Resurrection in the Quiet Places

When faith feels fragile, healing is holy, and Jesus meets us there

It’s a dreary spring morning, the scent of freshly brewed coffee fills the kitchen and everyone is still asleep but me. I eagerly pour my morning cup and settle into our cozy couch with my Bible and morning books. The window is cracked open, offering the earthy fragrance of petrichor as a light rain sprinkles outside.

This is my ideal morning—the perfect way to begin the day. And, to be honest, it’s an infrequent luxury in this season of life.

You see, I used to live here often. Early mornings steeped in sacred quiet, Bible open, highlighters in hand. But in January, I hit a wall. One that had been coming for some time, a place where both my spirit and nervous system came to a crashing halt.

So far, 2025 has felt like a blur. A time warp, the days flying by while I move through them like I’m stuck in a bowl of Jell-O.

Gone are the slow, delightful mornings while the children slumber. Instead, I’ve been waking up exhausted, already trying to catch up before the day has even begun. I didn’t fully realize just how depleted I was until a friend invited me to join her for a homeschool co-op. I told her I didn’t have the capacity, and she paused, confused, and gently asked what was weighing me down.

And I realized: I hadn’t even given myself space to ask that question.

That moment was a turning point. It invited me to finally sit with the heavy things I had pushed through all last year. I began saying “no” out of sheer necessity. Because one more “yes” felt like it might shatter me completely.

As I Marco Polo’d my friend, recounting all the things crowding my mind and weighing on my soul, I could feel it: my body was trying to come to a full stop, begging for time to process, to breathe, to heal.

In that pause, as I began to chew on the grief I had swallowed just to survive the holidays, I noticed something else surfacing… something about my faith. It wasn’t a crisis of belief, exactly. It was more of an unearthing. A quiet reckoning. I wasn’t questioning if I believed in God. I was questioning what I believed about Him.

I began to wonder if I had been living under theological impressions for so long that I hadn’t actually asked myself what I believed in my bones.

I have a lot of head knowledge. I know the scriptures, the historical context, the teachings. But did my heart truly trust the God those scriptures revealed? Somewhere along the way, the connection between my head and heart had grown thin.

And that realization is where this new season of faith begins.