When the Quiet Isn’t the Problem—Our Focus Is
by Jennifer Greene-Sullivan
Interestingly, the loneliness does not show up in the kitchen while meal prepping for Chris (who is diabetic) and Liam (who has celiac disease). When I am standing at the stove, my hands are busy, and my heart is turned toward the Lord. I am praying, thinking of my family, interceding in small, quiet ways. There is purpose in those moments even when the work feels repetitive. However, the office feels different to me lately.
When I sit down at my desk and the office is still, something shifts. The noise is gone. The tasks are caught up. There is no immediate demand pulling me in one direction or another. These quiet moments I find that my thoughts begin to wander.
When Stillness Turns Inward
I begin to measure my day. I think about what I have accomplished and quietly question whether it was enough. I remember the pace I once kept, the number of people I interacted with, and the visible impact my days used to hold. It is in those moments that the old expectations begin to rise. The stillness creates space, and if I am not careful, I fill that space with comparison.
Comparison to who I used to be.
Comparison to what I used to do.
Comparison to a version of myself that was constantly producing. Before I even realize it, the quiet begins to feel like loneliness.
The Real Issue Beneath the Feeling
For a while, I thought the problem was the quiet itself, but the more I sit with it, the more I am beginning to understand something deeper. The quiet is not the problem. The quiet is a gift. It is space the Lord has given me—space I did not have before now. Space to breathe, to think, and to draw near to Him.
The real issue is where my focus settles when the quiet comes. When my attention turns inward—toward productivity, comparison, or unmet expectations—the quiet feels heavy, but when my attention turns upward—toward the Lord—the quiet begins to feel like peace. Unfortunately, I am still learning how to make that turn.
A Shift in Focus
Scripture gently redirects us in moments like these.
Isaiah 26:3
“You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you because he trusts in you.” Peace is not found in filling the quiet; it is found in fixing our minds. When my thoughts begin to spiral, I have a choice. I can continue measuring, comparing, and questioning, or I can intentionally turn my attention back to Him. Not in a forced or formal way, but in a quiet, honest, “Lord, here I am again” kind of way.
Learning to Sit with Him
I am still learning how to sit in the quiet. Some days, I do it well. Other days, I feel the pull to fill the silence with noise, plans, or distractions. I still wrestle with the urge to prove that my time is being used “well,” but I am beginning to see that abiding does not always look productive.
Sometimes it looks like sitting at a desk, noticing your thoughts drifting, and gently bringing them back to the Lord. Again and again.
Devotional Thought
The quiet places in your life are not empty spaces to be feared or filled. They are invitations. The Lord has given me invitations to notice where my thoughts go when nothing is demanding my attention. Invitations to gently redirect my focus back to the One who is always present.
Loneliness often grows where our thoughts settle inward. on the other hand, peace grows where our thoughts turn upward, and in those quiet, unseen moments, Jesus is not absent. He is attentive. He is present.
I would like to invite you to revaluate the quiet places in your life. Could you shift your perspective and determine these times are not empty spaces to be feared or filled? Could you perceive them as opportunities of nearness?
The Lord has given me invitations to notice where my thoughts go when nothing is demanding my attention—gentle moments where I can redirect my focus back to the One who is always present.
I think of Ruth in those quiet, vulnerable spaces of her life. She had suffered deep loss, yet she remained loyal—not only to Naomi, but to the God of Abraham. Day after day, she went into the fields to glean, serving her mother-in-law and gathering what little she could so they might both be sustained. There had to have been moments when loneliness crept in… moments of discouragement… moments of wondering what would come next.
In these very isolated moments, day after day, Ruth went into the fields to glean—bending low, gathering what had been left behind, piece by piece, so she and Naomi might both be sustained.
Gleaning is quiet work.
It is slow.
It is humble.
It requires attention to what is right in front of you.
Yet even there, she was not forgotten.
In time, Ruth found herself at the feet of her kinsman-redeemer, Boaz. Not striving. Not demanding. Simply trusting in his covering. “Spread your garment over me, since you are a guardian-redeemer of our family.” (Ruth 3:9) In that quiet, sacred moment, Ruth wasn’t reaching upward in desperation—she was resting under the covering of one who had both the authority and the willingness to redeem her, and it was there—in that posture of humility and surrender—that everything changed.
That covering echoes a greater promise:
“He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge…” (Psalm 91:4)
This is the invitation of the quiet place—not abandonment, but refuge. Not emptiness, but nearness. To dwell, to remain, to abide under His covering.
Additionally, I cannot help but think of Mary, sitting at the feet of Jesus in Luke 10. While the world pressed in with distractions and demands, she chose the quiet place. She chose presence over productivity, stillness over striving, and Jesus said she had chosen what was better—and it would not be taken from her. Mary gleaned from Jesus in these very precious moments just as:
Ruth at the feet of Boaz.
Mary at the feet of Jesus.
Both found covering there.
…so do we…
Loneliness often grows where our thoughts settle inward, but peace begins to take root when our thoughts turn upward—when we choose to rest at the feet of the One who sees, who covers, who redeems. In our quiet places, we are invited under His covering—not because we have earned it, but because He freely gives it. In those quiet, unseen moments, Jesus is not absent.
He is attentive.
He is present, and Jesus is still saying, “Come closer.” Will you stop and glean from Him today and any day that the quietness seeps into your mind or your day?
What are you gleaning? What am I gleaning?
Finding Jesus in the Stillness
I am beginning to understand something I did not see before because Jesus has always been present in the quiet. For so many years, I looked for Him in the movement—in the teaching, the leading, the serving, the doing. I associated His presence with activity, with impact, and with visible fruit. Thankfully, Scripture shows us something different because Jesus notices what others overlook.
In Mark 12, Jesus sat and watched as people gave their offerings at the temple while teaching His disciples. He noticed each offering bearer, taking note of his or her gift as well as gleaning the heart posture of each person. He knew instantly their thoughts, their toils, and their worship. Many gave out of their abundance. Their gifts were large, noticeable, and easily admired. Anyone watching would have assumed those were the offerings that mattered most.
Yet, Jesus’ attention was drawn somewhere else. The SAVIOR of the entire world pointed out to his students one very ordinary, poor woman. Jesus recognized and mentioned her to the disciples. The widow approached quietly and gave two small coins—so small they were almost insignificant by worldly standards. No applause followed her. No one stopped to recognize her sacrifice.
Except Jesus.
Mark 12:43–44
“Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others.
They all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty, put in everything—all she had to live on.”
He saw her; not just what she gave—but Jesus saw the heart behind it.
This passage has settled into my heart in a new way in this quiet season. Because right now, much of my life looks like that widow’s offering.
It is small.
It is quiet.
It is mostly unseen.
Meal prepping.
Helping Liam with sight words.
Managing the home.
Caring for Chris.
Showing up day after day in ways that no one applauds, and no one sees.
And yet…Jesus sees it.
Where I Am Learning to Find Him Now
I used to think I needed a platform to be effective; now I am learning that I need His presence more than I need productivity. I find Him in the kitchen while I pray over meals, in the quiet moments when I choose to turn my thoughts back to Him, and in the stillness that once made me uncomfortable. He has been here all along. I just did not recognize Him in this form.
What should I do in this season? I should continue to show up. I should continue to serve. I should continue to pray. Because I am learning that this quiet, unseen life is not empty—it is full of opportunities to meet Jesus. The same Jesus who saw the widow, who noticed what no one else did, who values what the world overlooks—He sees this season too. And maybe—just maybe—this is where I was meant to find Him all along.
A Prayer
Lord,
You see the quiet places in my life. You see the thoughts that rise when everything else settles down. Teach me to recognize when my focus has shifted inward instead of upward. Help me to take those thoughts captive and gently return them to You. Remind me that I do not need to fill every quiet moment with activity to have value or purpose. Meet me in the stillness. Turn my loneliness into peace—not by changing my circumstances, but by changing where my heart rests. Teach me to abide with You, even here. Amen.
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