The Work Between Preparation and Proof
Quiet seasons are not empty seasons.
Long before a sprout breaks the surface, something real has already happened. The ground has been prepared. The former chapter has closed. Something has shifted beneath the surface.
This is the space I find myself in right now.
The quiet has done its work — but the sprouts aren’t visible yet.
The Space Between Preparation and Proof
There is a season that comes after preparation but before evidence.
Purpose has been clarified.
Obedience is underway.
And still — nothing appears to be happening.
This is the messy middle.
Not the beginning. Not the end.
The space between preparation and proof.
It is an uncomfortable place to live, especially for leaders who are wired to move, decide, and produce. But it is not an unfamiliar place.
The Messy Middle
I feel responsible for results.
When expectations aren’t met, I feel like a failure. Even when I know better, that sense of responsibility settles in quietly and presses on me.
I struggle sometimes to do the next thing — to write another blog or social media post — because it feels exposed. I feel guilty stepping away to go on a hike, even though that is where I most consistently meet God. Choosing quiet, choosing rest, choosing to listen can feel irresponsible when nothing tangible is being produced.
There are moments I am terrified that I am doing this all wrong. And yet, I also know I have to do this in a way that honors God and in a way that honors how He created me.
That tension sits with me every day.
I am not a marketer. But I do have a message. And putting myself out there — trusting that the work will find its way to the people it is meant for — is deeply uncomfortable.
This is the part of the season no one applauds.
Showing up without affirmation.
Continuing without visible progress.
Choosing faithfulness when outcomes remain unclear.
This is the messy middle — where the work feels real, the ground feels prepared, and yet nothing has broken the surface.
And I am still here.
Scripture as Companion
Nehemiah knew this space.
There were months between hearing about the condition of Jerusalem’s walls and bringing his request before the king. Months of mourning. Months of prayer. Months where nothing outward changed, but something inward was being formed.
God was preparing Nehemiah long before He sent him.
That waiting was not hesitation.
It was formation.
Nehemiah remained faithful in the work he had been given while carrying a burden that had not yet found expression. He did not rush the assignment. He allowed the quiet to do its work.
Scripture does not hurry past these seasons.
It sits with them.
Living After Preparation
The quiet season has a way of reconnecting me to my purpose — not my schedule, not my output, not my roles — but my reason for being.
That purpose has not really changed over the years.
But the season has.
The quiet strips away what no longer fits.
It exposes where identity has been tied to productivity.
It reveals what remains when outcomes are set aside.
What remains feels non-transferable.
It feels rooted.
It feels true.
And living from that place requires patience — not the passive kind, but the steady kind that keeps showing up without demanding evidence.
A Quiet Closing
Isaiah writes:
“Stop dwelling on the past.
Don’t even remember these former things.
I am doing something brand new, something unheard of.
Even now it sprouts and grows and matures.
Don’t you perceive it?”
(Isaiah 43:18–19, TPT)
The question lingers.
Sometimes the new thing is real — but not yet perceptible.
Sometimes the work is already underway — but still underground.
So for now, I remain here.
Attentive.
Faithful.
Willing to let the quiet finish its work.
