The Quiet Work of the Spirit

Stop rushing, just sit and feel

Sundays have a different feel to them.

Even people who no longer attend church often move a little slower. The morning seems less hurried. There is space — whether we fill it with worship, family, or simply a second cup of coffee.

I’ve come to believe that much of spiritual growth doesn’t happen in dramatic moments. It happens quietly. Almost invisibly. I am much more spiritually oriented than religiously oriented in my later years. I see things much clearer and between the lines than in my younger years.

I have had many experiences over my life, and I think that is why I am the way I am. I see many who are very set in what they believe and are not willing to see anything outside of their belief system. I used to be that way too, and do not judge anyone for this.

On the farm, the most important work was rarely the loudest, but it still had lessons.

Planting season felt big. Harvest felt important. Machinery running gave the sense that something significant was happening.

But the real miracle was underground.

Seeds split open in darkness.
Roots pushed into soil no one could see.
Moisture and minerals moved silently upward.
Life formed long before green ever appeared.

Spiritual life seems to work the same way.

We often look for dramatic experiences — powerful sermons, emotional prayers, unmistakable signs, and even dreams or visions, of which I have had some of each. And when they happened, it was not planned by me. They happen typically unannounced and maybe a bit synchronistically.

But most of the time this shaping happens in smaller, hidden ways.

A softened reaction where anger once flared.
A patient pause instead of a sharp reply.
A willingness to listen when we would have corrected.

Scripture says, “The kingdom of God is within you.” (Luke 17:21)

If that is true, then the deepest work of God is not spectacle. It is cultivation.

There are seasons in life when nothing seems to be happening spiritually. No great insights. No mountain-top moments. Just ordinary days.

But perhaps those are root-growing days.

Perhaps the Spirit does its finest work in silence — aligning motives, sanding down pride, enlarging compassion — long before fruit appears.

I’ve noticed, as mentioned above, that when I try to force spiritual growth, it resists. But when I sit quietly — even for a few minutes — something steadies inside.

Not usually dramatic.
Not loud.
Just steady.

And over time, steady changes a person more than spectacles ever could.

The farm taught me patience with growth.

Sunday reminds me to trust it.