It's calming to sit back and watch the sky in the early evening. It changes so gradually - blue turns to soft, orange spreads into the clouds, and then there is a gradual dimming of light. In the beginning, it looks still. The clouds don’t seem to move. The buildings are steadfast, not tilting or crumbling. The roads look quiet and the air feels vacant. But if you stay there long enough, you’ll begin to see it – things are moving. The shape of the clouds has changed. The sun has dipped a little more. A bird flies across the sky without making a sound.
It reminds me of life. Life can feel stuck sometimes. Nothing changes. You are doing everything you can to show up day in and day out, but as far as you can see, you aren’t moving. I’ve been there. I’ve been in seasons where I prayed, planned and hoped for something better in my life, and one day feels like a repeating day. I regularly questioned whether anything would move. I questioned whether my life felt as if it was on pause while I watched everyone else playing.
Yet, like that quiet sky, it seems that life is often moving in ways we don’t see initially. Not all growth has to happen at a fast pace. Not all progress has to be loud. Some of the most significant changes in our lives happen quietly and slowly. A minor decision today may lead to better habits tomorrow. A little discipline may build into strength. A moment of clarity may lead to your next step.
I am starting to realise that stillness is not always what we think it is. The buildings in the photo above may look like the same buildings when I pass each time, but the people on the inside are living different days. Some are starting something. Some are finishing something. Things are changing on the inside even if the people on the outside look unchanged. Even the sky, which may feel calm and still, is never not moving.
Light is moving through time. And so are we. Often times, we look for proof that our lives are changing. We want the big signs, the loud answers, the quick results. But I am learning to value the silent work. The work of deep and hidden change that measures our future. I don’t need the noise to say I am growing. I just need to trust the process.
The evening sky shows me patience. It shows me that beauty can unfold at a slow pace. That movement can happen without sound. That I don’t need to rush into motion. So when my life feels still, I remind myself: even now, things are moving. Even if I can’t feel it, I am being prepared. I am aligning my steps. I am unfolding my story. Stillness doesn’t always mean absence of motion. Sometimes, it is quiet movement. And maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly what I want.
