The Ministry of Stepping Away

Mark 6:31  And he said to them, “Come away by yourselves to a desolate place and rest a while.”  For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat.(ESV)

There’s a kind of ministry that happens when we show up.  There’s also a kind of ministry that happens when we step away.

That sounds wrong to people who’ve confused availability with faithfulness.  We’re often taught, directly or indirectly, that the most faithful person is the one who is always reachable, always useful, always moving, always helping, always answering, and always carrying one more thing.  But constant availability isn’t the same as obedience.

Jesus looked at His disciples after they had been serving, teaching, healing, traveling, and being surrounded by need, and He didn’t tell them to push harder.  He didn’t rebuke them for being tired.  He didn’t tell them that the crowds mattered more than their limits.

He told them to come away and rest.

That matters.

The needs were still real.  The people were still hungry.  The sick were still sick.  The lost were still lost.  But Jesus still invited His disciples away from the crowd.

Not because people didn’t matter.

Because the disciples did.

There’s a lie that says stepping away means you don’t care.  That lie keeps a lot of weary people trapped in false guilt.  It convinces them that if they take a breath, someone will suffer.  If they stop answering, someone will be disappointed.  If they aren’t available, they’ve failed.

But stepping away with God isn’t neglect.  It’s correction.

It corrects the false belief that we’re the source.  It corrects the pride that hides inside responsibility.  It corrects the fear that tells us everything depends on us.  It corrects the exhaustion that has started calling itself love.

Sometimes the most faithful thing you can do is stop long enough to remember that Christ is the Shepherd, and you’re one of the sheep.

You aren’t abandoning the field when the Shepherd calls you aside.

You’re obeying His voice.

And sometimes, obedience sounds like this:  Come away.  Rest.  Breathe.  Be quiet.

Let the crowd keep making noise while you remember who called you in the first place.

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Who am I?

I’ve walked a path I didn’t ask for, guided by a God I can’t ignore. I don’t wear titles well—writer, teacher, leader—they fit like borrowed armor. But I know this: I’ve bled truth onto a page, challenged what I was told to swallow, and led only because I refused to follow where I couldn’t see Christ.

I don’t see greatness in the mirror. I see someone ordinary, shaped by pain and made resilient through it. I’m not above anyone. I’m not below anyone. I’m just trying to live what I believe and document the war inside so others know they aren’t alone.

If you’re looking for polished answers, you won’t find them here.
But if you’re looking for honesty, tension, paradox, and a relentless pursuit of truth,
you’re in the right place.

If you’re unsure of what path to follow or disillusioned with the world today and are willing to walk with me along this path I follow, you’ll never be alone. Everyone is welcome and invited to participate as much as they feel comfortable with.

Now, welcome home. I’m Don.

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