The Speed of Return

Without exception time and again, we have found that He does. This practice is not about emotionalism or technique; it is about training the heart to listen and respond. Over time, journaling becomes more than a spiritual exercise—it becomes a doorway into a lifestyle of inward conversation with God. As the residents we serve move into daily work, responsibilities, and the real pressures of overcoming sin addictions, we can always return to this grounding question: Have you asked the Lord what He is saying to you, or doing in this moment? In nearly every case, when they do, clarity follows. What begins on paper becomes a way of living—learning to abide with Christ in the middle of real life.  

So what do I mean by continuous inner abiding? I do not mean striving to feel God’s presence, nor repeatedly performing outward acts in order to “get back” to Him. Inner abiding begins when a believer, by faith, turns inward toward Christ and remains there. It is the realization that Christ is not approached from the outside, but dwells within. Scripture is clear: “Christ in you, the hope of glory” (Colossians 1:27). Once this reality is received—not merely understood, but lived—the soul no longer lives in constant motion toward God, but in quiet residence with Him.  

To turn inward to God by a direct act means that, at some point, the heart stopped searching outwardly and came home. That turning is real. It is intentional. But it is not meant to be repeated endlessly. Once the soul has turned and found Christ present within, the work is no longer to keep turning, but to remain. Jesus did not say, “Come to Me again and again, ” but “Abide in Me” (John 15:4). Abiding assumes arrival. It assumes nearness. It assumes union.  

Spiritual maturity can often be measured not only by whether a person has learned to relate to God in this inward, abiding way, but by how quickly they return to it when they drift. Every believer experiences moments of distraction, pressure, fear, or emotional pull that draws awareness away from inner abiding. The issue is not the interruption itself—it is the recovery time. If it takes days or weeks to return to that place of inward rest, wisdom, and listening, that reveals one level of maturity. If, however, a person is able within hours—or even moments—to recognize the drift, turn back inward, and reconnect with the Lord’s peace and direction, that reveals another. Maturity is not perfection; it is responsiveness. The faster the heart returns to Christ, the more formed the inner life has become.  

Many believers live as though Christ is always just outside reach—requiring effort, activity, or atmosphere to access. So when they feel distance, they try to reproduce past spiritual actions: certain prayers, certain worship songs, certain routines, certain outward disciplines. While those practices may have been useful in an earlier season, they can become unnecessary—or even distracting—once the soul has learned to dwell. The danger is not the disciplines themselves, but mistaking them for the source of presence rather than expressions of relationship.  

In this stage of spiritual life, the soul becomes deeply content in Christ. Not complacent—but settled. Active—but at rest. The spirit learns to converse with God inwardly, not as a technique, but as relationship. Prayer becomes less about speaking and more about awareness. Worship becomes less about sound and more about surrender. Obedience flows more naturally because the will is no longer straining toward God—it is already aligned with Him.  

This is why it can feel difficult, even awkward, to deliberately “turn outward” again once inner abiding has begun. The soul has learned a deeper way. Trying to recreate earlier methods can feel hollow, not because God has withdrawn, but because the believer has moved from approach to abiding. Hebrews describes this movement when it says, “We who have believed enter that rest” (Hebrews 4:3). Rest does not mean inactivity; it means ceasing from self-driven spiritual effort.  

That does not mean abiding is never interrupted. Life happens. Distraction, sin, fear, busyness, or emotional turmoil can momentarily pull awareness outward. When that happens, the soul does not need to search for God again—only to return to where He already is. This is the only time a conscious “turning” is necessary: not to find Christ, but to remember Him. Repentance, in this sense, is not shame-filled striving; it is gentle reorientation.  

The apostle Paul speaks from this place when he says, “It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me” (Galatians 2:20). This is not poetic language—it is lived reality. The believer who abides learns to walk, work, serve, suffer, and rejoice from within Christ rather than toward Him.  Ministry becomes fruit-bearing rather than effort-driven. Obedience becomes response rather than performance.  

Importantly, this inner abiding does not make a believer less active—it makes them rightly active. Jesus Himself lived this way.  “The Son can do nothing of His own accord, but only what He sees the Father doing” (John 5:19). His activity flowed from union, not urgency. From listening, not striving. From relationship, not religious effort.  

This is why the soul can be deeply at rest while the body is fully engaged. One can be working, serving, speaking, or even fighting spiritual battles, and yet remain inwardly quiet, anchored, and present with God. This is the life Jesus described when He said, “The kingdom of God is within you” (Luke 17:21). Not coming later. Not arriving someday. Present now.  

Continuous inner abiding is not something you achieve—it is something you allow. It is trusting that Christ truly meant what He said: “I am with you always” (Matthew 28:20). The believer who learns this no longer chases presence. They live from it.  

And from that place, everything else flows.