ARE YOU STAGNANT IN THE WATER
The war is quiet. That's why so few win it.
A ministry retreat. Atlanta, Georgia. 2013. Four days. Still water, green trees, and the kind of quiet that doesn’t happen by accident. This is where I learned what it felt like to pause long enough to actually hear. Not a performance. Not a program. Just a man, a pond, and a God who was already there waiting. This is where my walk stopped being something I carried privately — and started becoming something I lived out loud.
Pleasure doesn’t appear by accident.
Pain doesn’t arrive uninvited.
Everything comes from somewhere.
The question is whether you’re willing to trace it back.
DEDICATION
To my sister, Jeffrey — who watched the same podcast and texted me one word: “Wow.” That wow had landed in me a long time before. Truth doesn’t age. It waits.
To Marty — who has always known the difference between what feels good and what is good. She balances me without trying. That’s a gift I didn’t always deserve.
To the men I’ve walked alongside in ministry — who were brave enough to name what they were carrying in the quiet. That kind of honesty changes everything.
And to every person reading this who has something they’ve only ever visited in secrecy — afraid to say it out loud. You are not alone. And you are not broken.
SCRIPTURE
“Do not be deceived, God is not mocked; for whatever a man sows, that he will also reap.” — Galatians 6:7 (NKJV)
“All things are lawful for me, but all things are not helpful. All things are lawful for me, but I will not be brought under the power of any.” — 1 Corinthians 6:12 (NKJV)
“The thief does not come except to steal, and to kill, and to destroy. I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly.” — John 10:10 (NKJV)
THE HOOK
There’s a question I’ve learned to ask myself.
Not out of fear.
Out of awareness.
Am I doing what I want to be doing — right now?
And if I’m not… why am I doing it?
I heard something that stirred this in a podcast some time ago.
It struck a place in me I had visited quietly for years.
Often in secrecy.
Afraid to say it out loud.
Until now.
THE STORY
I learned what pain was early.
For me it wasn’t abstract.
It was relational.
There was an extreme imbalance in my parents’ behaviors —
in their pursuits for gratification.
Too much of one thing.
Too little of another.
The scale was tipped.
And everyone felt it.
So my definition of pleasure formed differently.
Pleasure, for me, became —
time alone.
Separation.
Being with my dog.
Learning mental skills.
Developing physical ability.
None of those things were bad.
But what they reveal matters.
When you grow up in imbalance…
you don’t chase chaos.
You chase equilibrium.
And I’ve been chasing it ever since.
Later in life I’ve had quiet conversations with close friends —
people asking themselves a sobering question.
What actually mattered?
Some carry the weight of knowing how much time was surrendered
to alcohol.
Drugs.
Pornography.
Slow-burning destructive habits.
Not because they were evil.
But because they were overstimulated.
And they didn’t know it.
THE MOMENT
A dear friend of mine and a long-time hunting partner.
Big, jolly man.
The kind who filled a room.
He had a habit of calling all the women “cookie.”
One evening he came home.
His wife brought him dinner.
He smiled and said —
“Honey, just set it down on the table, cookie.”
The TV tray.
Right next to the recliner he had just sat down in.
She went to the kitchen to get her plate.
When she came back —
barely a minute later —
he was gone.
Massive heart attack.
Remote control still in his hand.
That moment — the way his wife later shared it —
never left me.
Life doesn’t announce its endings.
Are we truly living?
Or are we just stagnant in the water?
We were never designed to be endlessly stimulated. We were designed to be formed.
THE TURN
Dopamine isn’t the feel-good chemical.
It’s the motivation chemical.
No dopamine — no pursuit.
The same parts of the brain that process pleasure also process pain.
They operate on a balance.
When we flood ourselves with pleasure —
the brain compensates with pain.
When we accept discomfort —
the brain eventually restores pleasure.
Naturally.
We are not broken.
We are overstimulated.
And the world keeps offering more.
More stimulus.
More comfort.
More relief.
Without ever asking where it leads.
THE DRIFT
“You deserve this.”
“You’ve been through enough.”
“One more time won’t change anything.”
That voice sounds like grace.
It isn’t.
Grace leads you toward healing.
This voice leads you toward habit.
“Everyone struggles with this.”
“At least it’s not as bad as what others deal with.”
I hear this now in my own voice.
That voice sounds like perspective.
It isn’t.
Real perspective names the thing.
This voice buries it deeper.
And I listened.
To all of it.
In the quiet places no one else saw.
I know.
Because I lived there.
On and off.
For years.
Until I started paying closer attention.
THE REFLECTION
That pond in Atlanta…
Four days.
No agenda except stillness.
And God was already there.
Waiting.
Not with a verdict.
With an invitation.
Be still.
And know.
That’s where I started to understand something I had never put words to —
balance is not a destination.
It’s a constant pursuit.
It never becomes perfect.
But it produces something that lasts longer than a dopamine hit.
Something real.
Something that holds.
I’ve lived with years of chronic physical pain.
And physical pain always carries an emotional cost.
There is pain in limitation.
Pain in not being able to do the things you once could.
The greatest gift God has given me —
besides life itself —
is this.
The ability to pause.
To reflect.
To ask why my mind does what it does.
The gift of limitation sharpened my awareness.
And I think that’s the point.
Jesus never promised comfort.
He promised life.
Full.
Grounded.
Free.
Not the version the world sells.
The version that costs something —
and lasts.
Balance doesn’t come from trying harder.
It comes from slowing down long enough to listen.
From sitting at the edge of still water…
and letting God reset the scale.
And sometimes the most faithful thing we can do
is stop running…
and let Him.
WALKAWAY LINE
What you keep feeding will eventually do the feeding for you.
SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT
What are you chasing right now — and have you traced it back far enough to know where it started?
MY PRAYER
Heavenly Father,
I come to You with an open heart — not with answers, but with honesty.
You see the places in me that rush, and the places that avoid stillness.
You know where I’ve chased relief instead of rest.
Comfort instead of closeness.
If there is anything in my life that has begun to hold power over me —
show me.
Not in condemnation.
In love.
Help me release what distracts me from what matters most.
Teach me to be present.
To notice the moments You’ve placed right in front of me.
To live awake — not numb.
To move forward without running.
For those reading this, Lord —
meet them where they are.
In their joy.
In their pain.
In their weariness.
In their longing.
Restore balance where there has been excess.
Bring peace where there has been striving.
And replace noise with Your still, steady voice.
Teach us to number our days.
To choose what is helpful.
And to walk in the life You promised —
full, grounded, and free.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.
ABOUT G~
G~ writes from lived experience — exploring identity, authority, and time through the lens of faith, trial, leadership, and surrender. His reflections are not meant to condemn or hype, but to steady. Rooted in covenant, forged through adversity, and anchored under the authority of Jesus Christ, his work invites readers to examine who governs their lives — and to live intentionally under truth. If what you’ve read resonates with your journey, feel free to reach out.
G~