Living in the Middle
The quietest chaos I’ve ever experienced was staying in Alabama while my husband started setting up life in St. Louis.
Maybe you’ve felt something like that before, when the outside of your life looks steady, but inside, it feels like you’ve already left. Like you’re walking through a hallway that doesn’t end. One foot here. One foot somewhere else. I remember journaling one night and writing, “I feel like I’ve already left—but I haven’t gone anywhere.”
Maybe you’ve thought that too, in your own way.
When Familiar Doesn’t Mean Settled
I didn’t expect the waiting to feel so loud.
Everything around me was familiar, but my spirit felt like it was standing at the edge of something unnamed.
I kept praying for clarity, but what I really wanted was permission—to move, to decide, to act. But instead of a big, booming answer, I kept getting quiet nudges:
- Be still.
- Keep writing.
- Stay close.
Trust that the middle isn’t empty.
Have You Ever Been in That Space?
Where you want confirmation, but all you get is invitation?
Moses knew something about that. Before he ever led anyone out of Egypt, he spent years in Midian—far from the palace, far from the promise. Tending sheep. Figuring out who he was.
Not Pharaoh’s grandson.
Not yet God’s mouthpiece.
Just… in between.
It was the middle that shaped him.
The Ache That Turned Into Words
During that season, I started writing more. Not to share. Not to teach. Just to get the ache out of my chest. The words didn’t fix anything, but they helped me feel a little more grounded. A little more honest. A little more present. Like maybe, even here, before anything was resolved, God was doing something in me.
The Apostles Waited Too
The apostles felt it too. Jesus had ascended. The Holy Spirit hadn’t come yet. And they were told to wait. Not to build. Not to preach. Just wait. In a room. Together. No plan. No timeline. Just a promise. Can you imagine how long those days must have felt? The quiet. The questions. The wondering if they were doing it right. But that waiting wasn’t wasted. It became the womb of something holy. Pentecost didn’t arrive in the middle of motion, it arrived in the middle of surrender.
Maybe This Season Isn’t Wasted Either
And maybe this season, the one you’re in right now, isn’t wasted either. Maybe God is doing something in you too. Maybe your middle is forming something holy. Because the middle doesn’t mean nothing’s happening. It means trust is growing where control used to live. It means creativity is rising where answers haven’t landed. It means God is present, not just in the destination, but in the detour, in the drift, in the desert.
Maybe You’re Supposed to Create Anyway
That’s what I’m starting to believe anyway. That maybe I’m supposed to create from the middle. Not after the move. Not once everything makes sense. But right here, in the hallway of “not yet.” With half-packed boxes and half-clear prayers. Maybe that’s when obedience matters most, not when the outcome is obvious, but when faith is the only steady thing I have.
Maybe you’re there too.
Maybe you’re supposed to write from the waiting. Or build. Or rest. Or ask again.
Maybe you’re supposed to create before the clarity.
Maybe the middle you’re in is not a pause, it’s a place.
And maybe it’s not just holy because of what’s coming. Maybe it’s holy because He’s here.
A Quiet Ending
So what if the in-between isn’t an interruption, but an invitation?
What if this is where we get to know God differently, not as the One who resolves everything, but as the One who stays?
I still don’t know how long the middle will last. But I’m learning to let it speak.
“Though it linger, wait for it; it will certainly come and will not delay.”
—Habakkuk 2:3
This was Blog 3 of 16: Living in the Middle
from the series Maybe I’m Supposed to Create Anyway.
Thanks for being here. There’s no pressure to have it all figured out.
This space is for becoming, too.
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