Shannon's Corner

  Before I knew it, a car came up beside me on the highway. They sped ahead, but not by much. A few moments later, I found myself gradually catching up to them. Then they accelerated again. Before long, we were caught in that familiar dance of passing one another over and over. Eventually, I adjusted my speed. I settled into a steady pace instead of constantly responding to what the other driver was doing. The drive immediately felt calmer. It made me think about pace cars. In racing, a pace car doesn't compete with the drivers. Its role is to lead them safely, establish an appropriate speed, and help everyone stay together until it's time to move forward again. Transitions often require something similar. When our lives are changing, it's easy to let someone else's pace determine our own. We watch a friend who seems to have already found a new job. Someone else announces their engagement. Another person launches a business, moves across the country, retires, or begins ...

  There are seasons when getting away isn't possible. The responsibilities are too many. The deadlines keep coming. The caregiving continues. The transition you're walking through requires your presence. Your calendar is full, and stepping away for a retreat, vacation, or even an afternoon of rest simply isn't an option right now. While extended times of rest are valuable, renewal doesn't always require hours away. Sometimes it begins with a single minute. A single minute to lift your eyes. A single minute to notice beauty. Beauty has a remarkable way of interrupting the noise within us. It gently reminds us that there is more to this moment than the stress we're carrying. It calls us back to the present and invites our bodies, minds, and spirits to breathe. During times of transition, our attention naturally gravitates toward uncertainty, unanswered questions, and everything that still needs to be figured out. We can become so focused on what is difficult that we u...

  There is something deeply countercultural about intentionally stepping away from work, ministry, responsibilities, and the constant demands of life. Many of us feel guilty when we rest. We worry that things will fall behind, that people will need us, or that taking time away somehow means we aren't committed enough. Yet our bodies, minds, and spirits were never designed to run without pause. Even Jesus regularly withdrew from the crowds. He stepped away from the needs around Him to pray, to rest, and to be with the Father before stepping back into ministry again. Taking time away isn't an escape from your assignment—it is preparation for it. When we intentionally create space for play, rest, and renewal, we give our whole selves permission to breathe. Our  bodies  begin to recover from carrying stress and tension. Our   minds   become quieter, making room for creativity, wisdom, and fresh perspective. Our  spirits  reconnect with God, reminding us th...