The Peace Came First

One thing about summer—it comes in fast and seems to end even faster. Like most of you, I blinked and it's gone. Instead of putting out all my summer decor and planting a beautiful flower bed at my new house, I found myself knee-deep in fall decor this weekend, storing the box my summer decor was in without ever even opening the lid.

I was also coming home from a season of work that had been intense in ways that are hard to explain. The nature of the work meant dealing with some of the darkest things people can experience, and there were days when I absolutely hated what I was seeing and hearing.

I had spent a long time carrying things that weren't easy to carry, and I was ready to come home, breathe, enjoy my house, spend time with my family and friends, and let my mind be quiet for a while.

I had waited for this summer since last fall. I had big plans for my first summer back home. I wanted a barbecue with family, to watch the Fun Fest fireworks from my house with friends, a pool big enough to actually enjoy, and summer conversations with friends sitting on my little front porch.

Instead, my summer started with a car accident, dead flowers that I actually did plant, an inflatable pool with a bottom so slick I managed to do numerous splits and at least two falls that convinced me I might actually be drowning, and rain that seemed to show up every single day.

I watched the fireworks without friends and family. And somehow, I still haven't served the first glass of sweet tea.

But the truth is, the summer wasn't the hardest part.

I was struggling spiritually, too.

I struggle a lot with the thought of letting God down. When I feel like I've messed up or made the wrong decision, I can panic and immediately start trying to fix everything myself. I don't like sitting in the uncertainty of knowing I may have gotten something wrong.

Things just happened fast. One thing after another.

Every time I thought I had something figured out, something else happened.

Financial setbacks came. Work situations didn't work out. Plans changed.

I was constantly trying to figure out the next move while watching everything pile up around me.

Then came the wreck. Then another door closed.

It was just chaos.

I did what I always do. I tried to fix it.

I am incredibly blessed to have people around me who love me and genuinely wanted to see me okay.

They offered advice, encouragement, ideas and support because they cared.

I know that. I appreciate that.

But I was so overwhelmed that even good intentions sometimes felt like more pressure.

Everyone was trying to help me find the next step, while what I really needed was to slow down long enough to let God show me what the next step was.

Out of fear of hurting their feelings, I failed to articulate that.

And all of that pulling and pushing took something from me that mattered deeply to me.

It took time away from Unedited Faith.

The writing slowed down.

The podcast slowed down.

The vision I had for it started getting buried underneath everything else I was trying to manage.

I was so busy trying to figure out what I was supposed to do next that I wasn't doing what God had already put in front of me.

I was running in circles trying to fix my life while something God had given me was sitting there waiting for me to be still long enough to work on it.

And that's when I began to realize just how much all of the noise had cost me.

I wanted to enjoy my time with friends and family. Most of all, I wanted that alone time with God—to pray, praise, worship, and simply be still to let God work in my life.

Instead, I found myself doing the exact thing I never wanted to do when I came back home.

I tried to become the Amanda everybody remembered because that's what some seemed to expect.

I gave people what they wanted from me—from my words, to my mannerisms, to the social events I attended.

I took everybody's advice as the gospel when it came to everything from everyday decisions to where I should go to church.

And I knew what the silence meant when someone asked, “Where are you going to church tomorrow?” or “Are you going to church tomorrow?”

The silence came when I would say, “I don't know,” or just flat-out, “No.”

I had a big decision to make where church was concerned and instead of feeling relief in asking for prayer, I felt pressure to “just go somewhere,” which, to be honest, led to me not wanting to go anywhere.

Somewhere in the process, I started measuring my decisions by what I thought would make everyone else comfortable instead of stopping to ask God what He wanted for me.

And somewhere along the way, I lost my peace.

Then came that Thursday. I found myself sitting in my car in an all-out spiritual battle.

And honestly, it needed to happen.

Two verses kept coming back to me.

“And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind...”—Romans 12:2

And:

“Thus saith the LORD, Stand ye in the ways, and see, and ask for the old paths, where is the good way, and walk therein...”—Jeremiah 6:16

When we think about Romans 12:2, we're quick to think of “this world” as simply living as the world lives.

But I've learned conformity can be much more subtle than that.

You can conform by becoming who people expect you to be in social settings, work, or even in church.

You can conform by allowing other people's opinions to make your decisions for you.

You can conform by returning to old patterns simply because they're familiar.

You can even confuse being accepted with being obedient.

And I realized that I had been doing exactly that.

But the more I sat with that verse, the more I realized this wasn't just about me.

We all have places where we are tempted to conform.

Sometimes it's people. Sometimes it's our past. Sometimes it's the expectations we've placed on ourselves. Sometimes it's the pressure to keep up, keep producing, keep everybody happy, or prove that we're doing okay.

And sometimes we don't even realize we've conformed because nothing about it looks particularly wrong.

We're just exhausted. We're just losing our peace.

We're just becoming so busy trying to be who we're supposed to be that we've stopped asking God who He wants us to be.

That's where Jeremiah 6:16 became just as important to me:

“Stand ye in the ways, and see, and ask for the old paths, where is the good way, and walk therein...”

Notice what it says.

Stand.

See.

Ask.

Walk.

None of those words sound rushed to me. There is a pause in them. And maybe that's what I had been missing.

I had been running when God was telling me to stand.

I had been trying to figure everything out when He was telling me to ask.

And when He showed me the way, I didn't need to run down it.

I just needed to walk.

Maybe that's what these verses mean for more of us than we realize.

Maybe conformity isn't always about becoming like the world.

Maybe sometimes it's becoming so much like everyone else's expectations, and even our own, that we can no longer recognize what God is doing in us.

Finding the “old paths” isn't about going backward.

It's about getting back to the place where God's voice matters more than the noise around us.

Stand. See. Ask. Walk.

And then something changed.

The peace came first.

Because without the peace of God, there is no hope.

And once I had peace, I started seeing things differently.

The blessings hadn't suddenly started happening.

I had just finally become still enough to notice them.

Little things were falling into place. Doors were opening. Things I had been worried about were working themselves out.

And I realized God had been making provision all along. I just couldn't see it through all the noise.

Somewhere in those last couple of weeks, something else came back, too.

Vision.

I could finally see beyond the chaos again.

I could think about writing. I could think about ministry. I could get excited about things again.

I could wake up and actually look forward to the day.

The circumstances aren't perfect.

But God's peace is.

We have to remember that God isn't waiting for us to make one wrong move so He can be disappointed in us.

When life gets chaotic, He is constantly teaching us to trust Him for guidance instead of trying to figure everything out on our own.

And to stop trying to become who everyone else—or even ourselves—expects us to be.

We don't have to have all the answers when we know the One who does.

The “old paths” weren't calling me backward at all.

They were calling me back to the good way so I could finally move forward.

Stand. See. Ask. Walk.

And sometimes, that's enough.