Practices That Hold Me Together

“Let your roots grow down into Him, and let your lives be built on Him.” — Colossians 27️

There was a time when I thought strength meant pushing through everything on my own, keeping it together, staying productive, showing no cracks. But life, in its quiet way, has a way of humbling us. Seasons shift, storms come, and we realise that what holds us together isn’t the image of control, but the quiet practices that keep our hearts aligned, our minds centered, and our souls anchored.

Purpose became a path for me through these small, steady rituals, not the grand moments of success or certainty, but the unseen rhythms that bring me back to myself, again and again.

The Practice of Stillness

Stillness didn’t come naturally to me. For years, I filled silence with busyness, meetings, conversations, scrolling, doing. But I’ve learned that stillness isn’t about stopping; it’s about listening.

In those early mornings when I sit quietly with a cup of peppermint tea, Bible open, before the world begins to hum, that’s where I hear the gentle truth that anchors me: that I am not what I achieve, but who I am becoming.

Philosophically, stillness is an act of resistance against the noise of the modern world. It’s choosing depth over speed. As the Psalmist writes, “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10). In that space of surrender, I find clarity. Purpose doesn’t shout, it whispers, and stillness is how I hear it.

The Practice of Reflection

Reflection has become one of my most grounding habits. It’s not about overthinking the past but about learning from it, seeing where grace met me in unexpected places.

I often end my day by asking, What did I learn today? Where did I lose peace? Where did I feel alive? Those questions, simple as they seem, have become mirrors. They show me where I am walking in purpose, and where I’m drifting away.

Philosophers like Seneca called this “evening examination,” a way of bringing intention to the cycle of growth. For me, it’s also spiritual. Reflection is prayerful awareness, a way of remembering that each day is a teacher, and every experience holds something sacred if I’m willing to look closely enough.

The Practice of Gratitude

Gratitude steadies me. It reminds me that even in loss, there is still beauty to hold. I’ve learned that gratitude isn’t denial, it’s perspective. It doesn’t erase pain; it gives it meaning.

When I began journaling three things I was thankful for each morning, I noticed something subtle: the way my heart softened. Gratitude shifts focus from what’s missing to what’s already here. It is the soil where joy grows quietly.

Scripture echoes this truth: “Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus” (1 Thessalonians 5:18). Gratitude doesn’t change my circumstances, but it changes the way I carry them, lighter, humbler, more aware of grace. In following grace, my seasons are filled with gratitudes.

The Practice of Boundaries and Rest

Learning to rest, truly rest, has been one of the hardest lessons for me. I once equated rest with laziness, thinking my worth was tied to productivity. But I’ve come to see that boundaries are not walls; they are wisdom.

Rest is the rhythm that restores purpose. Without it, even passion becomes exhaustion. The philosopher Thomas Aquinas once said that contemplation, the quiet appreciation of truth, is the highest form of human activity. And Jesus Himself modeled rest, retreating from the crowds to pray, to breathe, to be.

Now, when I take time to unplug, to walk, to read, or to simply breathe, I remind myself: I am not falling behind. I am aligning with the pace of grace.

The Practice of Service

Purpose without service feels hollow. Over time, I’ve realized that the moments I’ve felt most alive weren’t when I achieved something for myself, but when I gave time, attention, encouragement.

Whether through mentoring, writing, or simply listening without distraction, service reminds me that life is shared. It grounds me in empathy and compassion, reminding me that my story, with all its detours, isn’t just for me.

Jesus said, “It is more blessed to give than to receive” (Acts 20:35), but I’ve also learned that in giving, we receive in return, perspective, joy, connection. Service completes the circle of purpose: what we pour out often becomes the very thing that fills us back up.

The Practice of Faith

At the center of everything that holds me together is faith. Not the rigid kind that demands answers, but the living kind that invites trust, the kind that steadies my heart when I cannot see the road ahead.

There are days when I still feel uncertain, when plans unravel and progress feels invisible. But I return to what I know: purpose is not a straight line; it’s a sacred unfolding. Faith is the quiet confidence that even when I can’t trace the path, I can trust the Guide.

“We walk by faith, not by sight.” — 2 Corinthians 5:7

Closing Reflection

These practices, stillness, reflection, gratitude, rest, service, and faith, hold me together. They are not routines to master but rhythms to return to. They remind me that purpose isn’t a single point of arrival; it’s a way of walking, attentive, humble, and open to grace.

Every day, I begin again. Some days I stumble, other days I stride, but the path remains, unfolding, guiding, and teaching. Purpose, I’ve learned, isn’t about perfection. It’s about presence. And these practices, gentle and ordinary as they are, are what keep me whole.

Reflective Questions:

1. Which daily practices quietly hold you together when life feels uncertain or heavy?
2. How might stillness, reflection, or gratitude help you rediscover your sense of purpose today?
3. What would change if you viewed faith and rest not as pauses, but as essential rhythms of your path?

“Let your roots grow down into Him, and let your lives be built on Him.” — Colossians 2:7

Thank you for spending your time here, your presence, your patience, your reflection matters. If these words resonate, let them echo. Share a thought. Raphael.