The Sacred Gift of Permission

A Place That Asks Nothing of Me

There are moments in our life that do not announce their level of importance, yet quietly shape us all at the same time.

A weekend adventure with my favorite travel partner has become one of those moments. Tucked away quietly in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Georgia – remote, secluded, and refreshingly removed from the hustle of town, I find permission. It is here that urgency has no place, and the noise has settled enough for honesty to breathe. Outside the window is a picturesque day for a restful day in the mountains. The rain has settled in for the afternoon, and a gentle fog has wrapped the mountains just enough to soften every sharp edge. This kind of weather draws everything inward. This is what I would call my favorite kind of day.

The gentleness of the outdoors somehow matches the cozy rhythm of the indoors. The conversations here have been deep and unforced. The answers we have shared with one another are unrehearsed and authentic. There is something deeply healing about sitting with others in a place of vulnerability and authenticity. Just as this warm, inviting cabin demands absolutely nothing from its tenants, we have demanded nothing from one another. In fact, nothing about this weekend adventure is asking us to prove anything, but rather to give ourselves permission.

Permission

Today, I find myself sitting in a rather large, comfortable chair next to a window that requires no light switch. A single lamp glows softly in the distance, my journal rests nearby, and my soul is filled with pure contentment as I ponder on the word for today: permission.

Some of us seem to carry more invisible expectations than we would like to admit. The internal pressure of life seems to always be moving, producing, and progressing. The concept of rest, at times, feels like something that we must justify rather than simply receive. Stillness can feel irresponsible and enjoying serenity can feel suspicious.

And yet, here in this place, surrounded by the rain, with pleasant company, I find myself practicing permission.

Permission to slow my thoughts instead of sharpening them.
Permission to write without an audience.
Permission to enjoy a day that is meaningful and yet productive.

There is a vulnerability in this kind of permission.

Scripture & the God Who Welcomes Rest

The bible never once refers to rest as a weakness, nor categorizes it as laziness, though we often do. From the beginning, God builds rest into the blueprints of creation. In fact, what we find in Scripture reveals that God Himself rested from all of his work (Genesis 2:2), not because He was exhausted, but because rest completes what is good.

We see them embodiment of rest in the rhythm of Christ. He often withdrew to a secluded place and stepped away from the crowd.

Mark 6:31 “Come off by yourselves; let’s take a break and get a little rest.” For there was constant coming and going. They didn’t even have time to eat.

The disciples were invited to rest. Not because they failed. Not because they were unfaithful. But because they were human.

The theology of permission – a God who does not demand constant output, but invites presence. There is beauty in understanding that formation does not happen only when we are in constant motion. It happens in the stillness and silence.

Psalm 46:10 “Be still, and know that I am God” is not a demand; it is an invitation.

What the Mind Needs When the Soul Slows Down

When we live in a state of constant urgency, our nervous system becomes trained to remain in a perpetual state of low-grade threat. We begin to gravitate towards productivity as a form of safety. The opportunity of stillness can seem uncomfortable, not because it is wrong, but because it removes our distractions.

Slowing down allows our body to do what it was created to do – regulate itself. Our mind becoming settled will allow for our soul to speak without being interrupted. It is in these moments that reflection becomes possible. We begin to remember that we are not held together by vigilance, but by grace – quiet, steady, and faithful, like rain soaking into the mountains.

The Sacredness of the Ordinary

As I sit here today, I feel a deep longing for more of this. More spaces that feel sacred without being performative. More conversations that allow complexity without fear. More moments where we are not trying to fix ourselves, the Church, or the world – but simply telling the truth in the presence of others.

There is a holiness to this kind of stillness. A sacredness to enjoying a rainy day. Scripture reminds us that God is often found not in the dramatic, but in the quiet whisper:
“After the fire came a gentle whisper” (I Kings 19:12)

I am convinced that so many of us are longing for permission – not permission to abandon faith, but permission to inhabit it honestly. To rest. To slow down. To trust that God is doing a great work in us, even when we are not striving.

An Invitation, Not a Conclusion

Today I am choosing permission.

Permission to enjoy the rain.
Permission to read slowly.
Permission to sit by a window and let the light fall where it will.
Permission to believe that this moment counts, even if no one else ever sees it.

And perhaps that is the encouragement worth offering: you are allowed to pause. You are allowed to rest. You are allowed to inhabit a moment fully without turning it into proof of your worth.

Sometimes the most faithful thing that we can do is stop striving long enough to give ourselves permission.