This reflection was originally published on Medium under the “Even Here” publication.
Read it there → Even Here
As I’ve come to sit with the idea of moving forward in the in-between not as a place to escape, but as a path to walk, I’ve begun to see it more as a journey than a destination. A slow, steady walking with God. Not always certain. Not always clear. But real.
Some of the things I’ve hoped for still haven’t come. Some prayers remain unanswered. I’m learning that faith isn’t always about resolution. Sometimes, it’s about remaining.
And in the quiet of that reflection, one verse returned to me like a gentle refrain:
“Abide in me, and I in you.” (John 15:4)
It’s a verse I’ve heard so many times before, but lately, it sounds different. Less poetic, more personal. Less abstract, more like a way of life.
So what does it really mean to abide? Not just when faith feels easy, but amidst the uncertainties, the unanswered prayers, and the long waiting?
Abiding Begins with Us
“Abide in me,” Jesus says and then follows with the promise: “and I in you.”
That order matters. The invitation is open, but the first step is ours.
Abiding starts with a response: to remain, to draw near, to stay.
I used to think abiding would feel more like arrival. But these days, it feels more like staying right where I am, even when where I am feels incomplete.
Jesus invites us to begin or begin again.
To draw near to the connection we were made for.
To make our home in him not occasionally, but daily.
Not as a retreat, but as a rhythm.
What Abiding Is Not
To abide is not to drift into spiritual passivity. Not to wait around hoping God will eventually do something.
It is not resignation. It is not detachment.
Nor is abiding the same as constant spiritual intensity or emotional closeness. You can abide when you feel nothing. You can remain even when prayer feels dry.
Abiding is not measured by how moved you are, but by whether you stay.
And it’s not performance either. I say that as someone who once felt compelled to have all the right answers, especially when I first leaned into apologetics. I thought clarity was a marker of maturity. Now I wonder if abiding looks more like staying even when clarity doesn’t come.
Abiding doesn’t demand perfection. It invites presence.
To abide is to keep company with Christ not to impress him or feel him all the time, but to trust that he is the vine, and that life will flow as you remain.
Abiding Is Mutual
The promise quickly follows the command. When we draw near to Christ, we find that he has already drawn near to us.
Abiding is not one-sided. This is not a relationship of effort, but of presence. Christ abides in those who abide in him. His Spirit doesn’t just visit us. He dwells in us.
In John 14, Jesus says of the Holy Spirit,
“You know him, for he lives with you and will be in you.” (v.17)
That’s the heart of this kind of life: we remain in Christ, and Christ remains in us. The strength to stay comes not from our resolve, but from the One who is already holding us.
As someone who mentors younger women in the faith, I sometimes feel the weight of having to “be strong” or “have something to offer.” But I’m learning that the most honest encouragement I can give is that I, too, am learning to stay. We don’t have to abide perfectly. We just have to keep turning toward the One who abides in us still.
Abiding Is Obedience Shaped by Love
Jesus says:
“As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now abide in my love.”(John 15:9)
Before Jesus asks anything of us, he declares something already true: you are loved.
Not vaguely. Not conditionally.
“As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you.”
Then he invites us: Abide in my love.
Not earn it. Not prove it.
Just stay in it.
But how?
He tells us:
“If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love.” (John 15:10)
To abide in his love is to remain close to the One who loves us, and one of the ways we do that is by walking in his ways. Obedience is not the price of love. It’s the practice of love.
There are days when obedience looks like saying “yes” in the dark. Trusting that God’s command is not arbitrary, but an expression of his love. And while that kind of obedience might feel small, it is the path that keeps me near.
Abiding Is Fruitfulness and Pruning
Jesus says,
“Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit.” (John 15:5)
But just before that, he also says:
“Every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit.”(John 15:2)
Pruning isn’t something I naturally welcome. Waiting to conceive has felt like a kind of pruning. Tender, vulnerable, and often invisible. I wonder if abiding means not rushing past the ache but staying in it believing God sees what is growing even when I can’t.
Fruitfulness doesn’t come by force. A branch doesn’t strive to produce. It abides.
And yet, even fruitful branches are refined.
Not because they are failing.
But because they are loved.
Abiding Is Staying When It’s Easier to Leave
In John 6, many walked away because Jesus’ teaching was hard. He turned to his disciples and asked, “Do you want to leave too?” And Peter replied,
“Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.”
Sometimes abiding doesn’t look like confidence.
Sometimes it looks like staying put not because you understand, but because you still trust the One who speaks.
There are days when I don’t know what God is doing. Days when silence feels louder than answers. But I’ve also learned this: Jesus doesn’t ask me to understand everything. He just asks me to stay.
A Gentle Invitation
If you’re tired or unsure or feeling disconnected, this is not a call to do more.
This is an invitation to return.
Or perhaps, to begin.
Not to strive. But to stay.
Not to figure it all out. But to remain.
Abide in him. And trust that he is already abiding in you.
Let fruit come in its time. Let pruning have its way. Let love hold you in place.
Reflection Question
What might it look like to abide in Jesus today, right where you are?