Stepping Into the Gray
There’s been a noticeable shift. Whether it’s in the world around me or within myself, I’m not entirely sure — perhaps it’s both. Over the years, I’ve noticed that when these shifts begin, I grow quieter.
For someone who has always expressed her thoughts, feelings, hopes, and dreams through words, that silence is never easy. No, the hardest part isn’t the quiet itself — it’s finding my way back out of it.
There’s so much you uncover when you sit alone with your thoughts. You want to share those discoveries, to help others feel what the quiet has taught you. Yet time slips by, and when you finally return to the page, you don’t know where to begin. That’s where I find myself today — my mind overflowing with everything I’ve absorbed: fragments of the world’s noise, some meaningful, much of it not.
I wonder sometimes how we’ve become so distracted, so deceived, so lost. And I question whether the clamor of the world is even worth stepping back into.
This morning, I sit here with a cup of coffee in hand, surrounded by nature, the quiet almost deafening. And in that stillness, I feel an ache to begin again — to write, to speak, even if it’s only for myself. Perhaps I’m the one who needs to make sense of this subtle, indiscernible shift that’s unfolding within and around me.
“The world has become a scary place.”
“I just think people should be free to do what feels right to them.”
“It’s scary what our government thinks they can get away with.”
“It’s not like he deserved it, but you’ve got to admit he had it coming.”
“She’s still trying to figure it out. If she wants to be a boy right now, just let her be.”
That’s the world I’m living in. And I know I’m not the only one who feels the weight of it.
As Christians, we’re instructed to love — and that’s the one command the world loves to throw back at us. “You’re supposed to be loving,” they say. “You’re supposed to be accepting.”
Loving, yes. But accepting… of what? Of sin? I don’t think so.
I’ve always stood firm on my principles. I’ve always believed the world — my world, at least — was black and white. There’s a clear, bold line between right and wrong, and I’ve never had much trouble seeing it.
A few years ago, someone said something to me that I’ve never quite forgotten — though I can’t recall exactly who it was. Maybe it’ll come back to me someday. They said: “It’s fine to live in your black-and-white world, but there will be times when you’ll have to step into someone else’s gray if you want to love them the way Jesus does.”
At the time, I didn’t fully understand what that meant. But as my children grew, they began to push against the boundaries of my small, orderly world. Suddenly, I found myself standing in a much bigger one — louder, more chaotic, and far more confusing than anything I had ever known.
Yet even there, in the noise and uncertainty, my faith held steady. My understanding of who Jesus is — and what it means to truly love others — deepened. I realized that I could step into someone else’s gray, not to agree with it or to compromise my beliefs, but to love them right where they are. And in doing so, my own faith — my own sense of right and wrong — remains unshaken.
But the gray isn’t just a problem anymore — it’s infiltrating the black and white. It’s creeping in so subtly that it’s begun to crowd out truth altogether, leaving behind nothing but confusion — gray, purple, pink, and every distorted shade of that hijacked rainbow.
We’ve blurred the lines so much that right and wrong no longer look distinct. It’s become chaos masquerading as freedom.
Parents — when did we stop being parents? When did guidance become optional and authority become offensive?
Children, teenagers — when did respect turn into rebellion, and mockery become entertainment?
And those who serve and protect — when did they become the enemy? When did we decide it was acceptable to shame, ridicule, and threaten the very people who risk their lives to keep order? We should be heartbroken. We should be ashamed.
Ashamed first as Christians — for our silence. For biting our tongues when truth needed a voice. For letting fear and comfort replace courage and conviction.
Ashamed as Americans — for seeing one another as enemies instead of neighbors, for allowing hate to divide a nation that was meant to be united under God.
And to those hiding behind façades, slogans, and screens — shouting their anger through protests and posts — what courage is there in that? What honor is there in tearing others down from behind the safety of a keyboard? Words matter. And one day, we will all give account for the ones we speak — and the ones we type.
So what next?
As long as I still have breath in my lungs, I plan to live.
I don’t want to hide in the shadows. I don’t want to accept the noise as reality. I want to live boldly — to shine the light of Jesus Christ into the darkness. I want the world to know it’s time for us to be the people we were created to be.
Right and wrong will always exist. That will never change. But that doesn’t mean we must accept the wrong, or allow our morals to be shaken by an enemy who quietly whispers lies into the ears of this generation. There is a force at work — one that seeks to distract, divide, and destroy.
A few weeks ago, in a conversation with my children in the car, we talked about how the enemy works. They said they didn’t know anyone who openly worships or serves Satan. I told them, “That’s the thing — he doesn’t need your worship to win. All he has to do is keep you distracted.” If he can fill your mind, your time, your heart with anything that draws you away from God, he’s already succeeded.
That truth hit me hard. I’m convicted as a parent for the ways I’ve allowed distractions to creep into our home, into our routines, into the hearts of my children. Every day, I fight to pull them back from that fog — to point them again toward who God is and who He calls them to be. It’s a never-ending battle, one I fight on my knees, with tear-filled eyes and a heart that refuses to give up.
I pray constantly that my children will know God deeply — not just as a name they’ve heard, but as the Savior who loves them personally. And I long for that same truth to awaken in others. But my first responsibility is here — my family. Because when our families stand strong, we stand strong. Together, we can take bolder steps into a world that desperately needs the God of salvation — the God who sent His Son to die for the very ones who mock Him.
It struck me recently that those making the most noise in our world today would have been the ones spitting in the face of Jesus as He hung on the cross — the very cross meant to save them. And then I’m humbled to remember: my sin hung there too. Perhaps He even felt the sting of it across His face. And for that, I am forever grateful — to the One who saved me, who gives me the strength, courage, and desire to live with purpose, to raise children who are light-bearers in a dark world.
So I pray — for strength, for courage, for the mighty armor of God to cover my children, my family, my friends, my church, my community. Because we can only do this together.
It’s time to take back our morals. To stop letting the world tell us we have no right to speak truth. It’s time to let the light of God shine into the darkest corners — and the only way that happens is if we’re willing to walk into the gray.
