Live Your Life: Don’t Just Stay — Dwell

I’ve always said to my children—especially during those chaotic teenage years when dishes magically migrated to bedrooms and towels decorated the floors:

“You don’t just stay here. You live here.”

It’s a simple truth that holds a much deeper meaning. There’s a big difference between staying somewhere and living there.

When you stay somewhere—like a hotel—someone else is responsible for the upkeep. You toss your towels on the floor and expect fresh ones to appear. You leave dishes behind because “someone” will handle them. You enjoy the comfort, but you don’t invest in the space. You don’t make it better. You don’t own it. You’re just passing through.

But when you live somewhere—like a farm—every task, every chore, every choice matters. You feed what feeds you. You pull the weeds, not because someone told you to, but because you care about where you dwell. You’re not trying to impress anyone; it’s about integrity, pride, and presence. Living a place is sacred. You show up differently.

I wish more of us thought about our lives this way.

For years, I was just staying in my own life. I went through the motions, did what I was told, avoided mistakes, and kept my talents buried deep under fear and perfectionism. I didn’t want to be judged or misunderstood. I figured someone else, someone more talented, more qualified was better suited for the gifts God gave me.

I was a people-pleaser, terrified of conflict, and even more afraid of disappointing others. That life, honestly, was comfortable. Like a long hotel stay. But even the coziest hotel starts to feel artificial after a while. You start longing for something real.

And because I was just staying, I attracted people who were all too happy to take the lead. Boyfriends who confused control with love, who wrapped manipulation in religion and called it righteousness. I was waiting for someone else to tell me what to think, what to feel, how to be.

But then something shifted.

The moment I started following Christ, not religion, I found my posture. My grounding. I stopped staying in my life and started living it.

Living means making mistakes. It means being honest about where you fall short, learning the lesson, and getting back up. It means forgiving yourself, again and again. And yes, it’s hard. Just like life on a farm, it’s daily work. You rise, tend to your soul, plant seeds of hope, and pull out the weeds of shame, doubt, and fear.

You challenge yourself. You chase purpose. You practice your gifts; not because you're the best, but because they’re yours. You believe in who God created you to be. You stop waiting for someone to manage your life, and you start living it.

The truth I’ve come to live by?

God doesn’t make junk.
Practice makes professionals.
And life—when you live it—is better than any place you’ve ever stayed.