#WellspringWednesday #CreateYourNow #HealthAndWellness

We stir with control — trying to manage every outcome, plan every step, guarantee every result. And the more we stir, the more distorted our reflection becomes. We look down into the water of our own lives, and we can’t make out the woman looking back at us. She’s blurry. She’s broken into fragments. She doesn’t look like anyone we recognize — and certainly not anyone we love unconditionally.

But you see, the water isn’t the problem. The woman isn’t the problem. The stirring is.

Psalm 46:10 says, “Be still, and know that I am God”

— And I wonder if we’ve read that verse so many times that we’ve stopped hearing what it’s actually asking of us. It’s not a suggestion. It’s not a gentle nudge toward a fifteen-minute quiet time.

It’s an invitation to lay down every anxious thing you’re holding and trust that God is God and you are not. Being still isn’t passive. It’s one of the bravest things a woman can do — because stillness means you stop performing, stop managing, and stop running from whatever you’re afraid you’ll see if you actually look.

And this is where becoming begins.

I believe with everything in me that we are entering a season of becoming — a season where God is inviting us to go deeper than the surface, past the routines and the roles, past the titles and the to-do lists, all the way down to the roots.

But before we can grow, before the budding and the blooming and the beautiful transformation that’s ahead, we have to start here. Right here. At the water’s edge. Willing to be still long enough to see who’s actually looking back.

Here’s what I’ve learned about reflections — they don’t lie, but they do require the right conditions. If you throw a stone into a lake, the ripples shatter the image.

But if you wait — if you have the patience and the courage to let everything settle — the water becomes a mirror. Crystal clear. Every detail visible. That’s what stillness does for us. It doesn’t change who we are. It reveals who we are. And for a lot of us, that’s exactly what we’re afraid of.

We’re afraid that if we stop long enough to see ourselves clearly, we won’t like what we find. We’ll see the doubts we’ve been hiding. The insecurities we’ve been covering. The tiredness we’ve been pretending isn’t bone-deep. We’ll see the gap between who we are and who we thought we’d be by now. And so we keep stirring. Keep moving. Keep filling every quiet moment with noise because silence feels too honest.

But here’s what the enemy doesn’t want you to know — the woman in the water is not your enemy. She is not your project. She is not a problem to be solved.

She is a daughter of the Most High God, and she is right where she’s supposed to be. Not perfect. Not finished. Not polished and presentable in every area. But planted. Present. Breathing. Held by a God who sees her clearly even when she won’t look at herself.

Isaiah 43:1 says, “I have called you by name; you are mine.”

Not you will be mine when you get it together. Not you are mine when you look the way you think you should. You are mine. Present tense. As you are. In this season. In this stillness. With this reflection.

Did you ever think that when you refuse to see yourself the way God sees you — beloved, chosen, becoming — you’re not being humble? You’re disagreeing with Him. And I don’t know about you, but I’ve spent too many years arguing with God about the value of His creation.

So what does it look like to let the water settle?

It looks like turning off the noise — not forever, but long enough to hear your own heartbeat again.

It looks like sitting with the Lord without an agenda, without a prayer list, without a devotional plan, and simply asking, “Who am I right now?” Not who was I. Not who will I be.

Who am I right now — in this season, in this skin, in this story?

It looks like refusing to compare your chapter three to someone else’s chapter twelve. It looks like releasing the one thing you’ve been gripping so tightly — the worry, the expectation, the “what if” — and watching the ripples finally, finally go still.

It looks like becoming, one breath at a time. So be still and see.

The K.I.S.S. ~ Be still and see!

Be still so the water can settle, and then you can reflect.

1. Set aside ten minutes this week with no phone, no task list, and no noise — just you and the Lord — and ask Him, “Who do You say I am right now?”
2. Write down three truths about who you are today — not who you were, not who you hope to be — and read them aloud to yourself.
3. Release one thing you’ve been stirring up — one worry, one comparison, one “should” — and let the water settle.

My friend, we’re beginning a journey: A season of becoming that will take us from the roots all the way to the bloom — through budding and stretching and opening and, yes, through the storms too. But it starts here. At the water’s edge. With the courage to be still.

I want you to know that the woman in the water is worth seeing. She is worth knowing. She is worth loving — not the future version of her, not the cleaned-up, figured-out, fully-arrived version. This version. The one listening to the words right now. The one who showed up even though she’s tired. The one who’s still here even though the season has been long.

God is not waiting for you to become before He begins. He’s already begun. And the first thing He’s asking you to do is be still long enough to see it.

Let the water settle. Look at her. She’s more beautiful than you know.

“Be present. Be incredible. Be YOU!!!“