This resonates—the way drift rarely begins with rebellion, but with fatigue and quiet distance. That feels deeply true.
I find myself hearing an older echo beneath it though. In the garden, God doesn’t arrive with a fix or a warning. He asks a question: “Where are you?” Not to diagnose, but to be with.
I wonder if what we often call drift is less a problem to solve and more a place God is already standing, inviting honesty rather than effort.
What if the way back begins not with fixing, but with answering that question?
This resonates—the way drift rarely begins with rebellion, but with fatigue and quiet distance. That feels deeply true.
I find myself hearing an older echo beneath it though. In the garden, God doesn’t arrive with a fix or a warning. He asks a question: “Where are you?” Not to diagnose, but to be with.
I wonder if what we often call drift is less a problem to solve and more a place God is already standing, inviting honesty rather than effort.
What if the way back begins not with fixing, but with answering that question?
You hit the nail on the head sir. I mention this in the article. If you're drifting — confession as the antiodote. God appreciates honesty.
Yes He does…. Yes He does