Finding the Middle Gear

My littlest is sick today. She’s curled up beside me, snoring softly, doing that heavy, stuffy-nose breathing that makes sleep feel like work. We’ve walked this road before—her big sister needed her adenoids and tonsils out, and I have a feeling we’re heading there with her too.

She probably picked up something at preschool, and now we’re spending the morning in bed. Just her and me. And of course, kids never get sick at convenient times. My brother and his family flew in from California last night, so the timing feels… well, less than ideal.

But this little three-year-old girl continues to teach me about control—specifically, how little of it I actually have. I want to be downstairs hosting. I want to be making sure everyone has what they need, checking that my older kids are playing gently with their younger cousins, keeping conversations going, keeping the house running, keeping… well, everything running.

I want to orchestrate it all.
But I can’t. Not today.

And maybe that’s the point.

These moments force me to let things unfold without my constant hand on the wheel. They give other people a chance to rise—my husband, my older kids, even our guests. And they remind me of something I forget so quickly: community won’t crumble without me. It will breathe.

I feel this lesson deep in my bones because I’ve been here before.

If you’ve read my post about my “whale season”—where God quite literally stopped me in my tracks—you can read about that season here: When the Whale  Becomes a Blessing. During that season, I was forced into gear 0. Life slowed to a crawl, and I couldn’t keep up my usual pace.

But the moment I healed enough, I jumped straight back into gear 100.

And I feel it now.
In my body.
In my mind.
In the way I keep pushing through busy weeks like hosting over twenty people for Friendsgiving and prepping our home for a week-long visit with family.

I love it—opening my home, filling it with people, feeding them, creating space that feels welcoming. It genuinely brings me joy. But lying here next to my feverish three-year-old, I can feel the exhaustion from living in overdrive for far too long.

I know how to go all out.
I know how to shut down.
What I don’t know is how to live in that mysterious middle gear.

The one where I can show up fully and still take care of myself.
Where I can love and serve without burning out.
Where the pace is sustainable, present, and life-giving.

And maybe the search for that middle gear starts right here—in a quiet bedroom, beside a snoring toddler, learning once again to surrender the need to control everything, and trusting that God is moving in places I cannot see.

A Moment to Reflect

Maybe you’re reading this in your own version of a slowdown—a sick kid, a canceled plan, an unexpected pause in your week. Maybe you feel that same swing between extremes and long for a gentler, more intentional rhythm. If so, let this be your reminder: you don’t have to run the whole show today. You can step back, breathe, and let life unfold without you holding all the strings. Sometimes the most sacred growth happens in the space where we finally loosen our grip and let God lead.

A Prayer for the Middle Gear

Lord,
Teach me to find the middle gear.
Help me release my need to control every moment and trust that You are present in all the moments I cannot touch.
Give me grace to rest, courage to slow down, and eyes to see the beauty unfolding even when I’m not the one orchestrating it.
Thank You for the small teachers in my life—especially the tiny three-year-old beside me—who remind me what surrender truly looks like.
Help me walk gently in this season, honoring both the work and the rest, the joy and the stillness.
Lead me into that peaceful in-between place where I can live fully and faithfully with You.
Amen.