Our phones buzz. Emails flood in. Kids need attention. Work deadlines loom. The TV drones in the background. In this noise, carving out space for stillness isn’t just difficult – it’s an act of rebellion against our culture’s demands for constant connection and productivity.
God met Moses in the quietness of a desert. He spoke to Elijah not in the wind, earthquake, or fire, but in a still, small voice. Jesus himself often withdrew to lonely places to pray, even when crowds searched for him. Throughout Scripture, we see that meaningful encounters with God typically happen in stillness.
When I first tried to create space for stillness, I felt guilty. Surely I should be doing something productive? But that’s exactly what our enemy wants us to think. He knows that when we’re constantly moving, we’re less likely to hear God’s voice.
Creating space for stillness isn’t about finding another hour in our already packed schedules. It starts with five minutes. Five minutes of turning off notifications. Five minutes of sitting in a chair, doing nothing but breathing and acknowledging God’s presence. “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10) isn’t a suggestion – it’s a command.
Sometimes stillness means waking up before the house stirs. Jesus modeled this: “And in the morning, rising up a great while before day, he went out, and departed into a solitary place, and there prayed” (Mark 1:35). Other times, it means turning off the car radio during your commute or stepping outside during lunch break.
The space doesn’t need to be perfect. Moses met God in the backside of a desert. Jacob encountered Him in the middle of nowhere, with a stone for a pillow. David found stillness in fields watching sheep. Your space might be a corner of your bedroom, a bench in a park, or your kitchen table before anyone else wakes up.
What makes it sacred isn’t the location – it’s your intention. When Moses approached the burning bush, God said, “Put off thy shoes from off thy feet, for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground” (Exodus 3:5). What made that patch of desert holy? God’s presence and Moses’s recognition of it.
Creating this space requires faith because it goes against everything our culture values. We’re taught that our worth comes from our productivity, that every moment must be maximized. But God says something different: “In returning and rest shall ye be saved; in quietness and in confidence shall be your strength” (Isaiah 30:15).
When Mary sat at Jesus’s feet while Martha rushed around doing tasks, Jesus said Mary had chosen the better part. That choice – to be still in His presence – probably looked like laziness to others. It requires faith to believe that sitting quietly with God is more productive than crossing items off our to-do list.
Start small. Set a timer for five minutes. Turn off your phone. Sit in a chair. Take deep breaths. If your mind wanders, gently bring it back to awareness of God’s presence. Don’t grade yourself on how well you do it. The purpose isn’t to achieve perfect stillness – it’s to make space for God to speak.
Keep showing up. Some days you’ll feel His presence strongly. Other days it’ll feel like you’re just sitting there. Both are valuable. Both are acts of faith. Remember David’s words: “My soul waiteth in silence for God only” (Psalm 62:1).
Eventually, these moments of stillness become like water in a desert. You start craving them. The noise of life feels harsher when you’ve tasted true quiet. You find yourself protecting these times, planning your day around them rather than trying to squeeze them in.
This is where the real act of faith comes in – believing that these quiet moments are actually moving mountains in the spiritual realm. When Daniel prayed three times daily in his upper room, he wasn’t just going through motions. He was engaging in spiritual warfare. Your moments of stillness are just as powerful.
As you create these spaces, you’ll start noticing something. The external noise doesn’t change – your capacity to remain steady in it does. Like Jesus sleeping in the storm-tossed boat, you develop an inner stillness that circumstances can’t shake.
This is the paradox of stillness: it looks like doing nothing, but it’s one of the most active things you can do. It looks like wasting time, but it’s investing in eternity. It looks like weakness to the world, but it’s actually tapping into God’s strength.
Creating space for stillness isn’t another task on your spiritual to-do list. It’s an invitation to experience what the psalmist knew: “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble” (Psalm 46:1). In a world that never stops moving, your stillness becomes both an act of faith and a testimony to others.
The space you create might not look impressive. It might be small, imperfect, and interrupted. But if you keep showing up, keep making room for stillness, you’ll find what countless believers throughout history have discovered – that in the quiet, God speaks, moves, and transforms.
Leave a Reply