Here I am—tucked into what might be the quietest season of my life.
After fifteen years in our home church, my husband and I stepped away in obedience to plant a new one. The familiar rhythms of ministry have shifted. And now, we’re living in the in-between—not where we were, and not yet where we’re going.

It’s quiet here. Still. Tender in ways I didn’t expect.

And lately, I’ve been wondering if the quiet isn’t just a pause between assignments—but something purposeful all on its own. What if this isn’t a break in God’s plan? What if this IS the plan?

The other day, as I was flipping through my Bible, I noticed a note I had written tucked carefully between the pages. It wasn’t there for anyone else to see—just kept safe. Protected. Concealed. Treasured. In that moment, it struck me how much this season feels like that note—held close by God, hidden from the noise of the world, cared for in a way that’s deeply personal and intentional.

The note had settled right up against Luke 2:19:
“But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.”

Mary had just given birth to Jesus. The shepherds had arrived after being told by angels that the Savior had been born. They were filled with wonder and told everyone what they had seen and heard. But Mary—unlike the shepherds who ran and proclaimed—did something quiet and internal.

She treasured what was happening. She pondered it. She held onto the mystery of it all.

She didn’t rush to understand or explain it. She didn’t need to be loud or in charge.
She simply received. She trusted that what God was doing—though not yet fully visible or understandable—was worth holding close.

And that’s what makes this verse so relevant in seasons like this—for me, and maybe for you, too.

Because it paints a picture of holy stillness in the midst of divine movement.
It speaks to the kind of formation that happens not when we are acting, but when we are beholding.

Just like Mary, many of us are walking through seasons where we can sense something sacred is unfolding—but we don’t yet see the full picture. We’re not shouting it from the rooftops. We’re not building or leading or launching yet. We’re sitting with it. Treasuring it. Letting God work.

This verse invites us to trust that stillness has value. That pondering is powerful. That being present with God—even in mystery—is enough. Not striving or proving. Not leading with answers. Just being here. With God. Letting Him do what only He can.

If you’re in a season like this too—in transition, in quiet, in-between—I want you to know:
Before God sends you out, He pulls you in. Let the quiet do its work.
If it’s slower than you expected, trust that He’s still working.
If it’s tender, let it be tender. Let yourself be held.
You haven’t been forgotten or overlooked.
You’re simply being cared for. Fully. Personally. Purposefully… Treasured away