster up enough strength to manage life on their own. And aren’t we the same?
Healing from a “try harder” mindset has been slow work for me. I’m still learning. But I’ve discovered that when I choose to be still — when I rest in God’s promises and trust Him with outcomes — I experience the lightness Jesus spoke of in Matthew 11:28–30. When I surrender control, I am freed from carrying burdens that were never mine to hold.
Trusting God means believing He will equip me for what He calls me to do. It means accepting that I am not responsible for everything and everyone. That freedom is part of His grace.
Psalm 46:10 says, “Be still, and know that I am God.” (ESV)
Be still can also be translated as stop striving. Stop fighting. Let go.
Know means to know experientially — to encounter His grace and strength in the everyday moments of life; to “taste and see” His goodness (Psalm 34:8).
Stillness is not laziness. It is an act of trust.
So today, whatever is on your list, whatever pressure you feel to prove yourself, can I invite you to pause? Take a deep breath. Notice the beauty around you. Thank God for one small evidence of His faithfulness. Step away from the noise, even briefly, and allow your soul to rest.
Establish rhythms of rest — not because you’ve earned it, but because you are loved.
You are not behind. You are not broken. You are not failing God because you need to slow down.
You are deeply known and forever loved by the King of Kings.
And perhaps the most powerful thing you could do this week is not to strive harder — but to trust deeper, to abide in His faithful love.
Will you choose to be still and let Him be God?
