Last week we talked about what happens when life pivots. How panic narrows our perspective. How our minds start filling in gaps God never filled in. How one conversation, one disappointment, one unanswered question can suddenly occupy far more emotional real estate than it deserves. We talked about the temptation to regain control when life feels uncertain and the invitation to trust God’s character when we don’t yet understand what He is doing.

But this week, I want to take that conversation one step further. I don’t want this to feel redundant but it felt important to walk through and camp out in for a moment. Because recognizing panic is one thing. Becoming steady is another.

When I revisit Genesis 22, what strikes me most is not the miracle at the end of the story. It’s not the ram in the thicket or even Abraham’s obedience. It’s the pace of the story— it’s the ordinary movements happening beneath extraordinary pressure.

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There’s a story in Scripture that feels almost too extreme to relate to—and yet somehow, it speaks directly into this exact tension. Hang with me here for a second.

Genesis 22: 1-2 says:

Some time later, God tested Abraham’s faith. “Abraham!” God called.

“Yes,” he replied. “Here I am.”

“Take your son, your only son—yes, Isaac, whom you love so much—and go to the land of Moriah. Go and sacrifice him as a burnt offering on one of the mountains, which I will show you.”

Here, God asks Abraham to take his son Isaac—the very promise he waited years (many years!!!!) for—and offer him as a sacrifice. A sacrifice. Yes, you read that correctly. It sounds assaulting and impossible that a loving God would ask that, doesn’t it? And Scripture doesn’t soften it. God even says, “your son, your only son, whom you love.” He’s not unaware of what He’s asking.

If I’m Abraham, I’m asking for confirmations, second opinions, and maybe a burning bush or five. But that’s not what we see. Abraham gets up the next morning… and he goes.

And here’s what’s wild: it’s not immediate. It’s a three-day journey.

“The next morning Abraham got up early. He saddled his donkey and took two of his servants with him, along with his son, Isaac. Then he chopped wood for a fire for a burnt offering and set out for the place God had told him about. On the third day of their journey, Abraham looked up and saw the place in the distance. “Stay here with the donkey,” Abraham told the servants. “The boy and I will travel a little farther. We will worship there, and then we will come right back.”

Three days of walking.
Three days of thinking.
Three days of holding something that doesn’t make sense.

And if we’re honest, that’s where most of us unravel. Personally, that sounds excruciating. There were some moments in the NICU after my son, Sledge was born where things felt really shaky and uncertain. There were so many what-ifs. I have very stark memories of begging Jesus, “Please Jesus, please let us keep him. I will never ask for another thing in this life. Please let us keep him and heal him.” The space between is always the hardest part— it is anything but passive. The waiting. The wondering. The time where your mind has room to spiral.

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Have you ever walked through something hard—maybe a tragedy, a really heavy season, or even just a stretch where you’re juggling more than you can carry—and someone looks at you and says, “Let me know if you need anything”?

You smile. You say thank you. You mean it. And they mean it!!! But deep down, you already know… you’re not going to let them know. Not because you couldn’t use the help but because you don’t even know what you need. And even if you did, you’re not sure you have the energy to explain it, ask for it, or coordinate it.

There are moments in life when everything feels heavier than usual. Not always in ways you can explain—just an undercurrent of restlessness that swirls in your chest, a mental fog you can’t quite clear, a weight you’ve learned how to carry without naming. And in those moments, something in you goes quiet—not because you don’t feel cared for, but because you don’t feel met.

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I think we all feel assaulted by how quickly the days seem to move by and how it is possible for us to care so deeply about something… and still feel like we are barely keeping up with it. Or even more honest—we are giving priority to so many other things and get distracted from investing in what matters most to us.At the top of this list—our marriage.Where we don’t mean to be, but somehow we feel disconnected. It’s not that we don’t care or that we are indifferent; rather, it’s that life is moving so fast and we have made it our normal to let the person we value the most next to Jesus receive the last of our energy, tenderness, and attentiveness of heart.Read more at cleerlystated.substack.com and subscribe to The Living Room!

Have you ever noticed how the entire week leading up to Easter, we tend to focus almost exclusively on the resurrection?

The celebration. The revival. The empty tomb. We are HYPE!

We are planning for the Easter brunch or the easter egg hunt and all the ways we love to commemorate Easter— and all of these are GREAT and fun and HOLY things to do— I just think that sometimes, we forget how the very story we are celebrating actually transpired and what that means for our everyday reality.

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If you listened to last week’s episode, you know this series isn’t about demonizing the internet or pretending we can all move to the woods. That would be nice sometimes— real life gets exhausting. Uncomfortable. Hard. Confusing. But also, it is soooooooo good and so sweet— and my fear? That we miss so much of that. Not because we aren’t “spiritual enough” or because our faith is lacking; it is simply due to a lack of awareness.Online isn’t the enemy.Constant availability is.When we live perpetually “on,” something in us begins to thin out—our awareness, our presence, our capacity to receive what God is actually doing right in front of us.**More in-depth notes and outlines on https://cleerelystated.substack.com/

This conversation started not because I think social media or the internet is the enemy— that would be a little crazy considering you are reading this on an app and you most likely heard about it through social media. I am SO GRATEFUL for the gift of the online space, the community it provides, the resources it has illuminated, and the ability to connect with others in the most unique ways.

However, I started to notice that I was literally scrolling at night and I could not even tell you what I saw. I was numbing out and I knew it, and yet I kept doing it.

I noticed how tired my mind felt even when my body was still. How easily my attention scattered. How quickly I moved from one thing to the next without really being in any of it. Nothing dramatic. Just subtle. Quiet. Cumulative.

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Friendship didn’t stop mattering when we became adults.

It just became more layered, more tender, and more vulnerable.

The Bible never treats friendship as optional or superficial. From the very beginning, God said something was not good — and it wasn’t work, purpose, or responsibility. It was isolation.

“It is not good for man to be alone.” — Genesis 2:18

Friendship is not a bonus feature of life.

It’s part of how God forms us.

But because adult friendship looks different than it used to, there are a few quiet lies that tend to creep in — often unnoticed — and shape how we interpret our experiences.

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So much of our anxiety, exhaustion, and restlessness isn’t coming from bad choices—but from unexamined ones.

Our calendars quietly shape our formation. What we allow onto them forms who we are becoming.

These nine questions aren’t rules. They’re bumpers—loving boundaries that help you steward your time with wisdom, peace, and faith.

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Have you ever found yourself in a season where the unknowns feel stacked on top of each other? You’re praying, you’re showing up, you’re doing what you know to do—but the future still seems hazy. It’s like driving through heavy fog: you can see enough to keep moving forward, but what lies ahead feels blurred and out of reach.

Seasons like this can make you wonder if God is distant, distracted, or even silent. But what if the fog isn’t proof of His absence, but a space for deeper formation? What if, instead of clarity, God is offering you the gift of closeness? In this episode, we talk about how fog-filled seasons are often the places where God is most at work, reshaping your vision and anchoring your trust in Him.  Could it be that the fog is your greatest gift to increase your faith and understand a new level of intimacy with the Shepherd?

Through honest stories, Scripture, and gentle rhythms for drawing near, you’ll be encouraged to:

• Name the fog that’s clouding your peace and perspective.

• Recognize the pull toward control when what you really need is communion.

• Anchor your heart in who God is, not just what He does.

• Choose praise as warfare when clarity is out of reach.

• Stay near to Jesus when the way forward feels uncertain.

If your heart feels unsettled, your prayers seem unanswered, or you’re simply weary from the not knowing, this conversation is for you. It’s a reminder that proximity to God—not clarity of the path—is what steadies you. The fog isn’t your enemy; it may be the very place God reshapes your vision and deepens your trust.

What do you do when your life looks fine on the outside… but deep down, you’re wondering, “Is this really it?”

In this episode, I sit down with my friend Rachel Awtrey—host of the Real Talk with Rachel podcast and author of her brand new book, Love Your Life, Even When You Don’t Like It. Rachel is the girl you want in your corner: deeply honest, wildly encouraging, and somehow able to make you laugh and cry in the same breath.

We talk about what it looks like to actually love your life when it feels boring, heavy, or just plain hard. Not in a cheesy, throw-a-gratitude-journal-at-it kind of way—but in a real, boots-on-the-ground, Jesus-meets-you-in-the-middle kind of way.

Rachel shares:

    •    Why honesty is the doorway to freedom

    •    How to hold grief and gratitude at the same time

    •    The difference between joy for life and joy in life

    •    And the questions that helped her stop faking “fine” and start living free

If you’ve ever felt guilty for not loving the season you’re in—or if you’ve ever whispered “I love Jesus but I kind of hate this part of my life right now”—this episode is a safe, sacred space for you.

You don’t have to love every part of your life to love your whole life. This conversation will show you how.

Order “Love your Life (Even when you don’t like it all the time) here: https://amzn.to/4odAc2P

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