Alan Fadling's Blog

Blog by Gem Fadling

In Anneke Kaai and Eugene Peterson’s book titled In a Word, Peterson writes of the vastness of love:

 

“I say ‘love’ but what I mean is ‘I want…I desire…I need…’ Even as I say it, I know that it is not love. It is all me-directed. It is all self. The largeness of love is reduced to the mouse hole of the ego. The fire of love is smothered under blankets of self-preoccupation. How do I recover its glory, its splendor, its energy?”

 

The phrase “mouse hole of the ego” struck me deeply. After reading this, I imagined a tiny arched mouse hole, like the ones from the old Tom & Jerry cartoons. A small, dark opening in the baseboard of a home. It felt cramped and hidden, a place of fear and scurrying rather than freedom.

 

My mind then stretched outward from that mouse hole into the room, outside the house, and out into the world, expanding ever further into the universe, beyond what I could see, a vastness I could not comprehend. In comparison to the universe, a mouse hole is a fairly small thing, wouldn’t you say? And yet how easily I reduce love to the smallness of my ego.

 

Peterson is such a master with words, so perfectly describing the smallness of what I perceive to be love when it is filtered through my own wants. My ego is so good at trying to make itself bigger. Thomas Merton describes the ego as not being real, as having to wrap itself up, to clothe itself so it feels real. The ego likes to keep busy, to compare, and to defend itself.

 

My ego desires to be center stage, believing it has to be bigger, better, and bolder than anyone else. But this takes so much energy, and at this point in my life, I’m exhausted in the trying.

 

I love the freedom of expanding my vision of God to the vastness that is beyond comprehension. God’s enormity reminds me that there is nowhere God isn’t—or, as I like to say, that God is not elsewhere. This vastness does not diminish intimacy, it deepens it. It grants me the perspective I so desperately need.

 

Some might complain that if God is so big, then why do bad things happen? That is an unanswerable question. I will simply testify that in my moments of deepest pain and suffering, that is when I have felt the reality of God’s presence most profoundly. Corrie Ten Boom, someone who endured profound suffering, would agree: God is with us in the darkest places, not removed from them.

 

God is never elsewhere.

 

This means that God’s love is never elsewhere. God can only love because that is how God self-defines (1 John 4:8). Love is not something God does occasionally but continuously.

 

I don’t want to be limited by my ego to a love the size of a mouse hole. I want my heart to be stretched by the vastness of God rather than shrunk by my fears. How about you?

 

For Reflection: 

How might I remain more open to the expansiveness of God?
How can I stay awake to the smallness of my ego without shaming myself?
What would it look like to expand my thinking, feeling, and believing today?

 

 (Anneke Kaai and Eugene Peterson. In a Word: The Image and Language of Faith.  Paraclete Press, 2003, p. 9.)

 

 

Blog by the Unhurried Living Team

 

Leadership drift is not a sudden fall — it is a slow departure, quiet and compounding, that most leaders never see coming. In this conversation, Alan Fadling speaks with Peter Greer, president and CEO of Hope International and co-author of How Leaders Lose Their Way, about why even sincere, gifted leaders gradually lose their footing, and what it actually looks like to finish well. The answer is less dramatic than most of us hope, and far more daily than most of us practice.

Peter Greer opens with a statistic that is difficult to set aside: only one in three leaders in Scripture finished well. Not one in ten — one in three. And the research suggests the numbers are similar today. That means, statistically speaking, it is easier to drift than to stay the course. Not because of dramatic failure, but because of attitudes that form quietly upstream from any visible action.

 

What Are the Early Warning Signs of Leadership Drift?

Peter Greer identifies three warning signs that appeared again and again in his research, and their commonality is what makes them so sobering. The first is the belief that it could never happen to me. Leaders who have watched others fall sometimes carry a quiet exceptionalism — a sense that their track record or intentions protect them. Peter is clear: that belief is itself a danger signal.

The second warning sign is inattentiveness to small compromises. Not grand moral failures, but the slow accumulation of tiny justifications. Alan Fadling describes it as being one degree off course — barely noticeable at twenty yards, disorienting at twenty miles. Peter adds the image of a weed tree that was ignored for years until it took a neighborhood two full days to remove. What would have taken ten minutes three years earlier had become a crisis through simple inattention.

The third warning sign is isolation: no one in your life who really knows what is going on. Peter frames the question plainly — who in your life has full access, no topic off limits, and would respond with both love and a straight word when you need it? For many leaders, that person does not exist. And where accountability is absent, drift accelerates.

Peter Greer draws on the ancient words of Psalm 139, the prayer David prayed — "Search me, Lord, know me, show me where I am going off track" — as the posture that changes everything. The difference between drifting and returning is not talent or intention; it is whether you are willing to pray that prayer today and mean it.

Today, try this: write down the name of one person in your life who has full permission to tell you the truth. If you cannot think of one, let that be the first thing you address.

If you want to explore what it looks like to build that kind of grounded accountability into your life, Unhurried Living's community of spiritual directors is a place to begin — find it here.

 

Why Is Success More Spiritually Dangerous Than Failure?

One of the most disorienting observations in Peter Greer's research is this: some of the most destructive decisions leaders made came not in seasons of difficulty, but immediately after moments of great breakthrough. A ministry milestone. A church celebration. A mountaintop moment. And then, that same day, an unwise choice that quietly began to unravel something important.

The reason, Peter suggests, is entitlement. Success whispers "I deserve this" and "I don't need to be on guard." It lowers defenses at precisely the moment they are most needed. Alan reflects that some of his own most dangerous moments have come when everything seemed to be going well — when he had unconsciously begun to believe that visible fruitfulness meant inner health.

Peter pairs this with the story of King Solomon, a figure whose life Peter Greer returns to throughout How Leaders Lose Their Way. Solomon began with stunning humility. When God invited him to ask for anything, he asked for wisdom, acknowledging that he could not govern God's people by his own strength. The Book of Proverbs is full of Solomon's wisdom on protecting the heart, staying on course, trusting God rather than one's own understanding. And yet the scholar Tim Mackie of the Bible Project has observed that by the time Solomon dies, he more closely resembles Pharaoh than his father David. Solomon knew what to do. He simply did not do it.

The gap between what we know and what we live is, Peter argues, the most honest measure of spiritual danger. A growing gap is a warning. A shrinking one is grace.

One practice to begin today: when something goes well — a conversation, a project, a season — pause before celebrating and ask, "What do I have that was not given to me?" Let gratitude interrupt the drift toward entitlement.

Do you feel like the pace of your life has been crowding out the deeper work? The Unhurried Daily Email offers forty days of guided reflection designed to slow you down — get started here.

 

What Helps Leaders Stay Rooted and Finish Well?

The antidote to drift, Peter Greer says, is not a breakthrough moment or a new strategy. It is the mundane, hidden, daily practice of returning to Jesus. He points to John 15 — "Abide in me, and apart from me you can do nothing" — as the frame for everything else. Abiding is not a feeling; it is a direction. It is the repeated choice to remain connected to the source rather than working increasingly far from it.

Peter names three practices that consistently mark leaders who finish well, and he is the first to admit they are not new. The first is silence and stillness. He asks a pointed question: when was the last time you were physically absent from your phone or screen? Scripture holds to a rhythm of one in seven days for rest and quiet, and Peter believes the pace of modern life means we need it more, not less.

The second is fasting and confession. These are practices many leaders have quietly abandoned, and yet Peter found them to be quietly transformative. Confession in particular — naming something honestly before God and another person — brings a freedom that accumulated silence never does.

The third is real friendship. Not the task-oriented relationships that fill most leaders' calendars, and not the digital approximations of connection that pass for community. Peter means old-fashioned, unhurried presence with people who have nothing to do with your organization — people who walk with you simply because they love you.

He also points to servant leadership as a kind of daily soul check, drawing on the example of leaders he interviewed who quietly shined shoes or took out the trash in ways no one would ever see. The primary beneficiary of servant leadership, Peter observes, is not your organization. It is your own heart.

Begin today by doing one small act of service that no one will know about. Take out the trash. Refill the coffee. Help with something beneath your title. Let it be between you and God.

 
Leading from Hurry vs. Leading from Abiding

Leading from Hurry

Leading from Abiding

Dashboard goes dark; only the next task is visible

Attention widens to include people, relationships, and inner life

Small compromises accumulate unnoticed

Micro-course corrections happen regularly

Isolation grows; no one really knows you

Real friendship and accountability remain intact

Success breeds entitlement and lowered guard

Success prompts gratitude and renewed dependence

The gap between knowing and living widens

Daily practices close the gap over time

 
A Word for Leaders Who Feel the Weight of This

The Unhurried Living podcast exists for leaders who are doing good work and quietly wondering how long they can sustain it. If you find yourself drawn to these conversations, you are likely someone who cares deeply about the inner life of leadership, not just its output. There are others like you — pastors, nonprofit directors, coaches, and ministry leaders who are learning to move at a different pace and lead from a different center. Wherever you are in that process, there is a place for you in this ongoing conversation.

 

The Drift Is Real — and So Is the Return

Leadership drift is easier than finishing well; the research is honest about that. But the invitation of Jesus in John 15 is not complicated, even when it is hard — stay connected, abide, return when you have wandered. Peter Greer closes this conversation with the kind of word a trusted friend would offer: if you know you are drifting, praise God. That awareness is itself a gift. The grace of God is never exhausted, and the invitation to course-correct is always available today.

The Unhurried Living weekly email brings this kind of reflection to your inbox each week — sign up here to stay grounded in the rhythms that help leaders finish well.

If you sense it is time to go deeper, the PACE certificate program offers twenty-one months of formation in spiritual leadership and soul care — explore it here when you are ready.

 

 

Frequently Asked Questions

Q: What are the early warning signs of leadership drift? A: Peter Greer identifies three recurring patterns: the belief that spiritual failure could never happen to you, a growing inattentiveness to small compromises, and increasing isolation from people who know the full truth about your life. These warning signs are subtle by design; they form in attitudes long before they appear in actions.

Q: How do small compromises lead to big leadership failures? A: Small compromises do not fail you today — they compound over time. Alan Fadling uses the image of being one degree off course: imperceptible at twenty yards, disorienting at twenty miles. The leaders who drifted furthest rarely made one catastrophic decision; they made many small ones that went unaddressed.

Q: Why is success spiritually dangerous for leaders? A: Success can lower a leader's guard at precisely the moment vigilance is most needed. Peter Greer found that some of the most destructive decisions in his research were made immediately after significant ministry breakthroughs, when an attitude of entitlement had quietly replaced dependence on God.

Q: What spiritual practices help prevent leadership drift? A: Peter Greer points to silence and stillness, fasting and confession, and genuine friendship as the practices that consistently mark leaders who finish well. These are not new disciplines; they are ancient ones that the pace of modern ministry often crowds out.

Q: How do I know if I am drifting away from God as a leader? A: One honest measure is the gap between what you know to be true and how you are actually living. A widening gap between the wisdom you hold in your head and the choices you make each day is a reliable signal that course correction is needed. The prayer of Psalm 139 — asking God to search and know you — is a place to begin.

Blog by Alan Fadling

It’s tempting for us to assume that devotion deepens as prayer becomes more elaborate. We add layers, lists, and intentions, trusting that fullness comes from covering everything. But the soul does not flourish under that weight. It tires. Attention thins. Energy scatters. What began as desire slowly turns into duty.

 

Here again we draw, as we did two weeks ago, on the wisdom of Reginald Somerset Ward and his realism. He cautions against prayer that dissipates rather than gathers the heart:

 

“Too elaborate a programme of prayer, or the use of long lists of intercessions, soon lead to the weariness of dissipated energy.” (To Jerusalem, p. 158)*

 

Prayer is not an exercise in spiritual multitasking. It is an act of presence. Communion does not increase by saying more or saying it faster, but by consenting to God more fully in our prayer. A few points of loving attention are often enough to gather the heart and offer it to God.

 

I can exhaust myself by rehearsing words and concerns, moving faithfully down a list, and never actually arrive. True prayer happens when I stop managing the moment and allow myself to be with God. Fewer words. Fewer aims. A simpler rule. Not because God asks less of me, but because God desires all of me—and knows that a scattered soul cannot easily give itself.

 

This simplicity becomes especially important when prayer feels dull.

 

Ward names this sort of season in our life of prayer:

 

“All prayer, like all growth, is subject to variations of intensity. The dull period follows the bright as night follows day.” (To Jerusalem, p. 163)*

 

Human growth is not linear. We all have seasons of harvest and seasons of dormancy, seasons of visible growth and seasons that feel like decline. How might a tree feel as it loses its leaves rather than pushing out new ones? And yet I am tempted to judge these seasons by how they feel to me, sorting them too quickly into good and bad: I like this experience. I do not like that one.

 

Ward invites patience with the rhythms of the soul’s growth. Brightness gives way to dullness not because something has gone wrong, but because this is how living things grow. The danger comes when we interpret the dull season as failure and begin to mistrust the slow, hidden work that is still underway.

 

This is where his counsel about “outside helps” matters so much. A devotional book is not a crutch for weak prayers; it is a companion for weary seasons. When our own attention falters, the words of another can carry us for a while. They do not replace prayer. They lend their steadiness when ours is thin. Like a trellis supporting a vine in hard weather, such resources hold us facing God when our own attention cannot.

 

What does not help in these weary seasons is self-judgment. When prayer feels dull, we are tempted to withdraw, to try harder, or to abandon the practice altogether. But there is a gentler way: abide. Let God do his hidden work in you. Trust that even distracted prayer, when offered with humility, is still prayer.

 

The tree in winter is not failing to grow; it is deepening life. In the same way, these muted spiritual seasons may be doing a deeper work than we can feel, developing roots that will one day support new and surprising fruit.

 

For Reflection:

Where have I been tempted to complicate my prayer life rather than simplify it?
How do I typically interpret seasons when prayer feels dull or unproductive?
What “outside helps” have steadied me in prayer during past weary seasons?

 

 

* R. Somerset Ward. To Jerusalem: Devotional Studies in Mystical Religion. Edited and introduction by Susan Howatch. Library of Anglican Spirituality. Mowbray, 1994.

 

 

Blog by the Unhurried Living Team

Holding grief and gratitude at the same time is not something most of us are taught. When Tim Timmons, musician and speaker, received a stage four cancer diagnosis at age 25 and was told he had five years to live, he and his wife Hillary Timmons did not find a clean resolution — they found a practice, one that has taken twenty-five years to learn. In this conversation with Gem Fadling, co-founder of Unhurried Living, Tim and Hillary open the pages of their co-authored book Waking Up Again and share what chronic illness, unanswered prayer, and a life of unhurried dependence on God have slowly taught them about trusting him — not from a safe distance, but from within the fire.

 

What Do You Do When Faith Doesn't Produce the Healing You Prayed For?

When Tim's diagnosis came, he and Hillary did what most Christians instinctively do: they prayed in faith, gathered people to believe with them, and waited for God to move. Then year one passed. Surgery came. The healing did not.

Hillary describes the weight of those years with a frankness that is easy to recognize. She had grown up in a church culture that taught a clear equation: pray with enough faith, and God heals. When that framework met twenty-five years of unresolved reality, she had to sit with questions she had never been handed tools to hold. Is God still good? Is he actually with me? Why would he allow this to continue? These were not abstract theological debates — they pressed directly against her actual relationship with God, shaping how safe and trustworthy he felt in her daily life.

What Tim and Hillary arrived at together was not a resolution but a reorientation. The cancer did not go away. But in the darkness, in the sorrow, in the uncertainty, they found themselves knowing Jesus in a way they could not have otherwise. Several years in, they found themselves saying something they had never expected to say: they would not give the diagnosis back. Not because cancer is a gift in any tidy sense (Tim is clear: cancer is, in his words, "the dumbest"), but because of who God had formed them to be through it — and who he was still forming them to be.

The honest practice for today: bring the real question — the anger, the silence, the confusion — into your relationship with God rather than away from it. Intimacy does not require resolution. It only requires honesty.

If you want to keep sitting with these themes, the Unhurried Living blog holds many more conversations that meet you in the middle of the hard and the unresolved. Explore it here.

 

What Changes When You Stop Working for God and Start Living With Him?

There is a sentence Tim Timmons said about a pivotal season in his life — one that Gem recognized immediately: I will never work for God again. He said it not as a withdrawal from faith but as a conversion deeper into it. He had spent years laboring on God's behalf, exhausted by the weight of ministry and the pressure of producing results he believed were his responsibility to produce. When he finally set that down, something shifted that has not shifted back.

From that point, Tim made a commitment he has held to ever since: he would not open a single door on his own. If Jesus wanted something open, Jesus would open it. The years that followed brought a film, a book co-written with Hillary, a song on national radio, an appearance on Jimmy Kimmel Live! — none of which Tim sought out or engineered. He describes it with undisguised delight: how much more fun is it to do this with him?

This is also the soil from which his concept of the 10,000 minutes grew. There are 10,080 minutes in every week. For years, Tim watched every resource and every hour of preparation in church life pour into a single 80-minute gathering. He began to wonder what would happen if the people of Jesus oriented their entire lives — all 10,000 remaining minutes — toward staying present with him in the ordinary, the inconvenient, the in-between. Hillary describes it as a quality of awareness: noticing the person in front of you, being present to a conversation with your children that you would otherwise have rushed past, treating the checkout clerk at the grocery store as a full human being rather than a fixture.

The honest practice for today: choose one moment this week where you would normally be distracted or just moving through — and try, simply, to notice that Jesus is present in it with you.

When you are ready to go deeper into what it looks like to walk with God in the unhurried pace of everyday life, the Unhurried Living weekly email offers exactly that kind of companionship. Sign up here.

 
How Do You Hold Grief and Gratitude Without Letting One Swallow the Other?

Tim has a visual that has stayed with him for years. Both arms out, open hands, one carrying grief and one carrying gratitude — held simultaneously, neither one winning, neither one dismissed. It appeared in the documentary film about his life, and he says it still moves him every time he sees it.

The alternative, he explains, is what he calls wallpapering over the grief hole. It looks like gratitude from the outside. It sounds like faith. But it is avoidance — a way of skipping past real loss before it has been allowed to have its face. He points to Jesus at the tomb of Lazarus: Jesus did not tell the mourners to cheer up or remind them that resurrection was coming. He wept with them. He held the sorrow and the power in the same moment. That, Tim and Hillary suggest, is where Jesus actually calls us to live — not past the grief, but within it, with open hands.

Hillary adds a dimension Tim doesn't always name for himself. She tends naturally toward grief; Tim tends toward gratitude. Over twenty-five years, they have learned to carry the balance together — she draws him toward what he hasn't yet grieved, and he reminds her of where gratitude is genuinely warranted. Neither of them has arrived. Tim is careful to use the -ing form of that verb rather than the -ed: he is still learning to hold both, still in the process, still practicing. That honesty is not a weakness in the conversation. It is the invitation.

The honest practice for today: name one thing you have been grateful for while quietly papering over something underneath it. Give the underneath thing its face. Hold it in one open hand. Then ask, slowly, what belongs in the other.

 
Living With God vs. Working For God: What's Actually Different?

Working For God

Living With God

Exhaustion from carrying what isn't yours to carry

Rest that comes from shared presence rather than solo effort

Measuring faith by outcomes and open doors

Trusting Jesus to open what is meant to open

Faith that feels like performance

Faith that feels like companionship

Spiritual dryness from a life run on empty

A life that moves at the pace of grace

 
For the Leader Who Recognizes the Weight Tim and Hillary Are Describing

The audience of Unhurried Living tends to be leaders — pastors, ministry directors, nonprofit executives, church staff — who are still showing up, still producing, still caring deeply, while quietly wondering if there is a way to sustain this that doesn't cost everything. This conversation was not made for people who have it together. It was made for people in the middle of the question: people who are praying and not seeing answers, serving and feeling the slow drain, holding grief with one hand and trying to be grateful with the other without letting either one go. Tim and Hillary Timmons are not offering a method or a framework. They are offering a testimony: that God is with you in the 10,000 ordinary minutes, in the unanswered prayers, and in the grief you haven't yet named — and that an unhurried life is not a life without suffering. It is a life that moves through suffering with Jesus rather than ahead of him.

 

Both Hands Open

Twenty-five years is a long time to hold a question without a resolution. Tim Timmons wakes up each morning and writes an X on his wrist — another day, not promised, received. Hillary has walked the long road of theological wrestling and depression and unanswered prayer, and arrived not at certainty but at intimacy. Together, they point toward something Unhurried Living has always believed: that grief and gratitude are not opposites to be resolved but realities to be held, with both hands open, in the presence of a God who weeps with us and wakes us up again.

If you want to receive regular, unhurried reflection from Gem Fadling and Alan Fadling that meets you in the middle of your actual week, sign up here for the Unhurried Living weekly email. And if you want a quieter, more sustained beginning, the 40-day Unhurried Daily Email is a gentle way to start — get started here.

 

Frequently Asked Questions

Q: How do you hold grief and gratitude at the same time without one canceling the other out? A: Tim Timmons describes it as holding both arms out, with grief in one hand and gratitude in the other, rather than using gratitude to paper over grief that hasn't yet been processed. The goal is honest coexistence rather than resolution. Jesus himself modeled this at the tomb of Lazarus, weeping with those who mourned even while resurrection was imminent.

Q: What does it mean to live with God instead of working for him? A: Working for God treats faith as a job — a set of tasks to accomplish on his behalf, which tends toward exhaustion and disillusionment over time. Living with God means moving through everyday life in awareness of his presence, trusting him to open what is meant to open, and staying present to him across the full 10,000 ordinary minutes of the week.

Q: How do you trust God when your prayers for healing aren't answered? A: Tim and Hillary Timmons have held this question for twenty-five years without a tidy resolution. Their honest answer is that trust did not come through the healing arriving — it came through continued relationship, through bringing the real questions and the real anger into the presence of God rather than away from it. They found that the depth of knowing Jesus they gained through suffering was not available any other way.

Q: What is the 10,000 minutes concept, and how does it relate to unhurried living? A: There are 10,080 minutes in a week. Tim Timmons observed that most church energy and resources pour into a single 80-minute gathering, leaving the remaining 10,000 minutes largely unaddressed. He committed his life to joining Jesus in those 10,000 minutes — the ordinary moments of family, work, conversation, and difficulty where real formation actually happens. This is close to the heart of what Unhurried Living means by a life with God rather than a life for God.

Q: Is unhurried living just a passive or easy approach to faith? A: No — and Tim and Hillary are clear about this. Living with Jesus in the unhurried way takes real intentionality, a willingness to grieve, and sustained effort. The goal is not to slow down and disengage from hard things but to move through them the way Jesus did: present, attentive, and rooted in the Father rather than driven by performance or self-generated urgency.

Blog by Gem Fadling

Enjoy this prayer I discovered in the compilation Evelyn Underhill’s Prayer Book:

 

“Let us not seek out of you what we can find only in you, oh Lord; peace and rest and joy and bliss, would abide only in your abiding joy. Lift up our souls above the weary round of harassing thoughts to your eternal presence. Lift up our souls to the pure, bright, serene, radiant atmosphere of your presence, that there we may breathe freely, there repose in your love, there be at rest from ourselves and from all things that weary us, and then return clothed in your peace to do and bear what shall please you.”

 

This is a remarkable prayer for filling and abiding that leads to good action and fruit. I (Gem) do not want to seek things apart from God. I want to be lifted toward him to breathe, to be in repose, and to be free from that which wearies me. In that place I can be wrapped in peace and from there move into my relationships and responsibilities.

 

Let’s take this prayer one phrase at a time and ponder the goodness here.

 

“Let us not seek out of you what we can find only in you, oh Lord; peace and rest and joy and bliss, would abide only in your abiding joy.”

 

This prayer begins with a gentle turning. It names how easily we look elsewhere for what our souls most need. When we look outward for that which can only be found in God, it might work for a time, but it’s short-lived. Relationships and circumstances cannot bear up under that pressure. Pusey us to remember that peace, rest, and joy are not things to be seized but gifts to be received in God.

 

“Lift up our souls above the weary round of harassing thoughts to your eternal presence.”

 

Many of us live inside a constant swirl of thoughts. This prayer does not ask us to silence them by force. It thoughtfully asks God to lift us up. I want my soul to rise above the noise and into his eternal presence—in God’s unhurried kingdom. When we rest there, our spinning thoughts have a chance to lose their grasp. They no longer get to tell us who we are or what is most true.

 

“Lift up our souls to the pure, bright, serene, radiant atmosphere of your presence…”

 

Being with God is described here as entering an atmosphere, a different way of breathing and being. I don’t have to engage in overactive spirituality. God’s presence is a place of light, where my soul can remember its true home. If you feel heavy or constricted inside, this phrase gently assures you that kingdom ways are available to you.

 

“…that there we may breathe freely, there repose in your love, there be at rest from ourselves and from all things that weary us…”

 

Now we’re invited to breathe, repose, and rest. I don’t have to perform or hold it all together—that is when the weariness creeps in. It takes real effort to not let our cultural norms dictate our ability to enter into God’s rest. Resting in God is deep rest, the kind that touches what no amount of sleep can offer. Again, it is in God’s atmosphere that we find this kind of freedom.

 

“…and then return clothed in your peace to do and bear what shall please you.”

 

Here at the end, the prayer pivots us back toward our lives. We are not lifted into God’s presence to escape our responsibilities but to be refreshed for them. God’s gift of peace accompanies us as we look out into the good work he has given us to do. I am not alone and neither are you. This is overflow leadership at its best.

 

For Reflection: 

What strikes you most about this prayer?
Which phrase do you most need right now?
You might take a stab at paraphrasing or summarizing this prayer for yourself.

 

(Evelyn Underhill’s Prayer Book, edited by Robyn Wrigley-Carr [SPCK 2018], p. 14, credited to E. B. Pusey)

 

 

 

Blog by the Unhurried Living Team

Spiritual receptivity is the quiet posture that separates leaders who endure from those who collapse under the weight of their own effort. It is not a technique or a temperament — it is an orientation of the soul toward a Christ who is not a memory but a present, living Lord. Alan Fadling, co-founder of Unhurried Living, puts it plainly: Christian leadership is not primarily our effort for God, but our openness to what the living Jesus longs to do within us and through us.

Most leaders reading this are not in crisis. They are functional, faithful, and still showing up. But something underneath the work has quietly shifted. The confidence that God is active and near has given way to a low-grade assumption that everything now depends on them. That assumption is exhausting — and it is worth naming before offering anything else.

The three movements Alan traces in this episode — shared weakness, a living Christ, and cultivated spiritual receptivity — are not a productivity framework. They are a way back to a life that does not have to be carried alone.

 

Why Do Christian Leaders Hide Their Weakness Instead of Sharing It?

The story America tells about leadership is built on competence, certainty, and visible results. The story the gospel tells begins somewhere else entirely. It begins with confession, with need, with mercy.

Alan opens with a striking image drawn from history. In 1996, seven Trappist monks were martyred in Algeria. One of them had described his vocation this way: a monk is simply a sinner who joins a community of sinners who are confident in God's mercy and who strive to recognize their weakness in the presence of their brothers. That description was not written as a leadership philosophy. But it may be one of the most honest accounts of sustainable leadership ever offered.

The contrast with how most Christian leaders carry themselves is not subtle. In recovery groups, Alan has watched something quietly transformative happen. Men and women introduce themselves not with their achievements but with their truth. They name what is broken. They confess what they cannot manage. And together they discover that a merciful God is truly present among them — not once they improve, but right there in the middle of their honesty.

Shared weakness is not the absence of strength. It is the refusal to maintain an illusion of self-sufficiency that the gospel never required. It takes real courage to confess need in a culture that prizes impressive competence over honest confession. But this is the kind of leadership — grounded, human, mercy-dependent — that can actually last.

One step for today: Before your next meeting, take sixty seconds to silently name one thing you cannot fix on your own. Do not solve it yet. Simply hold it as an honest acknowledgment between you and God.

One-on-one soul care support.

 

What Is the Difference Between Serving a Dead Christ and Following a Living One?

This is the question Andrew Murray asked in his little book Jesus Himself — and it is worth sitting with longer than feels comfortable. A dead Christ I must do everything for. A living Christ does everything for me.

Murray was picturing that quiet Saturday between Good Friday and Easter morning, when the women went to the tomb to anoint a body. In that moment, love expressed itself by tending something lifeless — honoring what once was, caring for what could no longer act. There is something deeply recognizable in that image for leaders who feel like they are keeping something alive through sheer will. We admire Jesus. We serve his mission. We intend to carry his work forward. But underneath it all, there is a subtle assumption that everything now depends on us.

The writer of Hebrews says that the word of God is living and active — and Alan suggests this may be less a description of a leather-bound book and more a description of the Son himself, present, speaking, acting. The deeper question is not what we will do for God today but whether we will recognize what the living Christ is already doing. Weakness is no longer a liability if Christ is not a memory we maintain but a presence who moves among us. It becomes the very place where Jesus meets us.

One step for today: At some point in the next 24 hours, pause and pray this: Lord, what are you already doing here that I haven't noticed yet? Then wait quietly for even thirty seconds before moving on.

Resources for spiritual formation and soul care.

 

How Do You Move from Knowing About Jesus to Actually Experiencing His Presence Daily?

Andrew Murray described three stages in the soul's awakening to the living Christ — and none of them require spiritual heroism. The first is ignorance. Not rebellion. Not crisis of faith. Just simple unawareness. Christ is alive, but we move through our days distracted, absorbed in tasks and outcomes, confessing his presence on a Sunday and functioning as practical atheists by Tuesday afternoon. Not because we deny him, but because we are inattentive to him.

The second stage is unbelief — not atheism, but hesitation. We begin to sense that something more is possible, that Jesus is not merely an idea but actually a present Lord. And yet we struggle to trust what we cannot see or measure. We believe in the resurrection historically, but we find it harder to trust resurrection power in the middle of our fatigue and conflicts and unreturned emails.

Then comes what Murray calls the burning heart — and Alan is careful here. The burning heart is not manufactured emotion or spiritual hype. It is a gift of grace. The Spirit warms what has grown cold. Scripture comes alive in some new way. Prayer feels responsive rather than obligatory. Obedience begins to feel more relational than dutiful. And A.W. Tozer, whose writing Alan draws from throughout this episode, adds something worth holding: the one vital quality the great saints shared was not driven achievement — it was spiritual receptivity. They were attentive before they were effective. Their gaze settled on God before it turned toward outcomes.

Receptivity, Tozer says, is not passivity. It is a posture — a leaning, a holy inclination of the heart, a quiet daily decision to turn toward God again and again. The burning heart is not sustained by intense moments. It is sustained by daily dependence.

One step for today: Borrow Murray's morning prayer and make it your own: Lord, here is the day again. I am just as weak as ever. Come and feed me with yourself. Speak to my soul.

 

Two Ways of Approaching Christian Leadership

Leading from Effort

Leading from Receptivity

I must keep the movement alive

I am participating in a life Jesus sustains

Weakness is a liability to manage

Weakness is where Jesus meets me

Competence earns God's presence

Confession opens me to his presence

Spiritual maturity = productivity

Spiritual maturity = openness

Sustained by intense moments

Sustained by daily dependence

 

Finding a Slower Pace for Your Soul

The pressures that lead to burnout do not respect geography, but the invitation Alan Fadling extends is as local as your next morning — your kitchen, your office, the quiet before the calendar fills. Unhurried Living works with Christian leaders wherever they are, through spiritual direction, coaching, and formation programs designed for people who are still in the middle of significant responsibility. If you are carrying leadership and feeling its cost, the guides at Unhurried Living offer one-on-one spiritual direction as a practical, accessible next step — no dramatic overhaul required.

 

The Simplest Brave Prayer You Can Pray Today

Shared weakness, trust in a living Christ, and cultivated spiritual receptivity are not three steps to a better ministry season. They are the texture of a life formed over time in daily dependence on a God who is not distant but near. As Alan closes this episode, the invitation is unhurried in its simplicity: tomorrow morning, before the emails and meetings descend, offer the bravest prayer available — Lord, here is the day again. I am just as weak as ever. Come and feed me with yourself.

The burning heart is not a reward for strong people. It is a gift given to those who remain open. If you want to keep exploring this kind of formation, sign up for the Unhurried Living weekly email — a steady, unhurried presence in your inbox each week. And if you are ready to go deeper, learn about PACE, Unhurried Living's 21-month certificate training in spiritual leadership and soul care.

 

 

FAQ

Q: What does spiritual receptivity mean for Christians? A: Spiritual receptivity is a posture of ongoing openness to God — a leaning of the heart toward his presence rather than a striving toward outcomes. A.W. Tozer described it as an affinity for God, a sympathetic response, a desire to have. It is not passivity but an active, daily turning toward the living Christ.

Q: How can I experience Christ's living presence daily? A: Andrew Murray described a three-stage progression: ignorance, unbelief, and finally the burning heart. The burning heart is not manufactured — it is a gift of grace, sustained not by intense spiritual moments but by daily dependence. A simple morning practice of honest prayer — naming your weakness and asking to be fed by Christ — is where that daily dependence begins.

Q: Why is shared weakness important in Christian leadership? A: Most leadership cultures reward the appearance of self-sufficiency. But Christian leadership, rooted in the gospel, begins with confession and mercy. When leaders name their need honestly rather than performing competence, they create space for the kind of community — and the kind of God-dependence — that can actually sustain long-term ministry.

Q: How do I lead when I feel weak and inadequate? A: The sermon Alan Fadling draws from in this episode reframes weakness entirely. If Christ is truly alive and present — not a memory we maintain but a Lord who acts — then weakness is no longer a deficit to compensate for. It becomes the place where Jesus meets us. Leadership from weakness is not diminished leadership; it is honest, mercy-dependent, and more sustainable over time.

Q: What is the difference between a dead Christ and a living Christ for everyday ministry? A: Andrew Murray captured it concisely: a dead Christ requires us to do everything for him; a living Christ does everything for us. The practical difference is whether leaders function as those preserving a legacy through effort or as those participating in a life that Jesus himself sustains. One is exhausting. The other is what makes endurance possible.

 

 

 

 

Blog by Alan Fadling

I’ve been in the Anglican Church for a dozen years now, and I’ve been an Anglican priest for about half that time. In recent years, I’ve found myself returning often to voices from my Anglican heritage. These writers do not rush us toward spiritual triumph or tidy answers. They are patient guides, attentive to the actual experience of prayer as it unfolds over time, including its shadows. One such guide is Reginald Somerset Ward, whose reflections as a spiritual director on prayer feel as bracing and grace-giving now as when they were first written nearly a century ago.

 

Ward urges us to recognize that faithful prayer will not always feel warm, clear, or energizing. He speaks directly to those seasons most of us know from experience but quietly mistrust. He asks,

 

“And what can possibly be the meaning of this coldness and darkness of the soul? Surely it is God’s test. How should we ever grow without tests?” (To Jerusalem, p. 148)*

 

What are we to make of those seasons when prayer feels cold and dim, when energy drains away and God seems strangely distant? These moments might not be signs of failure at all but rather invitations. They are a kind of testing, meant not to discourage us but to strengthen us. We tell God that we want him deeply, and in response we discover what that wanting is really made of. When prayer no longer feels warm or clear, we find out whether our desire is a strong intention or a faint wish.

 

Ward presses even further, naming what is revealed when we keep praying without consolation:

 

“For the measure by which God values our prayers is the amount of desire in them, and it shows much greater desire to pray in darkness than in light.” (To Jerusalem, p. 148)

 

If our longing is true, we stay. We keep showing up. We pray not because it makes us feel alive but because love has taught us to remain attentive and ready, like a runner poised at the starting line. And something hidden but important happens then. The darkness does not block prayer; it sharpens it. Desire becomes more honest, more muscular. A deeper longing is revealed when we choose to pray without consolation than when everything feels bright and easy.

 

In such moments, prayer becomes less about experience and more about allegiance.

 

Ward reminds us that this kind of prayer is not sustained by intensity alone. Desire itself is a gift. We have been given a longing for God that leans forward, urging us on even when we feel depleted. What remains is learning how to tend that desire faithfully over time.

 

I have learned the truth of this slowly. When I decide how I will pray and return to that intention with regularity, something grows more deeply rooted in my soul. Still, I feel the familiar pull to abandon prayer when it stops feeling productive or satisfying. Yet that would be like an athlete quitting training because they find it uncomfortable. The training is not an end in itself. It is preparation. It is what readies us for a moment of faithfulness that lies ahead, when what has been quietly formed in us is finally called upon.

 

For Reflection:

Where has prayer felt cold or dim for me lately, and what story am I telling myself about that season?
When prayer no longer feels rewarding, what usually determines whether I keep showing up or quietly withdraw?
In what ways might God be forming allegiance in me right now, rather than offering consolation?

 

* R. Somerset Ward. To Jerusalem: Devotional Studies in Mystical Religion. Edited and introduction by Susan Howatch. Library of Anglican Spirituality. Mowbray, 1994.

 

 

Blog by the Unhurried Living Team

You are tired because you are carrying more than you were ever meant to hold. Creating space to hear God — not striving harder, not managing better — is what makes faithful leadership sustainable. When we stop long enough to receive, we finally have something real to give.

There is a poem that names the problem better than most sermons can. The poet Martha Postlethwaite, writing in her collection Addiction and Recovery, offers this invitation: stop trying to save the whole world, and instead create a clearing in the dense forest of your life — a place to wait patiently until the song that is your life falls into your own cupped hands. Gem Fadling, co-founder of Unhurried Living, first encountered these words through her spiritual director, and they landed not as a nice idea but as a diagnosis. Most of us are not failing at spiritual life because we lack information. We are failing because we have never cleared enough interior space to actually receive what God is trying to give us.

 

Why Are You So Tired Even When You're Doing Good Things?

The answer is not weak faith or poor time management. It is that the human soul was not designed to absorb the weight of every need it encounters. Gem names this with pastoral honesty: we see and hear what is happening in nearly every corner of the planet — the suffering, the injustice, the division — and we feel responsible to respond, to fix, to save. Psychologically, emotionally, and even physically, this is too much for any one person to bear.

Postlethwaite's poem does not call us to disengage from the world's pain. It calls us to resist the illusion that we can or should carry all of it. There is a crucial difference. Disengagement is abdication. What she describes is discernment — learning to know the specific place where our energy is meant to flow, rather than bleeding out in all directions at once.

Unhurried leadership understands something that urgent leadership never gets around to: we cannot pour out what we have not first received. This is not a productivity principle. It is a spiritual one, rooted in the recognition that our leadership is only as deep as our inner life. When we skip the filling and move straight to the giving, we are not leading from abundance. We are leading on fumes, hoping no one notices.

Take a few minutes today to answer honestly: In what way does your life feel like a dense forest right now? Write it down. You do not have to solve it yet — just name it.

Learn more about sustainable spiritual leadership.

 

How Do You Actually Create Space to Hear God?

This is where Gem resists the familiar script. She is quick to say this is not another message about failing at quiet times — the implicit guilt of the leader who knows they should pray more but cannot seem to make it happen. The invitation is gentler and more practical than that.

Gem identifies two distinct kinds of clearing. The first is shaped by time and location — a set-apart moment where you listen through scripture, prayer, journaling, silence, or solitude. These are tangible clearings, created with intention. They require a decision and a calendar entry, but they are not complicated. The second kind of clearing is interior — a posture of inward attentiveness you carry through your day. Inspiration, Gem observes, often arrives when we are not striving for it. The person who has cultivated a listening heart finds that wisdom surfaces naturally, between meetings, on a walk, in the car.

Both forms of clearing matter. Neither replaces the other. And the goal of both is the same: to arrive in a posture of what the poem calls cupped hands. Cupped hands do not grasp. They do not clutch or perform or manage. They receive. They convey expectancy, trust, and a willingness to wait for what God will give rather than seizing what we think we need. This posture, Gem says, is not passive. It is one of the most courageous acts of leadership a Christian leader can practice.

This week, identify one tangible clearing — even fifteen minutes — and protect it. Not to produce anything. Simply to listen.

Explore spiritual direction and soul care.

 

What Do You Hear When You Finally Stop?

The first thing the clearing gives you is not a strategy or a calling or a next step. The first thing you hear — the thing God seems most eager to say — is this: you are loved. Gem grounds this in 1 John 4, where the apostle John does not say God loves but that God is love. It is impossible for God not to love us. That is not a warm feeling to collect before moving on to the real work. It is the foundation from which everything else in a leader's life must flow.

This is where the poem's deepest wisdom lands. When you wait with cupped hands, the thing that falls into them is not first a mission or a mandate. It is an identity. You are the beloved. And it is only from that received identity — not from urgency, not from guilt, not from the fear of what won't get done — that you will know how to give yourself to this world, which is, as Postlethwaite writes, "so worthy of rescue."

Gem closes with three journal questions drawn directly from the poem:

Where does your life feel like a dense forest right now?
Where might you create a clearing to wait patiently?
And what does trust — those cupped hands — look like for you in this season?

These are not rhetorical questions. They are the specific kind of honest self-examination that replenishing spiritual practices make possible. Becoming scattered and overwhelmed, Gem is clear, does not help anybody. The world does not need its leaders frantic. It needs them grounded, discerning, and faithful.

Read the poem one more time, and then sit with whatever surfaces. That is the clearing. That is where the song begins.

 

Two Kinds of Waiting: Which One Are You Practicing?

Striving Leadership

Unhurried Leadership

Responds to every voice and need

Discerns where energy is meant to flow

Pours out without being filled

Receives before giving

Moves at the pace of urgency

Moves at the pace of wisdom

Carries the weight of the world

Holds the world with cupped hands

Leads from emptiness

Leads from overflow

 
A Note for Weary Christian Leaders Seeking to Slow Down

If you are a pastor, ministry leader, or church staff member somewhere in the middle of a noisy, demanding season, you are not alone in feeling the weight of it. Unhurried Living exists for exactly this moment — for leaders who are quietly exhausted but are not ready to give up on the deeper life they sense is possible. Whether you are searching for a regular spiritual director, looking for a community of leaders who understand this tension, or simply ready for a weekly email that reminds you to breathe, there is room here for you. This is not a program designed to add more to your plate. It is an invitation to a different pace altogether.

The Courage to Receive What Only God Can Give

The world does not need its leaders depleted. It needs them grounded, present, and full of something they did not manufacture on their own. Creating space to hear God is not a luxury you earn after the urgent work is done — it is the work that makes everything else sustainable and true.

When Gem returned to the poem at the end of this episode, it was not for sentiment. It was because some invitations need to be heard more than once before they find their way in. May you find the courage to stop trying to save the whole world, and instead receive — with cupped hands, in unhurried stillness — the song God is placing gently into your care. If these themes are resonating, we invite you to sign up for the Unhurried Living weekly email, where reflections like this arrive each week to help you slow down and lead from a deeper place. And if you are ready to go further, learn more about PACE, Unhurried Living's 21-month certificate training in spiritual leadership and soul care.

 

 

Frequently Asked Questions

Q: How do I create space to hear God when my life feels too full and busy? A: Creating space to hear God begins with a decision, not a perfect schedule. Gem Fadling suggests two kinds of clearing: a set-apart time for scripture, prayer, journaling, or silence, and an inner posture of attentiveness you carry through the day. Even a consistent fifteen-minute protected space can become a genuine clearing over time.

Q: Why am I so tired even though I'm doing good things? A: Exhaustion in ministry leaders often comes not from doing wrong things but from carrying more than any one person was designed to hold. The problem is not your work — it is the illusion that you must respond to every need you see. Wisdom begins with discerning where your specific energy is meant to flow, not spreading yourself across all of it.

Q: What does unhurried leadership actually look like in practice? A: Unhurried leadership starts from the conviction that you cannot pour out what you have not first received. It means regularly reassessing your capacity, protecting space to listen before you act, and leading from a place of overflow rather than depletion. It is not passive or disengaged — it is grounded and discerning.

Q: How do I stop trying to save everyone and honor my own capacity? A: Honoring your capacity is not weakness — it is wisdom. Knowing your God-given abilities, desires, and passions helps you discern not whether to give yourself to the world, but how and where. Becoming scattered does not serve anyone. Focused, grounded leadership is far more faithful than frantic availability.

Q: What is the posture of cupped hands in spiritual life? A: Cupped hands, drawn from the poem by Martha Postlethwaite, represent expectancy, trust, and a willingness to receive rather than grasp. It is the physical image of an interior posture — one that waits with belief that God will give what is needed and guide how we are meant to offer ourselves. It is the opposite of striving.

 

 

  

 

 

How do we serve faithfully without carrying more than we were meant to bear?

 

In this episode, Gem reflects on poetry, discernment, and the spiritual practice of creating space to listen to God. A gentle invitation to slow down, trust, and offer yourself wisely in a world full of need.

 

 

Blog by Gem Fadling

In this age of social media, it is quite easy to become, and remain, self-focused. Left to myself, I could find myself producing “The Gem Show” 24/7. I did try to play that game for a while…until I grew weary of the burden of being interesting.

 

I’m still on Instagram, and I’m trying to focus on spreading insight and grace while attempting to avoid the traps of gaming the algorithm.

 

Awhile back I spent some time in chapters 7 and 8 of Father Albert Haase’s book The Persistent God.* Father Albert is such a delightful author. He keeps things simple, practical, and soulful. There’s a great section on what he calls “The Empty P’s.” They are:

 

Power

Prestige

Position

People

Possessions

Productivity

Popularity

Pleasure

Praise

 

He divides these Empty P’s into four “self” categories:

 

Self-concern: prestige, popularity, praise

Self-interest: power, position, productivity

Self-gratification: people, pleasure

Self-preservation: possessions

 

These excellent descriptors are a provocative way of examining what keeps me focused on self.

 

When I focus on myself, I am on a path straight toward discontent. When I seek any or all of these Empty P’s, I am emphatically stating , “I don’t have enough,” and even worse, “I’m not enough” or “God is not enough.” There is a background hum of always reaching for more or for what’s next.

 

This goes against my intentional inner work of seeking to live in the moment and to love what I have rather than long for what I don’t.

 

Contentedness and enoughness has been one of my throughlines the last few years. Always reaching for something “out there” is exhausting, and I look forward to further detachment from this pattern.

 

Unsurprisingly, Father Albert dives straight into detachment after sharing these Empty P’s. A season of spiritual darkness allows for detachment to occur without our managing or striving for it. And even though it’s painful, it is a work of great grace.

 

After a recent dark night, I found that some of my inner noise had quieted to another level. It’s not unlike dietary fasting. I spent much of last year working on my gut health as I had moved to unhealthy levels of inflammation. I worked through a protocol that brought about some much-needed healing.

 

The process was quite difficult in that I had to say no to certain types of food while we figured out the culprits. Saying no to food is hard when you are a foodie and eat for comfort and celebration…just my true confessions.

 

Plus, unhealthy gut bacteria screams out when we stop feeding it what it craves. There is certainly an uproar before things begin to quiet down and heal. The culprits eventually die off and the cravings and discomfort end, but not without first putting up a good fight.

 

A dark night can feel like this. An unchosen quiet deep within—a kind of fast. The discomfort of not having the ability to live life the way you prefer. It’s like walking in the dark or moving through a fog or wasting away in a desert while everything goes dim. But this deep and quiet work, this gift, goes beyond rational thought and accomplishes that which your soul longs for—holy detachment.

 

Detachment allows for a sense of not needing to reach out for that which doesn’t satisfy. If you’ve ever journeyed through a dark night, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

 

“The dark night brings with it many blessings, since it cleanses the soul and purifies it from all these imperfections.” (St. John of the Cross)

 

“You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you.” (St. Augustine, Confessions)

 

Returning to Father Albert’s Empty P’s, unless there was a kind of God-given and imposed fast deep within, how else would I learn to release myself from the siren call of power, prestige, position, people, possessions, productivity, popularity, pleasure, and praise?

 

I may not like how it feels, but over the course of my life I have learned to welcome the quiet of the dark night. It is a true gift that bears the fruit of greater freedom from the ego’s ways and a more robust detachment from that which does not satisfy.

 

For Reflection: 

How do you resonate with the Empty P’s?
What have you noticed about your own dark nights? What has been purged from you as a result?
How do you feel about holy detachment? Is that something you want in greater measure?