We race. From meeting to meeting. From screen to screen. From this to that. From hurry to more hurry.

When we wake from brief sleep to the moment we collapse again, we have minds buzzing, hearts racing, and souls aching.

Busy!

We are always busy.

Reaching for the next thing, the next task, the next distraction. Always reaching. 

We tell ourselves that constant doing is necessary. The world won’t stop, so why should we? Productivity is praised. Motion is celebrated.

If we aren’t moving, we fear we are failing. If we stop, we fear we might fall apart.

We fill every silent space with sound, every empty moment with motion. The hum of screens. The buzz of notifications. The endless scroll.

Why? Because doing nothing scares us.

Silence reveals what we’d rather not see. Stillness surfaces the questions we’ve buried. In the quiet, we face the parts of ourselves we’d rather avoid.

So we numb ourselves, packing our schedules and our brains. With busyness. With noise. With never-ending doing.

But what if doing nothing is the therapy we actually need? What if pausing could heal us? What if a Sabbath rhythm where we “do nothing, but be” could restore what we’ve lost?

Our exhausted brains were not meant for this endless pace. The constant churn fractures our attention. It steals our creativity. It breaks our ability to be fully present because our minds never stop spinning.

And our souls? They shrink in the absence of stillness.

When was the last time you heard the whisper of God’s voice? When did you last sit, fully aware, fully alive, fully present?

We’re doing this to ourselves. Running on fumes and calling it success. Exhausting our souls and calling it normal.

But it isn’t normal. It’s numbing.

And beneath the addiction to doing? We are longing. For rest. For meaning. For significance that isn’t earned by achievement.

Maybe it’s time to stop. Turn off the screens? I don’t like the idea, though I might need it. Silence the noise, to sit in the stillness and breathe again? I don’t like the idea, though I might need it. I write about it and talk about it. But I do not apply it well.

I should. I should say yes to this life of saying no. I should realize it’s time to stop.

Not to achieve. Not to perform. Not to impress.

Just to be.

What if the healing we need waits for the therapy of doing nothing?