If “be still” feels impossible right now, this post will help you discover what true biblical rest looks like – rooted in abiding, surrender, and the unshakable faithfulness of God.
There are seasons when “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10) feels like a sweet invitation to quiet and peace.
And then there are seasons when those words feel almost impossible, like trying to hold your breath underwater during a storm.
I’ve lived both.
During the hardest parts of my insomnia, I often felt like a fragile glass ball perched on the very tip of a mountain, ready to shatter with the tiniest gust of wind.
A couple of years ago, I felt like I was living in a season of spiritual attack – like the enemy had me by the ankle, dangling me, waiting to strike. I never knew when or from which direction the next hit would come. (Money? Relationships? Health? – it all seemed to be fair game)
And a dear friend of mine just described her own season of faith as a game of whack-a-mole – standing, mallet in hand, exhausted but still ready, just waiting for the next battle to pop up.
So what does it really mean to “be still,” to lean into God’s strength, to rest…when your faith feels like a fight?
Both can be true:
Faith can look like wrestling, and God still calls us to rest.
The Bible doesn’t ignore that tension.
Faith Isn’t Passive: The Bible’s Picture
Scripture gives us permission to feel both the ache and the assurance.
- David writes psalms of confidence in God while running for his life. “When I am afraid, I put my trust in You.” (Psalm 56:3) He praises and pleads, hides and hopes.
- Paul describes himself as “sorrowful, yet always rejoicing.” (2 Corinthians 6:10) He carries a thorn that never fully lifts (2 Corinthians 12:7–10), and he proclaims Christ’s sufficiency.
- Jesus weeps at Lazarus’ tomb (John 11:35) and announces resurrection moments later. He’s troubled in spirit (John 12:27) and completely surrendered to His Father’s will.
Sometimes, wrestling is faith.
Sometimes, the most faithful thing you can do is keep showing up – shaky, tearful, unsure – and still say, “This is so hard…and I still trust You.”
“Be Still” Doesn’t Mean “Be Passive”
The Hebrew phrase behind “Be still” in Psalm 46:10 uses rāphâ, which means “cease striving,” “let go,” “relax your grip.”
It’s not a command to stop moving. It’s a call to stop grasping for control.
Psalm 46 isn’t set in a peaceful meadow; it’s written during chaos:
“Though the earth gives way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea…” (v.2)
Stillness in that kind of setting isn’t quiet inactivity.
It’s defiant trust in the middle of turmoil.
In the New Testament, the word for abide is menō – “to remain,” “to stay connected,” “to make your home in.” (John 15:4–5)
Abiding isn’t sitting motionless; it’s clinging to Christ when everything else is unsteady.
And when Jesus talks about peace using the Greek word eirēnē, He’s not describing the absence of trouble, but the presence of wholeness. It’s the kind of settledness that “surpasses understanding.” (Philippians 4:7)
Even joy (the Greek word is chara) isn’t about a happy situation. It’s the deep delight that grows from knowing you’re never alone, even when life hurts (John 15:11; Galatians 5:22).
So, yes, rest is part of faith.
But rest in Scripture is relational, not circumstantial.
It’s not the absence of storms; it’s the presence of the Savior.
David’s Worship When Things Were Anything But Calm
David’s story reminds us that worship isn’t reserved for calm seasons.
He wrote songs of trust while hiding in caves, songs of gratitude while grieving losses, songs of praise while running from danger.
His psalms teach us to name our pain honestly:
“How long, O Lord? Will You forget me forever?” — Psalm 13:1
Then to remember God’s character:
“But I have trusted in Your steadfast love.” — Psalm 13:5
David didn’t wait until his circumstances changed to worship.
He learned to rest in who God was, right in the middle of the chase.
That kind of rest was something I was desperately chasing for many years…and I’ve settled into my own version of it.
My Own Season of Acceptance: Open-Handed Living
These days, I often describe this chapter of my life as my “season of acceptance.”
My body hasn’t been fixed, and my nights still don’t look like most people’s. (My friends jokingly call my sleep “Becky good” or “Becky bad.” because it’s on a scale of its own)
But something inside me has shifted.
It’s quieter now. Less frantic. More peace-filled.
I live with open hands, offering whatever I have each day to the Lord, whether it’s 20 minutes of sleep or four hours.
I bring Him my widow’s mite (Mark 12:41–44), trusting that even when I’m wildly uncomfortable and my offering in my limited capacity is embarrassingly small, He will still bring good from it.
Along the way, I’ve built Ebenezer stones – physical and spiritual markers of God’s faithfulness. They remind me that even when I don’t understand His ways, He has always shown up for me before…and He will again.
Rest Is Not the Same as Relief
Here’s what I’ve learned:
Rest and relief aren’t the same thing.
Relief comes when the hard thing stops.
Rest comes when you realize God is holding you in the midst of the hard thing.
That’s what abiding has looked like for me in this season. It’s not a perfectly still posture, but it’s a steady relationship.
Some mornings, I literally write “abide” at the top of my to-do list, because I need that reminder of my priorities for the day. Abiding is the one thing that holds me together when everything else is falling to pieces.
There are a lot of things I can’t do well after a 20-minute night. My thoughts are fuzzy, my patience is thin, and even my body moves more slowly.
But even when I can’t do all the things, or even show up very well for people, I can still stay present with God.
- I can ask for His help.
- I can acknowledge my weakness and lean into His strength.
- I can let His peace rule, not because the chaos is gone, but because He’s right here in it.
That’s what abiding looks like on hard days: not perfection, just presence.
The Fruit That Doesn’t Make Sense
It doesn’t make logical sense to live through wildly imperfect, uncomfortable, or broken circumstances and still experience God’s goodness, faithfulness, and blessing in the midst of it.
And yet…that’s exactly what He offers.
It’s the peace (eirēnē) that guards our hearts (Philippians 4:7).
The joy (chara) that endures beyond comfort (John 15:11).
The perseverance (hypomonē) that builds character and hope (Romans 5:3–5).
And that beautiful Hebrew word shalom – not “everything’s perfect,” but “everything’s held together in God’s wholeness.”
That’s the kind of peace I’m learning to rest in.
When Faith Feels Like a Fight
If your faith feels like a fight right now, you’re not failing. You’re following Jesus – the Man of Sorrows who wrestled in Gethsemane, who sweat drops of blood, who still whispered, “Not my will, but Yours be done.” (Luke 22:39–46)
Sometimes faith looks like open hands of surrender.
Sometimes it looks like white-knuckled perseverance.
Either way, His hand is steady over yours.
And maybe today, your invitation isn’t to “figure it all out.”
It’s simply to abide.
Stay present. Stay connected. Stay near.
Because even when your faith feels fragile, His faithfulness isn’t.
He’s already holding you fast.
A Blessing for the Unsettled Heart
For the days when faith feels more like a battle than a breath, may you know that Jesus stands in the tension with you.
May your wrestling become the doorway to deeper resting – not because the storm quiets, but because you hear His voice above the wind.
May your open hands be filled with enough manna for today, and may your widow’s mite offered up to Him become a miracle in His hands.
And may His peace – eirēnē, the kind that stitches wholeness into frayed edges – guard your heart and mind in Christ Jesus.
Amen.
soveryblessed.com (Article Sourced Website)
#Abiding #Storm #Life #Wont #Settle