Beautiful, Quiet, and Not Yet Safe

It’s snowing here.

Everything outside is white and quiet and beautiful —
the kind of beauty that makes you want to stop and stare.

But the conditions are hazardous.
The roads are slick.
The kind of beauty you admire from the window,
not the kind you rush out into.

So we stay inside.
Warm.
Still.
Watching.

And it strikes me how often life looks like this.

How something can appear peaceful,
gentle,
even inviting —
while underneath, it isn’t safe to move yet.

Not everything beautiful is meant to be touched.
Not every open door is meant to be walked through.
Not every season that looks calm is ready for forward motion.

Sometimes wisdom looks like staying put.
Like waiting.
Like trusting that stillness isn’t wasted time.

The snow will melt when it’s time.
The roads will clear.
Movement will come.

But for now, there is grace in staying inside.
In paying attention.
In letting beauty exist without demanding more from it.

Tonight, I’m not rushing the thaw.
I’m letting this be what it is.

Beautiful.
Quiet.
And not yet safe.


“In repentance and rest is your salvation,
in quietness and trust is your strength.”

— Isaiah 30:15 (NIV)

Washing the Mirror

When someone blames you for the impact of their own behavior, it’s like watching them look into a mirror, see the dirt on their face — and start scrubbing the glass instead.

They don’t want to face what’s there.
They don’t want to acknowledge what’s theirs.
So they blame the reflection. They blame you.

But you are not the problem just because they don’t like what they see.

You can’t heal someone who’s more committed to avoiding the truth than confronting it.
And you can’t carry the weight of someone else’s refusal to grow.

Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is step away from the mirror they’re trying to clean — and tend to your own heart instead.


Anchor Verse:
“A person’s own folly leads to their ruin, yet their heart rages against the Lord.”
— Proverbs 19:3 (NIV)

Learning to See What’s Holy

Discernment means spiritual understanding.
It’s the ability to sense or recognize what is true, right, or aligned with God —
even when things are confusing or painful.

It’s not just about decision-making.
It’s about seeing with wisdom instead of emotion alone.

Lately, I’ve been wondering if God is teaching me this.
Not by handing me answers,
but by letting me wrestle with what peace feels like.
By letting me feel the difference between what’s real and what just looks good.
By staying near while I learn how to tell the difference.


In this kind of season, discernment often doesn’t come all at once.
It’s something God shapes slowly —
in the quiet, in the questions, and in the in‑between places.

It looks like learning to tell the difference between peace and pressure.
To feel what’s rooted in Him, and what’s driven by fear or control.
It’s recognizing His presence even in hard places —
remembering that just because something hurts doesn’t mean He’s absent.
And it’s trusting His timing, even when waiting feels like a wilderness.
Because sometimes clarity grows best in the pause.


So when I asked, “Why would God allow this?”
Or, “What could He possibly be doing with this?”
Maybe part of the answer is:
He’s helping me see what’s holy in the middle of it.

Not just what’s happening,
but what He’s shaping in me as it happens.

And maybe that’s what discernment really is —
not just clarity, but closeness.


Anchor Verse
“Teach me good judgment and discernment, for I rely on your commands.”
Psalm 119:66 (CSB)