The In-Between as a Way of Being
Not just a season, but a posture of faith
What if this in-between posture isn’t a detour, but the road itself?
I’ve often thought of the in-between as temporary. Something to get through. A holding space before clarity returns. A liminal stretch before the next right thing comes along. But lately I’ve been wondering: What if this isn’t just a season? What if it’s a way of being?
The thought is both unsettling and strangely promising. Because if the in-between is not a mistake or misstep, but a faithful space in its own right, then perhaps I can stop waiting for it to pass. Perhaps I can begin to live here with intention—not rushing, not retreating, but remaining. Attentive. Open. Soft.
It’s not that I’ve given up on rootedness or resolution. It’s just that I’m learning to hold those longings differently without demand, without certainty. I’m walking the road less traveled, yes, and it still carries its share of anxiety. But I’m beginning to see: this road has its own kind of beauty. Others have walked it. Others have lingered in this wilderness, not because they were lost, but because they recognized something sacred here.
Reading Scripture from the In-Between
This realization makes me want to open the Bible again. Not to “master” it or mine it for answers, but to dwell in it from this new place. What would it look like to read Scripture with the in-between as my posture?
I suspect it would be less about arriving at conclusions and more about stepping into the tension. Less about identifying with those in power, and more about entering the story through the eyes of the poor, the outsider, the misunderstood, the ones who were always in-between.
I think of Hagar, wandering in the desert. Of Ruth, gleaning at the edges. Of Jeremiah, called to speak but not to see the fruit. Of Mary, treasuring things in her heart she couldn’t yet explain.
And I wonder, what would it be like to read alongside them? To place myself not at the center of certainty but at the edge of trust? Not with those who know exactly where they’re going, but with those whose faith was formed in the unknowing.
It makes me want to read the Bible again. Not as a system, but as a story. Not to conquer, but to be shaped.
A Quiet Inward Movement
These days, I live mostly inside my head. I recently stepped away from work, not out of failure, but necessity. I’m in the middle of my IVF journey. My first embryo transfer didn’t succeed. And now I find myself back in the waiting, hoping once more, trying to grow egg follicles again.
There’s not much outward movement. Most mornings blur together. I sit with my thoughts, my doubts, my prayers—sometimes scribbled into a journal, sometimes just held in silence. I haven’t been doing much, at least not in visible ways. But inwardly, something is shifting. I’m starting to pay closer attention to what surfaces when striving slows. Listening, gently, to what my soul is trying to say.
And maybe this is what makes the in-between sacred. Not that it offers answers, but that it invites honesty. Not that it resolves our tension, but that it teaches us to remain in it with open hands.
Perhaps this isn’t about finding a path that finally makes everything make sense.
Perhaps it’s about walking with courage even when the path is obscured.
And perhaps that’s the deeper invitation. Not to arrive, but to abide.
I would love to hear your thoughts…