The Practice of Stillness
The house is finally quiet.
Well… mostly. The dishwasher hums its low lullaby, the dog sighs dramatically from the couch, and I’m pretty sure one of the kids just flushed the toilet for the fourth time in five minutes — but compared to the usual soundtrack of my day, this is silence.
I sink into the couch with my favorite blanket and a cup of coffee that’s been reheated twice already, ready to “rest.”
(Tea sounds peaceful, but let’s be honest — I’m a coffee girl through and through. And yes, even with caffeine, once my head hits the pillow, I’m out in five minutes flat. Ten kids will do that for you.)
Suddenly, I’m mentally rearranging tomorrow’s schedule, replaying a conversation that didn’t go how I hoped, and wondering if that random smell in the kitchen means something is rotting or just needs Lysol.
So much for peace and quiet.
The truth is, stillness doesn’t come naturally to me.
Even when the noise outside fades, the noise inside doesn’t always follow. My body may be sitting still, but my heart? My thoughts? They’re still doing cartwheels.
But lately, I’ve been learning something: rest isn’t the same as escape.
It’s not zoning out, scrolling endlessly, or even hiding in the bathroom for five minutes of “me time” (though I’m not knocking that sacred ritual).
Rest — real rest — is obedience.
It’s the act of trusting God enough to stop doing, stop fixing, stop overthinking, and just be still in His presence.
Learning to Release Control
’ve started to notice how God keeps teaching me about stillness in the most unexpected places — not just in my living room but even in the middle of our Disney trips.
You’d think peace and Disney don’t belong in the same sentence, but somehow, He uses even those early park mornings to remind me what rest really looks like.
There’s something about those early Disney mornings that remind me what peace can look like. Before the parks open, before the laughter and music and stroller traffic begin, there’s this quiet hum — a stillness filled with anticipation.
I take my coffee onto the balcony, watching the sky shift from gray to pink, and I breathe. For a moment, I don’t have to plan or pivot. I don’t have to manage Lightning Lanes, check wait times, or coordinate mobile orders. There are no Dwarfs whistling while they work, no parades marching by, no soundtrack competing for my attention. I’m simply in a space where none of that exists — where my only job is to be still and notice the sunrise.
It’s in those moments that God whispers, “This is the kind of rest I’m talking about.”
Not the kind that depends on perfect conditions, but the kind that grows from trust.
Because rest isn’t a reward for finishing the list.
It’s obedience — a reminder that even when I step back, God keeps the world spinning just fine without my supervision.
Jesus modeled this beautifully. In Mark 6:31, He tells His disciples,
“Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.”
He didn’t say, “Hurry up and get your work done first.”
He said, Come with Me.
Rest isn’t just stopping; it’s returning — to Him, to peace, to purpose.
When the Park Wakes Up Again
Eventually, the sounds begin — the laughter, the music, the distant echo of “Good morning, friends, and welcome to the Most Magical Place on Earth!” (does anyone else hear Mickey’s voice?)
The park is waking up, and so is life. My quiet moment fades into motion again — breakfast orders, park passes, backpacks, and sunscreen.
But something inside me stays still.
That sacred pause — the one where I remembered that rest is not indulgence but obedience — lingers like the last sip of coffee before the day begins.
Because when I start my day with stillness, I carry peace into the noise.
When I choose to rest before I run, I remind my heart who’s really leading the way.
Rest doesn’t make me lazy.
It makes me ready.
And as I step into the swirl of activity — into the laughter, the plans, the “whistling while we work” — I can almost hear God whisper again:
“See? Even here, you can rest.”
Then, back home, when the dishwasher hums and someone flushes for no reason, I smile.
Because whether I’m under Cinderella Castle or under my own roof, the same truth remains: rest is obedience — not indulgence.
Want to Keep Reading?
This post is part of my “Resting in the Quiet” series — reflections on learning to be still when life feels anything but.
Read the full series (and share your thoughts in the comments) at:
👉 NeverEasyAlwaysGood.com/sitting-in-silence
