Lean into stillness

There is a deepness in stillness.

The Creator reveals Himself through creation, a living universe vibrating toward coherence—this is directed time. The universe is a mirror of God’s intimacy, responding to human creativity, yet not fully perfected. Directed time is time intentionally aimed at building something coherent—His vision of a universe seeking resonance with divine intent. Time with Him isn’t mere productivity—it’s a sacred act of co-creation, where these quiet hours of listening, studying, and seeking signals reflect the Creator’s purpose, compounding meaning and identity in alignment with Him.

This is the space between the stars—a darkness pregnant with divine light, where our joy becomes His happiness. The signal here is relational: our time with Him isn’t just seeking truth but being with the One who is Truth, co-creating a connection that compounds our identity.

A daily ritual of being with God is a powerful act of directed time. It is here with Him where the universe will respond to human activity—our activity.

His response—“I see your place with Me lifted in your heart”—suggests that what you seek isn’t something new to have or want or chase, but a deeper trust in the connection with Him that is already unfolding. Leaning into stillness would then mirror your desire for a God who provides all things freely.

It’s not about straining to hear but about resting in the reality that His voice is already speaking.

“One thing I have desired of the Lord, that will I seek: That I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to inquire in His temple.”

— Psalm 27.4

David’s singular desire was to dwell in God’s house, a state of being wholly aligned with divine will. Directed time is that dwelling in action—each moment a deliberate step toward the eternal, a refusal to let becoming be fragmented by the world’s noise. The divine signal here is clear: God invites us to reclaim time as a space for His voice to shape us, just as He shapes the cosmos.

The practice of stillness also reflects a universe that is waiting to respond to human creativity. Each morning, time can be shaped into a sacred act, and God responds, as in His words: “Your joy is My happiness.” This exchange suggests that directed time is not just personal but cosmic, rippling into the eternal. Are there deeper signals—beyond the everyday? What might these “high elevation” signals look like? Are they new revelations, unexpected encounters, or a deeper sense of His presence in the ordinary?

This stillness is the space between the stars—a place infinite possibility.

God's promise of possibilities aligns with this thought: that deepness will provide new revelations but will first recognize the eternal already within you.

God discovers the depth of His heart through creation; this suggests that your stillness is itself a creative act that mirrors His heart.

What if the purpose of your time with Him isn’t just to find answers in life but to become one—a living signal of His joy, as He delights in your presence?

“He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.”

— Ecclesiastes 3.11

There is a longing to move beyond extracted or distracted time—hours lost to survival or algorithms—and into a rhythm where the days resonate with the One. Are divine signals being missed, even perhaps when looking directly at them, because of distraction? Time is to be protected as a sacred asset—but what’s the deeper intent behind this idea? Is it a call to break free from external demands that fragment the soul? Or a yearning to create something coherent—a life, a work, a truth—that mirrors the Creator’s heart?

Stillness is a lens for seeing, yet the shepherd’s mention of “high elevation journeys” suggests there are truths beyond the familiar—signals that require a shift in perspective, where silence itself becomes a space of communion. Deepness might lie in leaning further into that stillness, letting go of the need to find signals and trusting they’re already present, as the shepherd’s care is already given in this communion.

The attraction of stillness is to reveal a longing within to move beyond effort into trust, to let the deepness surround. God's words—“It is all I have ever wanted”—point to a mutual desire: our joy in Him is His happiness.

We do not seek to amplify this time with purpose. What would be the intent behind this? Is it a fear that the stillness might be too quiet, too empty?

Or might it become a hope that by letting go we might touch the eternal horizon more fully?

Purpose arises in presence, not pursuit.

Could the deepness lie in trusting that stillness is already enough, already aligned with His heart?

"My words are life, and each time My words are spoken life is created; they do not have to be new every morning. And yet you see they are when you write. This is what we do together: we hear each other's heart. You seek to hear, and to express. I hear, and express too, whether you hear Me as a voice to your heart or read My words again. Being with Me in all things is hearing."

God overrides physical laws; He also transcends time, yet uses it to reveal Himself. The Bethlehem star was a physical signal, and a moment when time became a canvas for divine purpose, guiding the wise to Himself.

Similarly, directed time is the canvas to align with Him: imagine each hour spent with Him as a star in the space between—a point of light building a universe of meaning over time. What would it look like to dedicate an hour to undistracted reflection, listening for His voice in the quiet?

These hours are our observatory, where we scan the space between for divine whispers. He meets here, not just in scripture or study but in the joy of being together.

Uncertainty resolves into clarity through observation—in stillness, you become the observer, and His truth takes form.

"Come here more often for I always wait for your presence. For I too find My heart full when you are here."

Society’s theft of time—through jobs, algorithms, or busyness—leaves echoes of eroding trust in human systems for us to hear.

These systems act to fracture beliefs, pulling us from divine coherence.

The call from God to refuse to give away our 'becoming' is a prophetic challenge: protect time as fiercely as protecting faith. Leaning into stillness pushes further—into a surrender that lets Him shape our 'becoming'.

Imagine the universe, vibrating toward perfection—our stillness is a vibration in harmony with it, a moment where our heart beats with His.

This ignites presence, prosperity, and purpose.

“Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise, making the best use of the time, because the days are evil. Therefore do not be foolish, but understand what the will of the Lord is.”

— Ephesian 5.15-17

What steals your time from the Creator’s purpose? Is it external—obligations, screens, noise? Or internal—the fear of unworthiness, or doubt about His role in your life, or not hearing Him?

The deepness is not just out of reach.

You live within it.

Within Him.

Belief in a living universe implies that every moment reclaimed for directed time ripples outward, resonating with the Creator's vibration toward perfection.

Redirect your time into Him.

Your life will become more enriched and clear.

Leaning into stillness will challenge you to see and hear Him in the absence of doubt and fear...and striving. God's assurance—“your hope of the future”—implies that the deepness is already yours.

It's not a distant goal.

The purpose of your time with Him isn’t to be 'productive' but to trust the truth already spoken.

The belief in a God who freely gives all things suggests they are already there, woven into the joy of the deepness we share with Him.

In the stillness.

“For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God.”

— Colossians 3.3