How I'm learning to be still

There I was, perched on a rowing machine, earbuds in, world out. If you had walked past me, you might have thought I was simply another gym-goer chasing a personal best. But in truth, something deeper was happening. I had made a quiet, deliberate choice: no eye contact, no polite smiles, no silent comparisons. Just me, the rhythm of the rower and a gentle sense that, for once, I didn’t need to be “on show”.

It felt unusual at first. As Christians, we often carry an unspoken expectation that we should always be ready to encourage, to reflect Christ, to meet the gaze of others with warmth and purpose. And of course, there is beauty in that calling. Jesus reminds us: “Let your light shine before others” (Matthew 5:16). But what happens when shining begins to feel like striving?

As I moved from rower to free weights, I became aware of an internal tension. Was I avoiding people because I felt self-conscious, having rolled out of bed and straight into the gym? Was there a whisper of guilt that I should be elsewhere, perhaps at home, perhaps doing something more ‘useful’? Or was it something else entirely: a quiet need to step back, to breathe, to simply be?

There is a sacred honesty in acknowledging our limits

In that moment, I sensed no condemnation. Instead, I felt permission.

The Bible speaks often of stillness, of retreat and intentional withdrawal. We see Jesus Himself stepping away from the crowds: “Very early in the morning…Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed” (Mark 1:35). If the Son of God needed space to be alone, to realign His heart with the Father, perhaps we shouldn’t be so surprised that we need it, too.

There, in the mirrored wall of the gym, I caught my own reflection. Not in a critical, self-analytical way, but with a surprising gentleness. I saw echoes of family, glimpses of heritage, hints of the life I’ve been given. And for a fleeting moment, it was enough. I didn’t need to measure up to anyone else in the room. I didn’t need to carry anyone else’s expectations.

How often do we take on a subtle, creeping responsibility for others – their feelings, perceptions and even their spiritual journeys? Yet scripture gently reminds us where that responsibility truly lies: “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10). Not “be busy”, not “be everything to everyone”, but “be still”.

There is a sacred honesty in acknowledging our limits. We are not the saviour. We are not responsible for holding the world together. That role is already filled, perfectly and completely. Amen to that!

And so, for that hour in the gym, I let myself off the hook. I didn’t strive to be the friend, the encourager, the shining example. I simply showed up as myself. And in doing so, I felt closer to God, not further away.

Perhaps being like Jesus isn’t always about looking outward. Perhaps it begins with looking inward, allowing God to meet us in the quiet, unseen places of our hearts.

After all, He sees us fully already.