A Word to Iba
Your words about unsung songs and the ache of becoming—they’ve stayed with me.
They echo in the spaces between these lines.
You’ve reminded me: peace does not come from perfection, but from presence.
And I want you to know—
You are not alone. None of us are.
When Waiting Was All We Could Do

I learned about waiting the hard way.
When my baby sister was in her twenties, she rolled over in a van on the way home from the Rose Bowl. Two people died that night. She lived, but in a coma—day after day—while we waited for the call: better news, worse news, or no news at all.
She woke months later, paralyzed from the neck down. We cared for her for six months before she left us for a better place.
I didn’t cry then. I played the role of “the strong one.” But decades later, when a student of mine was hit and killed by a bus on a dark, misty morning, I wept—and realized I wasn’t only crying for her. I was finally crying for my sister.
Some healing takes that long. You can’t rush the washing machine.
What Brings Me Peace?

Not ease.
Not applause.
Not a “good Christian day” where everything flows and the coffee’s still hot at 10 a.m.
Peace—the real kind—comes from this:
I am not behind. I am not broken. I am being made new.
But I forget that all the time.
We live in a world of fast fixes and instant answers.
We want clarity now.
Healing now.
Fruit now.
And when we do not get it, we assume something’s wrong—
with the process, or with us.
But God does not run a microwave ministry.
He is not the manager of a convenience store.
He is not here to fulfill our wishlist—
He is here to make us whole.
You Can’t Rush the Washing Machine

They knew something about cycles you can’t rush.
Myron Golden says it best:
“You can’t rush the washing machine.”
You cannot fast-forward through formation.
You cannot skip the soak cycle.
Becoming whole takes time.
Not because God is slow—
but because healing takes root in the deep places, not at the surface.
Because peace does not come from control.
It comes from yielding.
Yielding my timeline.
Yielding my image.
Yielding my need to explain, impress, or outrun my weakness.
Peace arrives when I stop sprinting to prove my worth—
and remember I am already loved.
Not when I get it right.
Now.
As I am.
A Word to You
If you’re here because you’re tired—
If your effort isn’t working—
If you’re questioning your pace, your place, your worth—
Let me say it clearly:
You are not behind. You are not broken. You are being made new.
And no—you cannot rush the washing machine.
But you can trust the One who started the cycle.
Let’s Talk (or Whisper)
Where in your life does peace feel far off?
If you want, share it in the comments.
Or… just whisper it to yourself right now—
or to the God who hears even the quietest prayers.
Either way, you’ve been heard.
We are walking this together.
Scriptures to Sit With
- “Peace I leave with you; My peace I give to you… not as the world gives…” — John 14:27
- “Be fruitful and multiply… and subdue it.” — Genesis 1:28
- “Seek first the Kingdom of God… and all these things shall be added to you.” — Matthew 6:33
- “Even there Your hand will guide me.” — Psalm 139:10
Tags:
whatbringsyoupeace #spiritualformation #peaceinchrist #insideoutliving #becoming #kingdomlife #graceinprocess #faithinthefire #forming20 #youarenotbehind #waitingonGod #healingtakes time #trusttheprocess #faithjourney #godstiming #peacefulheart #spiritualgrowth #restinhim #graceovergrind #slowgrowthdeeproots
Lovely
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This was refreshing. The analogy is deep and the explanation of grief was not an expected correlation to the prompt, but it flowed perfectly. This is an excellent testament to what the real grief process looks like: static.
Thank you,
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Thank you for this, P.E. Your “static” description of grief is perfect — it is that still-but-heavy presence in the air. I appreciate the way you captured that. I had a look at your “Wind” piece, and I love how you pull unexpected truth out of a familiar passage. Feels like we’re walking parallel paths here.
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Dear Dean
First of all thankyou.. I cannot express much except to convey my deepest gratitude.
I am very sorry you lost your sister when she was so young. That is a void that can never be filled.
I’m actually crying as I read this. I’m grieving and I’ve realised I have so much to mourn for because I never learned about grief, I’m waiting and the process is hard isn’t it.
Relating it to the washing machine is so apt, with the different cycles it goes through, just like our lives. We constantly need washing and the dirt flushed out but human as we are we forget or ignore OR feel we have time, ultimately peace eludes us.
Thankyou for this reminder that we can’t rush the process nor should we try to control the outcome.
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Iba — yes, the cycles keep coming. Just when we’ve been rinsed clean, life tosses in more grit. Yet even in the slosh and spin, something good is being worked in.
Thank you for sharing so openly — You are a blessing.
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Peace arrives when I stop sprinting to prove my worth—
and remember I am already loved.
Not when I get it right.
Now as I am.
This is beautiful.
Big hugs🫂 Loosing those we love is so freaking hard. My heart goes out to you. You are collecting good souls, Iba is a friend of mine and she is one of the good ones in this world. The human condition is beautifully hard and strange. Just when we think we have learned something we learn it again on a deeper level and understand we knew nothing. Stay blessed Dean, love and light to you my friend🙏🏻❤️🔥 you left me in my feelings with your writing per usually. 😏💐
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I sense you know the depth of loss, JAM… and perhaps that is why your words carry such weight. Many here seem to bear quiet battle scars, yet this space feels like a refuge—threads of kindness weaving through every post and comment. I am grateful for it.
Is it only our circles that draw such thoughtful souls? It seems I keep stumbling upon not only good writing here, but good hearts. I return often to a few voices—yours among them—but I would love to know who you read most. Who are the voices that keep you coming back?
As the cycle turns,
-Dean
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