Following the Thread

Over the last two weeks, we’ve been slowing down. First, we noticed what was overflowing from our hearts. Then we began learning to name what was happening beneath the surface instead of simply reacting to it.

This week, I’d like to ask another gentle question. Where did this come from?

For a long time, I assumed my reactions began in the moment. If I became anxious, it was because something anxious had just happened. If I became defensive, it was because someone hurt me. If I became overwhelmed, it was because life was overwhelming.

But I’ve come to realize something different. Our reactions are rarely just about the moment we’re living in. More often, they’re connected to stories we’ve been carrying for a very long time, stories that have become so familiar we no longer realize we’re living from them.

A while back, my daughter received a text that there had been possible fraud on her debit card. Within minutes, my mind wasn’t thinking about the debit card anymore. I was thinking about the trip my husband and I had planned out of the country.

What if something happened while we were gone? What if one of the kids needed us? Maybe we shouldn’t even leave. I literally exploded, “This is why we can’t go on vacation!”

Looking back, the speed and intensity of my reaction should have told me something. This wasn’t really about the debit card.

Years ago, I probably would have tried to reason my way out of it. “You’re overreacting.” “Everything is fine.” “Stop worrying.” Instead, I tried something different. I stayed. I noticed what was happening in my body instead of immediately trying to make the feeling go away. I brought that discomfort to Jesus. And then, with quiet curiosity, I asked the Holy Spirit, “Help me understand what this reaction is really about.”

Not because I expected an immediate answer, but because I’ve been learning that curiosity creates space for God to speak.

Slowly, He began to show me a thread. Not back to the debit card. Back to being eighteen years old. Back to losing my mom. Back to a quiet promise I had made somewhere deep inside my heart. “The people I love will never have to feel as alone as I did.”

I don’t remember deciding that. But I had been living from it for years.

Suddenly, so many things began making sense. Why I carried responsibility that wasn’t mine. Why it was difficult to truly rest. Why I felt responsible for everyone else’s emotions. Why vacations sometimes felt heavier than joyful. Why I worked so hard to protect the people I loved from pain.

I thought I was simply being loving. I didn’t realize an old story had quietly been shaping the way I loved. It wasn’t all bad. That story made me compassionate, attentive, protective. But it also led me to carry burdens God had never asked me to carry. It quietly taught me that love meant responsibility. Jesus wanted to teach me something different.

One of my favorite moments in Scripture comes in Genesis 3. Adam and Eve have hidden. They’re ashamed. They’re afraid. God comes looking for them. His first question isn’t, “What did you do?” It’s, “Where are you?” Later He asks another question. “Who told you that?”

I’ve often wondered if those are still two of the questions God gently asks us today. Where are you? Who told you that? Not because He doesn’t know. Because we often don’t. The stories we’ve lived from for years begin to feel like reality instead of stories. We stop noticing them, until something touches them.

I’ve discovered that when a reaction feels bigger than the moment, it’s usually an invitation. Not to judge myself. Not to shame myself. But to become curious. To notice. To stay. To invite the Holy Spirit into the places I’d rather hurry past.

I’ve found that He is incredibly gentle. He doesn’t uncover old stories so He can expose them. He uncovers them so He can heal them. Whatever He brings into the light, He brings there to heal, not to expose.

One of the greatest gifts God has given us in this journey is one another. While the Holy Spirit often meets us personally, He also works through wise counselors, trusted friends, coaches, mentors, and communities who are willing to sit with us in our stories.

Some of our deepest wounds happened in relationship. It shouldn’t surprise us that so much of God’s healing also comes through relationship. Sometimes someone else gently notices a thread we’ve been unable to see. Sometimes they simply stay with us while we begin to see it ourselves. Both are gifts.

The next time a reaction catches you off guard, resist the urge to push it away. Pause. Notice what is happening in your body. Bring that discomfort into God’s presence. Then, with gentle curiosity, simply ask, “Jesus, where are You meeting me in this?”

You don’t have to untangle the whole story today. Sometimes transformation begins with nothing more than becoming willing to stay with Him long enough to follow the thread.

Until next time, may you slow down, notice His presence, and return again to the One who is already holding you.

Grace and peace, Sacha