In the quiet, we feel safe enough to humble ourselves.

All the while the acid of overactivity eats holes in our souls. And from those holes leaks the cry of the unfulfilled calling that never quite happened. We said yes to so much that we missed what I call our "Best Yes" assignments—simply because we didn't heed the warning of the whispers within that subtle space.

We can't always fix our circumstances, but we can fix our minds on God. We can do that.

I shift my focus from trying to fix the other person and the situation to allowing God to reveal some tender truths to me.

Sometimes the idea of living as a hermit appeals to all of us. No demands, no needs, no pain, no disappointments. But that is because we have been hurt, are worn out.

A woman who is striving invites others to strive. The message—sometimes implicit in her actions, sometimes explicit through her words—is, "Get your act together. Life is uncertain. There is no time for your heart here. Shape up. Get busy. That's what is important." She does not say, "All is well. All shall be well." Her fear doesn't allow it. She is withholding the very things her world needs.

When I pull into the driveway at the end of the day. I don't have to leap from the car; I can take a moment. I turn the engine off, sometimes lay my head down on the steering wheel, and just breathe. I try to let go of the day.

After I finish a phone call and before I start something else, I simply pause. When I pull into work in the morning and when I pull into my driveway in the evening, I pause.

The rooted person is able to meditate—give sustained attention to—the revelation of God. Not swipe, not multitask. Lingering focus.

My soul just can't do life at the speed of smartphones. But I was asking it to; everybody's asking theirs to.

Like my evening walk.

As you practice release, what you're doing is creating soul space. You're literally carving out the intellectual and emotional space for God to come in.