Quiet Moments

Where I Started

I grew up in a suburban, middle-class neighborhood at a time when doors were left unlocked, keys stayed in the ignition, and parents found their children by locating the pile of bikes in someone’s yard.

My best friends were my cousins and the neighbors next door.
I didn’t need street smarts.

Looking back, I see both the privilege and the naivety of that upbringing. I am grateful for it. But I am also increasingly aware that the spiritual world does not operate like a quiet cul-de-sac.

It operates more like the inner-city motif we see in movies.

Darkness does not look out for anyone.
Darkness says, Don’t trust.
Darkness says, Get yours before someone takes it.

And yet, light speaks differently.

Forty-Two Days

My forty-two days of boots on the ground were nearing their end in South Africa.

I found myself wondering:

Had I missed anything?
Was there something left undone?
Was there anything else the Lord wanted to say before I returned to the United States?

That morning, I opened my journal and invited Him to speak.

“Let me listen to You,” I wrote.

And He answered.

“There will be a battle for you to get home.”

Why?

“Because of what you carry. Intel.”

Intel?

“People with ears to hear will learn. The others are not your concern. I will open the avenues. Trust Me day by day. You have learned more than you realize.”

I had been ready to pack, sleep on the plane, and re-enter normal life.

Instead, I was reminded: this was not over.

The View from Above

It was my last full day. We drove through local communities, around the South African Naval Base, and hiked up to Admiral’s Waterfall overlooking the bay.

From the top, you could see everything.

The Atlantic stretching wide in the distance.
Cars and bikes moving across the Naval Base.
Restaurants lining the seaside.
Homeless families tucked in the woods cooking over open fires.

Perspective changes things.

Ironically, the waterfall itself was dry. No cascading rush of water—only rock formations carved by years of prior flow. A faint trickle slipped down parts of the trail. I’m fairly certain my kitchen sink at home carries more force.

Still, the evidence of past movement was undeniable.

A Drop of Water

On the hike back down, I paused and sat with the Lord again.

Gratitude filled my heart for what He had done in those two months. I opened my journal once more—waiting, listening, hoping.

Any drop of water to quench the thirst He Himself had created in me.

And then He said:

“You don’t have to fear.”

Five simple words.

Five words that would quietly begin to reorient my world.

From Head Knowledge to Unshakable Truth

When I mentor others, I often describe three stages of believing God’s truth.

First, your mind becomes aware of it.
You read it in Scripture. You can quote it. You know it.

You cannot live by a truth you do not know.

Second, the truth begins to move deeper.
It takes root. It shows up in your words and actions. But it can still be shaken. A strong enough wind might uproot it.

Finally, there is the belief that passes understanding.
The moment when you know that you know.
When no argument can dismantle it.
When the truth has penetrated so deeply that it becomes immovable.

Salvation is an easy example.

At first, you pray and receive Jesus. You are saved—fully saved—but your understanding is surface level. If asked whether you are going to heaven, you may answer with hope more than certainty.

As God transforms your heart and you experience Him personally, confidence grows.

And then there comes a moment when no one can convince you otherwise.
You know you will see Jesus.
You know the enemy has lost his hold.
You know.

You Don’t Have to Fear

As I sat on that mountain, I realized I knew the verse about fear.

I had experienced His protection.
I had witnessed His faithfulness.

But this was different.

“You don’t have to fear.”

Not a suggestion.
Not a rebuke.
An invitation.

Tears burned my eyes because I knew this was not just encouragement—it was transformation waiting to happen.

Fear had been a companion in subtle ways. Traveling internationally. Navigating spiritual opposition. Processing grief. Anticipating the unknown.

But fear is not mandatory.

It is a choice.

The battle to get home? Perhaps it would be logistical. Perhaps spiritual. Perhaps internal. But the greater battle would always be for belief.

Would I choose fear?
Or would I choose trust?

That sentence has followed me since. I have whispered it to myself in airports, in quiet bedrooms, in moments when uncertainty tried to rise again.

You don’t have to fear.

Truth begins in the head.
It settles in the heart.
And one day, it becomes immovable.

I did not fully understand that on the mountain.

But I knew something had shifted.

And sometimes, all it takes is one quiet moment for God to rewrite the narrative.