hushed.

There are moments in life when we feel trapped, maybe not just by circumstance or failure, but by something holy we don’t yet understand. We pray for freedom, for movement of any kind, but instead, God allows us to stay still. We wrestle against His timing, His silence, even His love. And in that struggle, something sacred is revealed.

I’m on the mat, pinned down, unable to move. No way to even tap out.

I want to fight. Kick my opponent off. Be free.

But then I realize my opponent is God.

And I’m angry about that. Why would He make it so hard for me to be free? Why would the One who says He loves me hold me down?

My instinct is to resist. To prove I’m strong. To find a way out. I was taught to fight with everything I’ve got when backed against a wall.

But the longer I struggle, the more I feel His steady weight. Not crushing, just firm. And something in me begins to shift.

I start to see that He’s not trying to harm me. He’s helping me wait.

Like a parent calming a frightened child, He holds me until the struggle fades.

And in that stillness, I can turn my head. In doing so, I see differently.
He is calm, sure … patient.
He’s not an enemy at all. He’s my trainer. My Father. My God. The Victor.

I realize how often I’ve confused resistance with strength and surrender with weakness. But here, on the mat, held still by His hand, I see that real freedom isn’t found in fighting; it’s found in trusting.

Trusting that maybe this is discipline.
Maybe it’s mercy.
Maybe it’s love that refuses to let me run before I’m ready.

In wrestling, a pin ends the match instantly, no matter the score.
I wonder if it’s only truly over when the one being pinned replaces struggle with surrender.

I stop thrashing. I exhale.
I look at Him and see something new.

Belonging.

What once was a desperate scream becomes something hushed; a quiet whisper of “Thank You.”

Maybe the question isn’t “Why is God holding me down?”
Maybe it’s “What is He holding me still long enough for me to see?”