By Samantha Shrock
If you’re currently in a ‘trust the process’ phase of life, you’re in good company.
Not only is my own phase of life in an ambiguous window, but many dear friends are living this reality, too. There’s nothing like the adrenaline rush of bracing yourself for a series of trust falls when you feel the ground shifting beneath you. And I say that as sarcastically as possible.
False securities come to light when future ‘knowns’ become uncertain. We associate markers of competence with a structured, elegant, and formidable five-year plan. We’re trained to arrange our identity around it. When our future is fastened—our trajectory intact—we’re ‘keeping up.’ But when did life turn into a race?
We don’t like to be seen in process when we’re trying to trust the process. If it’s not an illustrious angle, it’s an unflattering one. Our productivity is quantified into metrics that are always evolving. The meter keeps moving. The ante is upped. If I can just reach this quota, it’ll be enough. But what happens when we achieve the goal, ride the high, and inevitably crash? We’re running ourselves ragged just to prove that we can. For what? The applause? (Now Lady Gaga is looping in my head.)
I don’t think Christ wants us stagnant or complacent. I think goals are impelling forces that keep us improving. But when we equate the ultimate betterment of self with maximum output, are we getting it right?
I’d always been driven by intensity. Operating on spikes and surges of momentum rather than consistency, I justified my haphazard schedule with my productive output as a measure of success. But operating on my own accord—literally working at 3AM when the insomnia hit and napping at 3PM (perks of async remote work)—wasn’t instilling the discipline I needed to sustain a balanced pace of life. Hyperfocus was my superpower, but unpredictability was my kryptonite. Although uncomfortable at first, conditioning my body and mind to operate on strict routine was the level-up I didn’t know I needed. My work output took a brief hit before bouncing back with dialed-in diligence, efficiency, and productivity. This recovery defied the narrative I’d constructed in my mind that designating hours of work and rest would tank my yield.
If you’re thinking that paragraph was a counterpoint to what preceded it, here’s how it ties together: refusing to make ‘concessions’ that improve quality of life because we fear they’ll limit our progress is counterintuitive. I say this gently and with love after learning the hard way: if your only goal is to yield results without adequately and routinely refueling, you’re not invincible. You’re not disciplining yourself well. You’re neglecting your role in the body of Christ, which is the most important role we have on earth. When we don’t steward our gifts to bless others and properly refuel through abiding in Him, we defeat the entire purpose of this life. We can convince ourselves of every excuse in the book to justify chronic overexertion on our own terms. At the end of the day, our lives are not our own. We were bought with the price of Christ’s life so that we could learn to live with a purpose that exceeds ourselves.
Personally, this epidemic extends into how present I am with my people. When my mind is racing a hundred miles a minute to the next task, how attuned and attentive of a listener can I actually be? Lately, I’ve been mentally shuffling to different subjects entirely when the people I love are speaking to me. I’m rehearsing my to-do list instead of respecting the moments I’m in with those people. We miss so many opportunities to learn from, grow with, and encourage the people we love when we’re physically present, but mentally elsewhere. I’ve even caught myself thinking “I don’t have time for this” with panic rising in my chest as I worry about how I’ll be able to break away without being inconsiderate. But if I’m scanning for an escape route, I crossed the inconsiderate threshold long ago. I’m also wasting that person’s time if they’re investing in an interaction that I’m outsourcing to a vacant smile and a default bank of verbal cues that I’m not even clocking as they come out of my mouth.
These are the subtleties we overlook in the name of maximizing productivity. But God actually never vouched for the notion that productivity, as we know it, is the most important thing.
Matthew 16:26: “What good would it be for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul? Or what can anyone give in exchange for their soul?”
Psalm 127:2: “In vain you rise early and stay up late, toiling for food to eat—for he grants sleep to those he loves.”
Luke 10:41-42a: “‘Martha, Martha,’ the Lord answered, ‘you are upset and worried about many things, but few things are needed—or indeed only one.’”
Ecclesiastes 4:6: “Better one handful with peace than two handfuls with toil and chasing after the wind.”
Why do we deem it unflattering to be exposed for the works in progress we are? I think the vulnerability in choosing to be seen—letting our active, lived-in testimonies reveal the hand of God—is more magnetizing than a flawless calculus of risk as we hide behind empirical productivity. Output doesn’t overrule stewardship. Tapping into our most productive potential involves humbling ourselves by adapting to disciplines of balance and love that clash against the narratives our brains have built around being successful. If God is teaching me anything in this season, it’s exactly that.
Sometimes productivity takes on unconventional forms that yield long-term fruit. The key is obedience. We surrender our version of how to utilize our days correctly. Because we don’t define stewardship… He does. And He invites us to be present, showing up for our people and letting ourselves be seen from the unflattering angles. Maybe that’s the one kind of betterment we take with us when we go.