Living at the Speed of My Soul

"Be still, and know that I am God." — Psalm 46:10

I've always loved speed, the thrill of being in the driver's seat, feeling the power beneath me, controlling the pace, daring the limits. Racing down the road, everything feels mine to manage every decision, every turn, every calculated risk.

There's something about going fast that feels like freedom. The wind is rushing past. The world is blurring at the edges. The adrenaline that makes you feel alive.

It's dangerous and exhilarating all at once, that edge where you're testing limits, proving you can handle whatever comes next.

But here's the truth about racing: even at high speed, even with the danger and the thrill, I'm still in control.
My hands are on the wheel.
My foot is on the pedal.
My eyes were fixed on what's ahead.

Racing is controlled chaos. Precision. Speed with structure. Surrendering to God is nothing like that.

Surrender means releasing the wheel entirely. Letting go of controlling the speed, the turns, the Someone. Trusting Someone else to navigate while I sit in the passenger seat, or better yet, resisting the urge to backseat drive for Someone.

And for Someone who's spent a lifetime racing, being the fixer, the problem-solver, the one expected to figure it out and carry it all, that feels unnatural. Terrifying, even.

For most of my life, I showed up. I took care of things. I kept everything moving forward.
Motion felt responsible.
Action felt faithful.
Being prepared felt like love.

Surrender, on the other hand, felt like losing control. Like giving up the one thing I'd always relied on myself. But God isn't asking me to crash. He's asking me to trust.

To trust that He's already ahead, steering, preparing the road, seeing what I can't see, guiding every turn long before I reach it. And in that surrender, I'm discovering a freedom I never felt behind the wheel alone, a freedom that doesn't depend on my grip, my speed, or my ability to anticipate what's coming.

That freedom didn't come easily.

For a long time, anxiety drove my decisions. As a planner who craves structure and systems, fear knew precisely how to hijack that, turning uncertainty into danger and the unknown into something threatening.

I thought moving fast was faithfulness. Planning everything was protection. Doing it all myself was a responsibility. But God is teaching me a different rhythm:

Pause before action.
Prayer before motion.
Trust before rushing.

When I slow down and let Him lead, something shifts. My heart settles. My perspective is clear. The noise of anxiety quiets. And I'm learning that absolute freedom isn't found in speed, it's found in alignment.

Even now, in moments of prayer when God says, "Be still. Just walk with me," I catch myself trying to predetermine the steps. The kids are growing. Life is changing. And I feel that familiar pressure creeping in, the urge to plan it all, control it all, figure it all out now.

It's not that I don't trust God. I do sincerely.
What doesn't come naturally is letting go of the wheel.

Sitting back. Releasing control. Allowing God to be fully in charge while I simply enjoy the ride.

My instinct is still to grab the map, plan the route, and anticipate every turn. But I'm learning to interrupt that reflex. To remind myself that God already has this. To take my foot off the pedal. To loosen my grip.

It doesn't feel natural yet, but it's more familiar than it used to be. And when I truly let go, I experience a peace I could never manufacture on my own.

Whether it's anxiety wiring your thoughts or like me a tendency to analyze and overthink everything, the result is the same: the soul disconnects.

All the mental noise.
All the planning and controlling.
All the racing ahead.

It pulls us away from the deep place where God is trying to meet us.

Because God isn't just trying to calm the body or quiet the mind.
He's trying to settle the soul.

That core place radiates outward into everything else. When the soul is at peace with God, aligned with His rhythm, breathing in His presence, the rest begins to follow.

The body can rest.
The mind can be quiet.
The heart can trust.

But it starts in the soul. In that deep, quiet place where God whispers the truth He's been speaking all along: "Be still, and know that I am God."
He's got this. He's inviting us to walk with Him.

And learning to live at the speed of my soul means learning to slow down enough to hear Him there.

There's another part of surrender that surprised me, the freedom of showing up without pretending.

No polishing.
No performing.
No, trying to look stronger than I am.

Just honesty. Just surrender. Just a simple prayer: "God, here I am. Lead me."

That kind of honesty brings peace. Because nothing is forced or faked. God never asked me to be perfect, only to surrender.

And in that surrender, I'm learning I can still be me, the helper, the giver, the one who loves deeply without being emptied by it.

So here I am, learning how to live surrendered.

Letting God guide.
Aligning my steps with His.
Allowing Him to correct gently, steady me, and heal the places where anxiety once ruled.

Every day, I wake up and choose to show up
not in frantic motion,
not in constant control,
not in the driver's seat alone.

But in trust.
In faith.
In openness.
In freedom.

Surrender isn't the end of strength.
It's the beginning of peace.

And day by day, step by step, decision by decision, I'm learning to live at the pace of my soul, the pace where God meets me, guides me, and leads me into His best.

If you're reading this and recognizing yourself as the planner, the fixer, the one who's constantly moving, know this: you're not alone.

You don't have to have it all figured out before you surrender. You don't have to stop being who God made you to be. You don't have to become spontaneous or carefree overnight.

God isn't asking you to change your personality.
He's asking you to let go.

And he's patient in the process. He doesn't expect perfection, just willingness. He keeps whispering, "Let me lead. I've got you."

So if your soul feels tired from all the racing, all the planning, all the controlling, take a breath.

God is inviting you to a different pace.
Not slower because you're weak, but slower because you've surrendered.
Not aimless but aligned.
Not passive but at peace.

He's already gone before you order your steps, guarding what you cannot see, and shaping the road with purpose and love.

You can trust Him with the wheel, not because the road will be easy, but because His hands are steady, His timing is perfect, and His heart is always for you.

You can rest in the journey, not striving, not forcing, not fearing what's ahead, knowing the One who leads you also walks with you.

And you can truly live at the speed of your soul, where faith replaces fear, peace outpaces control, and every step is held in the care of a faithful God.

I'd love to hear from you. Where are you in this journey? What's resonating? What's challenging you?

Drop a comment below and share:

What does "speed" look like in your life right now?
It could be the packed schedule, the constant planning, the inability to sit still. What's keeping you racing instead of resting?

When you imagine "releasing the wheel," what comes up for you?
Is it fear? Relief?A little bit of both? I get it, and I'd love to hear what that looks like in your world.

If you could live at the speed of your soul this week, what would change?
What's one area where God might be inviting you to slow down, trust more, or just breathe?

How is overthinking or anxiety pulling you away from God right now?
What mental noise is drowning out His voice? You're not alone in this. Let's process it together.

What's one small surrender you can make today?
It doesn't have to be big. Just one thing you can release into God's hands. Share it here. Sometimes, naming it out loud makes it real.

I'll be reading every comment and responding to them. Let's encourage each other in this journey of learning to live surrendered.

Father,

Teach me to release my grip. To trust Your timing more than my planning. To believe that your pace is better than my speed. Settle my soul in the deep places where anxiety cannot reach. Help me hear Your voice above the noise of my own thoughts, my own fears, my own need to control. When I catch myself grabbing the wheel again, gently remind me that You're already ahead, preparing, guiding, seeing what I cannot see. Give me the courage to sit back. To breathe. To simply enjoy the ride you're taking me on. I surrender this day, these decisions, these fears, and this beautiful, messy life into Your hands. Teach me to live at the speed of my soul, the pace where You meet me, guide me, and lead me into Your best.

Amen.