Steady

There’s a quiet war that happens in the heart of a disciple—a tug-of-war between what we see and what we know, between the noise of the world and the whisper of the King. I felt it again today. Something didn’t go as planned. A little thing. Just enough to break my stride, to pull my focus. But in that moment, Jesus reminded me of what He’s been teaching me all along:

He is training me in steadiness.

Not the kind of steadiness that the world applauds—grit, stoicism, hustle—but a deeper anchoring. One that has nothing to do with how much I get done or how well I perform. One that doesn’t flinch when the wind shifts or the ground shakes. The kind that stays locked onto His presence even when everything around me is changing.

That’s the kind of steadiness He desires for us. A soul rooted in the reality of Him—not in what’s happening, not in how we feel, not in what we lack—but in who He is.

This isn’t a command to be perfect. It’s an invitation. And I’m learning—slowly—that Jesus isn’t trying to make me immune to distraction by force. He’s inviting me into a different awareness. One that doesn’t disappear just because the volume of life gets louder.

He knows how easily our awareness can be hijacked. A harsh word. A weird look. An interruption. A bill. A shift in the plan. And suddenly, that inner stillness is gone, replaced by urgency, pressure, or panic.

But He didn’t come to hand us a checklist for inner peace.

He came to be our peace.

When something unexpected happens—whether small or crushing—He doesn’t scold me. He doesn't say, “You should be stronger by now.” He simply reminds me: “Fear thou not; for I am with thee” (Isaiah 41:10). And that changes everything.

It doesn’t mean I don’t feel the impact of what just happened. But it means I don’t have to react from the flesh. I don’t have to spiral or grasp for control. I can pause. Breathe. And remember: I’m not walking through this alone. He is with me. And He is in me.

The more I surrender to this truth, the more I experience what He meant when He said, “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you” (John 14:27). Not a vague spiritual concept. Not a pat on the head. His peace. His own steadiness. The very thing that allowed Him to sleep through a storm, to kneel in a garden while betrayal closed in, to stay silent before accusers. That peace now lives in us.

And He’s teaching me to live from it.

This doesn’t happen automatically. It happens through communion. Through walking with Him, moment by moment. Bringing every disruption to Him—not after I’ve figured it out, but as it’s happening.

“Jesus, this threw me. What are You saying?”
“Jesus, I feel shaken. What do You want to show me?”
“Jesus, this hurts. Can I sit with You in it?”

He wants to share in it all. Not just the victories or the moments I feel “spiritual.” He wants my scattered thoughts, my confused feelings, my little joys, my sharp anxieties. He is not looking for polished prayers. He’s looking for real relationship.

This is how He lives in us. This is how He moves through us. Not by removing the noise, but by becoming louder than it.

And here’s the wonder: when we live from that place—anchored in Him—others notice. They feel the peace. They taste the steadiness. Not because we’re strong, but because we’re surrendered.

This is the way of peace.

And it’s not passive. It’s active trust. It’s the decision—again and again—to say, “I shall not be moved” (Psalm 16:8). Not because we’re stubborn. But because He is unshakeable.

So today, if something pulls your attention—if something throws your plans or stirs your emotions—don’t push it down. Don’t fake calm. But also don’t give it power. Bring it to Him. Invite Him into it.

Let Him walk with you through it. Let Him train your soul in steadiness.

Because He is not just teaching you how to react better.

He is making you more like Him.

And He never flinches.

When was the last time you brought your stress or distraction directly to Jesus—in the moment, not after?