The End of Chasing

There comes a moment when movement no longer brings clarity.

Not because life has stalled,
but because striving has reached its limit.

For a long time, chasing felt faithful.
Opportunities were scanned.
Doors were tested.
Next steps were pursued with sincerity and effort.

It looked like diligence.
It sounded like obedience.
It carried the language of responsibility.

But beneath it lived something quieter:
the fear of missing what God might do
if you did not keep moving.

Chasing is rarely frantic.
Often, it is composed.
Measured.
Strategic.

Yet it is still driven by urgency -
by the belief that direction must be secured through motion.

In the wilderness, this agreement begins to dissolve.

You stop forcing doors to open.
You stop interpreting silence as delay.
You stop assuming that stillness means disobedience.

Nothing dramatic happens.

You simply remain.

And in remaining, something unexpected occurs:
direction clarifies without effort.

What once required pursuit
now arrives with peace.

You realise that purpose was never ahead of you,
waiting to be caught.

It was beneath your feet all along -
waiting to be trusted.

Chasing ends not because desire disappears,
but because trust replaces urgency.

Movement is no longer self-initiated.
Action no longer proves faithfulness.
Rest no longer feels like risk.

You are not behind.
You are not late.
You have not missed it.

This is not the end of purpose.

It is the end of running toward it.

And in that stillness,
purpose finally rests -
and so do you.