Simply Abiding

Today I’m sharing a reflection from my husband, G. Wray. It feels especially fitting for a quiet day, and I think many of us may need its reminder.

For days now I have been feeling rather dormant in my writing. Not blocked, exactly—just not particularly inspired.

That is unusual, because as I read, watch, listen, and notice, I find myself constantly amazed. Amazed by creation. Amazed by the people in my life. Amazed by the gifted writers here on Substack. Amazed by my wife, Gilda, and the profound words she shares almost every day.

Yet somehow, I find myself…still wordless.

If you knew me, you’d probably laugh and say, “You? Wordless? That’s impossible!”

So, being the curious one that I am, I began wondering about it. Where have I seen these quiet seasons before? In Scripture? In nature?

I thought about the trees in winter. They appear lifeless. No leaves fluttering in the wind. No obvious signs of growth. Yet life is still flowing through them. What cannot be seen is often just as important as what can.

Then I thought about the farmer’s field. In spring there is plowing, planting, and eventually tender green shoots breaking through the soil. Everyone celebrates that visible growth.

But after the harvest, the field looks empty.

No one walks by and says, “Well, that field isn’t doing anything.”

No one wanders through a winter forest and criticizes the trees for not producing leaves.

We understand that dormancy is not death.

Perhaps our souls have seasons like that too.

Then my thoughts turned to Jesus.

He taught the crowds, healed the sick, and poured Himself out day after day. Yet He also disappeared into lonely places. Mountains. Wilderness. Quiet places with His Father.

No one could truthfully say He was doing nothing.

Communion with His Father was never a pause in His ministry.

It was His ministry.

That reminded me of something else Jesus said.

He never told us to produce fruit.

He told us to abide.

Fruit was never the command.

It was the promise.

How often have I quietly reversed that? Measuring my life by what I produce instead of by the One in whom I remain.

Perhaps that is why these quieter seasons matter so much.

They gently loosen our grip on performance and invite us back into communion.

Back to simply abiding.

Because when we abide, fruit follows.

Not always immediately.

Not always visibly.

But always in its season.

As I spoke with the Lord about all of this, I asked Him what I was supposed to do in a season like this.

His reply was wonderfully simple.

Simply abide.

Just those two words.

Immediately my heart felt lighter.

He is the Living Water.

He is the Vine.

He is my hope, my rescue, and my life.

For much of my life, I lived from performance. Everything felt transactional, as though my worth depended on producing, accomplishing, proving.

Only in these past few years have I begun discovering the beautiful freedom of surrendering into His marvelous love.

So I’m not posting a string of Scriptures or quoting famous authors. Most of us already know those words.

Instead, let this be enough.

Simply abide.

Live in His presence.

Rest in His love.

His mercies are new every morning.

He has not forgotten you.

He has not stopped working.

And neither has He stopped working in you.

So today, I’ll simply abide.

— G. Wray

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Thank you for reading.

If this met you where you are today, I’d love to hear what season your soul has been in lately.

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© G. Wray. All rights reserved.