Faith Over Chaos

I was sitting in my overcontrol thoughts again. If you’ve been here for more than five minutes, you already know my struggle: I’m a control freak. A Type A. A leader. Some of those words sound awful, some sound impressive, and honestly, all of them are true.

In business, this wiring works. I can walk into a conference room, take command, set goals, and get everyone rowing in the same direction. I leave feeling accomplished—like we have a plan and a path.

But that same energy does not translate well into quiet time with God. He’s not impressed by my color‑coded strategy.

And here’s the twist: people like me don’t just overcontrol. We also swing to the opposite extreme. We sit. We wait. We hope. We tell ourselves we’re “waiting on God” while He’s over here sending neon signs, gentle nudges, and holy elbows saying, “Daughter… move.”

Psalm 32:8 reminds me that He is speaking: “I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my loving eye on you.” He’s not silent. I’m just often too busy waiting for a burning bush to notice the whisper.

Miracles absolutely happen. I believe in them. I hope you do too. Sometimes God does something so wild that even the atheist has to squint at the sky. But other times, He’s ready to pour out the miracle and is simply waiting for one small step of faith from us. Ephesians 3:20 tells me He can do immeasurably more than I can even imagine — but sometimes He invites me to take one small step toward the thing He’s already prepared.

So how do we know which moment we’re in?

We sit in the garden with Him—not in passive waiting, but in active listening. We pray, and then we pay attention. We hope, but we also stay open to the action He may be asking from us. Not every situation calls for sitting still.

Think about the woman who bled for twelve years. Twelve. Years. Y’all, I can’t even imagine. If you haven’t read her story, go ahead and take a moment—Matthew 9, Mark 5, or Luke 8. Three gospel writers thought she was worth repeating.

She didn’t sit and hope. She moved. She said, “If I can just touch the hem of His garment…” That wasn’t overcontrol. That wasn’t forcing a plan. That was faith in motion.

And that’s the line I’m learning to walk—not superseding God with my own blueprint, but also not sitting so long that I miss the moment He’s inviting me to reach out.

There’s a huge difference between faith in motion and control in motion, and trust me, I’ve lived on both sides of that line.

Control in motion is when I grab the whiteboard, the planner, the color‑coded pens, and tell God,

“Okay, Lord, I’ve drafted three options for You. Pick whichever one works best for Your schedule.”

It’s me forcing outcomes, manufacturing momentum, and calling it “obedience” when really it’s anxiety wearing a blazer.

Faith in motion, though?

That’s different.

That’s quieter.

That’s humbler.

Faith in motion says,

“Lord, I’m moving because You nudged me — not because I’m trying to make something happen.”

Control in motion pushes.

Faith in motion responds.

Control in motion demands clarity before taking a step.

Faith in motion takes the step and trusts clarity will meet it.

Control in motion is me trying to be the miracle.

Faith in motion is me reaching for the hem of His garment.

The woman in the story didn’t create a plan, a strategy, or a timeline. She didn’t draft a proposal for how Jesus should heal her. She simply moved toward Him with the little strength she had left. That’s faith in motion — not frantic, not forced, just obedient.

And that’s the tension I’m learning to live in:

Move when He nudges. Wait when He whispers. Stop trying to run the meeting in heaven.

Helping you find peace in the garden again— as you learn to stretch out your hand instead of tightening your grip.

Let these thoughts settle in your spirit as you consider what faith in motion might look like for you.

1. Where in your life are you waiting for God to act—but He may already be nudging you to move.
2. What does “faith in motion” look like for you right now.
3. Are there places where your planning has replaced your listening.
4. What’s one small step you sense God inviting you to take, even if it feels uncertain.
5. What helps you hear His whisper in the garden—especially when your thoughts are loud.