Praise

Winnie the Pooh once said, “Nothing is impossible. I do that every day!”—a phrase so delightfully whimsical, it could only come from a bear who lives on honey and wonder. But as endearing as it sounds, living that out feels less like a gentle stroll through the Hundred Acre Wood and more like sprinting up an escalator that’s going down, arms full of tangled responsibilities.

Lately, I’ve been racing from thing to thing like a circus performer juggling flaming bowling pins on a tightrope. I’ve got to be at the airport by 8:45. I’ve got to fix the demo before the big presentation. I’ve got to keep the clusters alive. I’ve got to remember passwords, pack chargers, chase deliverables, answer emails, and do my job. Get out of my way—I'm coming through like a freight train with no brakes, trying to arrive everywhere all at once.

In the chaos, it’s easy to forget something essential: Who gave me this plate I keep piling so high? And am I even walking in the direction that plate was meant to carry me?

Chris Stefanick, who shares his heart through the Hallow app and his podcast, recently spoke of a book that caught my attention: The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry by John Mark Comer. Even the title is a paradox—how do you “ruthlessly eliminate” something as slippery and seductive as hurry? It clings to us like static on a sweater. But the truth in his message is profound: we must intentionally, courageously, even ruthlessly step off the treadmill we so often mistake for the path.

In one of his men’s devotionals, Stefanick reflects on the idea that rest isn't a reward for work—it’s a rhythm for life. Like the beat in a piece of music, the rests give the song shape. Without pauses, it's just noise. But in our modern cadence, where faster means better, and more means worthier, rest feels like weakness. It’s the skipped step we promise ourselves once we’ve “earned” it… but never quite do.

I confess, I struggle with this. I love being productive—crossing things off my list is like taking a victory lap around the day. I like feeling capable, on top of things, in control. It’s addictive, like standing atop a tower built from checkboxes. But sometimes I wonder: am I really keeping my cup half full, or am I just upgrading to a bigger cup?

How do I pause when everything feels so urgent?

How do I trade my sprint for a stroll without guilt chasing me down like a shadow that won’t be left behind?

How do I hear the still, small voice when my world is a blur of movement and motion?

The truth is, rest doesn’t come naturally—it comes intentionally. It’s like Sabbath bread, baked on purpose and shared slowly. It’s like watching the sun rise, not because you have time, but because you make time. Rest is the holy permission to just be, not because we’ve done enough, but because we are enough.

Maybe slowing down is not a failure of ambition, but a recalibration of direction. Like a ship adjusting its sails to catch a better wind. Maybe being still isn’t stopping—it’s anchoring. And maybe that plate I’ve been piling high wasn’t meant to be a platter of performance, but a place-setting for presence.

Call to Action:

What would it look like today to ruthlessly eliminate hurry from your soul—even if just for a moment? Could you choose to sit, to breathe, to listen? Could you set down the to-do list and pick up your life? Could you let your cup be filled—not with more, but with meaning?

Because sometimes the most radical thing you can do is not conquer the day, but simply be in it.