Squatting in My Own Life

Finding Christ in the Stuck Places

I felt paralyzed. Overwhelmed.

I woke up. Did the basics. And laid down on the sofa.

The final Bible study had just ended. I’d given the last message, prayed the last prayer, hugged the last woman walking out the door. Then, right into our annual Passover Seder. Then, prepping to teach on Hebrews 6:1–8 (honestly one of the most difficult passages I’ve ever studied). Then, leading worship at church.

Then came the call. And the text. A motorcycle crash. A young man gone. My friend’s son. A former student. A childhood friend of our son, Jonathan. Gone.

It was too much.
I shut down.

I didn’t edit and post that last teaching. I couldn’t. I didn’t post anything about the loss. I had no words. I had no will. Not because I was lost or angry at God. I wasn’t. I just… couldn’t move.

I napped. A lot.
I stared at clutter I normally would have organized.
Projects I normally would have completed.
Lists I usually would have charged through with joy.
But I just couldn’t summon anything.

Maybe you’ve been there too. Maybe you are there now.

There’s a strange guilt that comes with that kind of stillness. Like you’re squatting in a life you were once fully alive in. You remember who you were and what you were capable of, but now you’re just here. Still breathing. But barely showing up.

This isn’t a how-to-get-back-on-track post. It’s not even a story of triumphant recovery. It’s just a whisper I heard in that frozen place. A Scripture that found me, right there.

“But we see him who for a little while was made lower than the angels, namely Jesus,
crowned with glory and honor because of the suffering of death,
so that by the grace of God he might taste death for everyone.”
(Hebrews 2:9)

That phrase, “but we see Him” became the anchor.

Not “but we do more.”
Not “but we push through.”
Just… we see Him.

Jesus, who tasted death.
Not just the final breath kind of death, but the soul-aching, grief-weighted, life-draining kind of death.
He tasted that too.
For me.
For you.

And somehow, knowing He saw it coming and still stepped in,
still drank the cup,
still suffered and didn’t skip a second of it…
That quieted me in a way nothing else could.

I didn’t have to fix my stuckness.
I just had to see Him in it.

And the frozen ground began to thaw.
Not all at once.
There was no spiritual caffeine shot.
Just a slow warming.
An “I think I’ll make the bed today” kind of progress.
A “maybe I’ll write a little” sort of stirring.

Jesus didn’t shame me for being still.
He didn’t accuse me of laziness or label me ungrateful.
He was just there.
Seeing me.
With eyes that had already wept.
With shoulders that had already borne it all.

For the One Who Feels Stuck

Maybe you feel like you’re squatting in your own life too.
Like you’re living among reminders of what you used to manage, accomplish, steward, celebrate.
And now… you’re just here.

Can I just say, gently and with full honesty? That’s okay.
You’re not disqualified.
You’re not forgotten.
You’re not behind.

You are seen by Jesus.
The one who stepped down and entered every layer of our pain…
not to rush us through it,
but to walk with us through it.
And to taste it, fully, for us.

The stuck place isn’t the end of your story.
It might be the middle.
It might even be the necessary pause between the pouring out and the rising again.

A Quiet Prayer

Jesus,
Thank You for seeing me in the still places.
For not rushing me to produce again or perform again.
Thank You for tasting this ache so I wouldn’t have to carry it alone.
Help me to see You more clearly than I see my failure.
Help me to trust that even here, You are enough.
Amen.

Reflection Prompt:

What would it look like for you to pause the pressure and just see Him today?
Not fix everything.
Not catch up.
Just… turn your gaze,
and let that be enough.

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