Seated: Living the Power of Jesus in the Everyday

For a long time depression has crept in and out of my life. Some seasons it was a loud, heavy weight. Other times it was subtle—just a quiet belief that I wasn’t enough. I love Jesus, but felt buried by thoughts that kept me low.

Everything changed during a Bible study in Ephesians. When I read that God “raised us up with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms” (Eph. 2:6), something clicked deeper than it ever had before.

I realized I had spent most of my life trying to earn peace, prove my worth, and measure up. But the truth? I was already seated—with Christ. And that seat wasn’t earned. It was given.

That truth didn’t just encourage me—it broke off the lies that had built my depression. Every thought I brought to Jesus, He gently replaced with truth. The more I brought the mess, the more He reminded me: I’m not sinking—I'm seated. Not stuck—I’m secure. Not striving—I’m held.

And that changed everything.

These series of next posts flow from the freedom I found in the power of Jesus in the everyday. It builds on the heartbeat of Whispers to the Weary and invites you to walk in the same truth:

That you don’t have to hustle for God’s love. You don’t have to fight to matter. You’re already seated in His presence, His authority, and His love.

These are reminders for the ones in the thick of it—the weary, the wandering, the ones who need to remember who they are and whose they are.

Living seated with Christ doesn’t mean your life is quiet.

It means your spirit is.

It’s not that the stress disappears. It’s that you’ve learned where to go with it.

Seated living is not passive—it’s a choice to anchor yourself in Jesus when the world gives you every reason to react.

Sometimes, it doesn’t feel spiritual. It often looks like folding laundry with a grateful heart. Breathing deep when the anxiety spikes. Deciding not to send that defensive text. Turning off the inner critic that says you have to earn your value in a situation.

The world says, “keep up.”

Jesus says, “sit down.”

Not in defeat. But in authority.

Because Jesus is already seated—and you’re with Him.

And that seat is not fragile. It doesn’t shift based on your productivity, your emotions, or your performance.

Leaving your seat doesn’t always look dramatic. Sometimes it’s subtle—one anxious thought at a time. One moment of people-pleasing. One side-eye glance on Instagram that makes you feel behind.

One whisper from the enemy that says, “You’re not doing enough.”

And before you know it, you’re standing. Striving. Fixing. Hustling.

That’s the thing about striving—it wears the costume of commitment. It looks like faithfulness. It gets applause. But it robs your peace and pulls you out of your seat.

You know what makes us leave?

Fear of disappointing others.

Fear that we’ll miss something if we slow down.

Shame that tells us we haven’t earned peace yet.

Comparison that makes us feel unspiritual if we’re not “doing more.”

But the truth is: Jesus didn’t ask you to hustle. He asked you to come. Come to Me, all who are weary. Come sit down. Come receive.

When you feel the weight rising again—pause. Breathe. Ask yourself: 💭 Did I leave my seat?

Because the seat never left you. And Jesus didn’t move.

You can return. Anytime. Without shame. Without performance.

Coming back to your seat isn’t about fixing yourself. It’s not about suddenly feeling spiritual. It’s about returning to what has always been true: You are seated with Christ. Even on the messy days.

Sometimes you return with a whisper: “Jesus, I forgot. I’ve been trying to do this without You again. I’m coming back.”

Sometimes you return with tears. Sometimes with silence. Sometimes with worship when you don’t feel it, and sometimes with honesty when you don’t even know what to say.

Returning might look like:

Canceling something you said yes to out of pressure.

Turning off your phone and breathing.

Noticing that your spiraling and choosing stillness instead.

It’s not about mustering up the right mindset. It’s about remembering who holds you.

You don’t need to climb your way back to peace. You just sit.

You sit with your questions. You sit in your limits. You sit with the Savior who never left.

🪑 And when you do, you’ll feel it—that slow exhale. That inner knowing. That shift from survival to rootedness.

Welcome back.