Eight days away reminded me how much of life I do not want to rush past, and how much slowing down and being present really matters.
I missed a week of writing.
Normally, that would bother me more than I care to admit. There is always something to write, something to improve, or something on the website that needs my attention. There is always something I think I should be doing.
I had already begun learning that you can get everything done and still miss God. This trip showed me the lesson again from a different direction.
But this time, I was gone—eight days on a Caribbean cruise with Annita, Jaxson, McKenzie, Jimmy, and Treva.
Somewhere between the ocean, the coffee, the dinners, the conversations, and the islands—and the rare feeling that there was nowhere I absolutely had to be—I realized something:
I had been moving faster than I needed to.
Maybe faster than I should have been.
Sometimes you do not realize how much noise you have been carrying until the noise finally stops.
I Wasn’t Looking for a Lesson
This was supposed to be a vacation. That was it.
I was not sitting on the ship with a notebook asking, “Lord, what article can I get out of this?” Sometimes Christians can be pretty good at turning rest into another assignment. I did not want to do that. I simply wanted to enjoy the trip.
And I did.
There were shows, meals together, coffee, and conversations about family, old memories, and sometimes nothing important at all. There were moments when we simply sat together. No schedule to chase. No work calling. No clock reminding me about the next thing.
As the days slowed down, I began to notice how much I had been rushing past at home. Not intentionally—just gradually. That is usually how it happens.
The Things I Almost Forget to Notice
The best part of the trip was not an island, a restaurant, or even an incredible view. It was time.
Unhurried time.
Time with Annita, time talking with the people we were traveling with. Time eating dinner without thinking about what needed to be done afterward.
Most of that time was spent with the whole group: coffee in the morning, dinner together most nights, and a show afterward. One afternoon, Jimmy, Treva, and I sat down for tea. Just the three of us. It became one of the quietest, most peaceful hours of the entire trip. There was no agenda—just family conversation.
Somewhere in the middle of it all, Jaxson, on his first cruise, appointed himself the ship’s official duck hunter. He tracked down hidden rubber ducks and figurines tucked into corners all over that boat. Being on something that big for the first time may have been a little overwhelming, but he loved it. And he has a real eye for finding the small things everyone else walks right past.
Those things sound small.
They are not.
Slowing Down and Being Present
Life tries to convince us that only the big things are important: the promotion, the project, the deadline, the next accomplishment. Yet most of what I would truly miss if it disappeared tomorrow is not impressive at all. A cup of coffee with my wife. Hearing one of my kids laugh. A grandchild running up to me.
Those are the things we rush past while trying to reach something we think matters more.
I missed my grandchildren throughout the trip. I knew I would, but being out at sea helped me see how much those everyday moments with them mean to me. Sometimes distance helps you recognize what has been right in front of you all along.
At each island, our day looked a little different depending on what everyone wanted to do. Jimmy and Treva booked their own excursions at most of the stops. Treva loves to snorkel, so that was usually how they spent their time on the islands. The rest of us chose a different kind of adventure each day.
Aruba Was Beautiful, Even if the Day Didn’t End That Way
Aruba was beautiful. The water was breathtaking, and an island tour showed us places we would never have seen if we had stayed near the port. The real estate, the history, and the landscape were all incredible to experience.
Aruba was still beautiful, and one frustrating ending did not get to rewrite the whole day.
Eagle Beach and the Jet Skis
Eventually, we arrived at Eagle Beach. We had lunch—priced exactly as you would expect in a vacation destination—and I ordered grouper. It was actually pretty good.
After lunch, we headed to the beach. The sun was shining, the air was hot, and the water was perfect. We rented lounge chairs and umbrellas and spent our time moving between the shade and the sea. I truly did not want to leave.
At one point, I decided I wanted to ride a jet ski. Jaxson was in, so the two of us went over to rent them. The attendant gave us the price, and we agreed. Then he added that if anything happened to a jet ski while we were riding, we could be responsible for another $300 to $500.
That caught me off guard, so we changed our minds.
Then we took a closer look at the jet skis sitting in the water. Some had shattered mirrors. Others looked heavily worn, and several had patched areas. I became even more thankful that we had walked away. Maybe God was looking out for us, because I did not want to find out how that situation might have ended.
Unfortunately, that was not quite the end of it. The company renting the lounge chairs and umbrellas was connected to the jet ski operation. Not long after we declined the jet skis, our chairs and umbrellas were taken away. It left a bad taste at the end of what had otherwise been a beautiful day. On the ride back to the ship, we learned that we were not the only family who had experienced frustration there.
But I am not going to let that erase Aruba for me.
The island and the water were still beautiful. The tour was still worth taking. The time with my family was still good.
Aruba reminded me that one bad part of a day does not have to rewrite the whole thing. Sometimes something frustrating happens, and we give it permission to steal everything that came before it. I did not want to do that.
Aruba was still beautiful, and one bad ending did not get to change that.
Bonaire Was the Kind of Day You Don’t Want to End
Then came Bonaire.
Bonaire was different—beautiful, peaceful, and calm. It was probably our favorite island of the entire trip.
Bonaire reminded me to stop rushing and enjoy the day God had already placed in front of me.
We rented a golf cart and toured the island on our own, which may have been one of the best decisions we made all week. There was no rushed schedule and no pressure to hurry from one stop to another. The time was ours. We stopped when we wanted, stayed a little longer when we wanted, and moved on when we were ready.
That freedom changed the whole day.
The people were incredibly pleasant. We saw the salt flats and beaches covered with rock and coral instead of soft sand. And the water was unbelievable—honestly, the most beautiful water I may have ever seen. It was clear, bright, and breathtaking. Divers were everywhere, and once we saw that water, it was easy to understand why.
Flamingos, Donkeys, and Blue Water
Donkeys roamed freely. Flamingos seemed to be everywhere. Some parts of the island looked almost like a desert, covered with cacti and dry landscape. Then, just minutes later, we would be staring at spectacular blue water. The contrast was incredible.
We saw the old lighthouse, the little church just down the road, and miles of open landscape. Through it all, there was a constant breeze. We could not have asked for a better day.
Bonaire was the kind of place where you stop trying to rush through the day because you do not want the day to move any faster. We fell in love with it.
Before heading back, we did a little shopping and finished the day with gelato. I had mango and, if I remember correctly, dragon fruit. Even that was good.
By the time the day ended, I genuinely did not want to leave. Nothing needed to be fixed, accomplished, or rushed. We simply got to be present—with the people, the scenery, the breeze, the water, and one another.
Bonaire reminded me how good it feels to be grateful for the day God has placed in front of me instead of already planning the next one. I did not want that day to end.
Maybe that was part of what I needed.
God Met Me in Curaçao
Then came Curaçao. It was supposed to be another beautiful day on vacation, but as we arrived at the resort, I could feel my AFib getting stronger. It would ease for a while and then return. Each time, it seemed more persistent than before.
God’s peace was not limited to the peaceful-looking parts of the trip.
As my heart rate climbed and the AFib continued, so did my frustration. My fuse grew shorter. I sometimes joke that my patience must have been left on the bus that day, because I could feel myself becoming irritable—and my family could see it too.
I tried hard not to let it ruin a moment everyone else had been looking forward to. I did not want what I was experiencing to become everyone else’s problem. Eventually, though, it became too much. I snapped at Annita a little.
Almost immediately, I felt terrible. She did not deserve that. She was not the problem. I was exhausted, uncomfortable, frustrated, and struggling to handle what was happening in my own body.
So I stepped away.
A long, open corridor connected the resort to the infinity pool, and a steady breeze moved through it. I found a place to sit and began doing breathing exercises. I tried to slow myself down, relax, and regain control of my thoughts when I clearly did not have control of much else.
A Stranger Who Prayed
That is when Michael walked over.
Michael was one of the guides from the bus that had brought us to the resort. He asked what was wrong, and I told him I was not feeling well and that my heart rate was high.
Then something happened that I did not expect.
Michael began praying for me. I did not ask him to. I had not told him that I needed prayer. He simply saw someone struggling, and he prayed. Right there in that breezeway, he prayed about what I was feeling and asked, in Jesus’ name, for it to go away.
Almost immediately, something changed.
I was still exhausted. I was still dealing with AFib. But a calm came over me that I had not been able to find on my own.
God Was There the Whole Time
Sitting in that breezeway in Curaçao with a man I had met only because he happened to be our guide that day, I was reminded of something I already knew but desperately needed to remember:
God was there.
He had been there the whole time—in my frustration, in my discomfort, in the moment I lost my patience, in the regret I felt after snapping at my wife, and in that quiet corridor where I finally stopped trying so hard to hold everything together by myself.
I cannot tell you why Michael walked over at that exact moment or what prompted him to pray. But I know what that moment meant to me. God used him—not because Michael knew my story or because I asked him to say the right words. He simply saw someone struggling and responded in faith.
Through that moment, God reminded me that I was not sitting there alone.
Sometimes God does not immediately remove us from an uncomfortable moment. Sometimes He meets us right in the middle of it—through a breeze, a quiet place to sit, a stranger willing to pray, or a gentle reminder that says, “I am still here.”
That afternoon in Curaçao became more than another stop on our vacation. It became one of those moments I do not want to forget.
Peace Is More Than a Calm Day
That experience changed the way I think about peace.
It is easy to feel peaceful when the weather is beautiful, the ocean is calm, and no one is asking anything of you. But that kind of peace has not really been tested.
The real test comes when your body does not feel right. When someone gets on your nerves. When something small happens, and you react as if it were much bigger. That is when you discover what is actually inside you.
I did not always like what I saw. But I also saw this: God’s peace was not limited to the peaceful parts of the trip. He was present in the uncomfortable parts, too.
God Was Showing Me Something—Again
Sometimes God makes you live the lesson before He lets you write about it. Other times, He lets you write about it first and then reminds you that you still have work to do.
I have written about slowing down, stress, surrender, and being present. Yet there I was, in one of the most peaceful places I had visited in a long time, allowing little frustrations to steal some of that peace.
That will humble you.
Knowing something is not the same as living it. Writing about something is not the same as mastering it.
That gap between insight and obedience is something I have had to face before: knowing better isn’t the same as living better.
That is one reason Faith for Real Life exists. We are not writing because we have everything figured out. We are writing because we are trying to live out this faith in real life: the good days, the frustrating days, the days we get it right, and the days God has to teach us the same lesson again.
Rest Is Not Wasted Time
I have spent much of my life believing that productivity is the same as faithfulness.
It is not.
Sometimes faithfulness means working hard. Sometimes it means stopping.
Jesus said:
“Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.” —Matthew 11:28 (NLT)
He did not say, “Come to Me, and I will give you another list.” He said He would give us rest.
That does not mean ignoring responsibility or becoming lazy. It means understanding that we were never designed to carry everything all the time.
It is the same question I have been wrestling with elsewhere: When did everything start depending on you?
Apparently, some of us have to cross an ocean before we remember that.
The Hard Part Is Coming Home
Vacations are easy places to make promises.
I will slow down when I get home. I will not let work stress me out. I will spend more time with my family. I will stop worrying about little things.
Then Monday arrives. The phone rings. The emails come in. Something breaks. Someone needs something. Suddenly, the peaceful version of you who existed somewhere in the Caribbean begins to disappear.
That is why a reset matters only if it changes something about the life you return to.
I do not want this trip to become an escape that felt good for eight days and was forgotten eight days later. I want to remember what the quiet exposed—not only the islands, the ship, and the ocean, but also the slowing down, the listening, the time with family, and the reminder that I do not have to turn every small frustration into a big one.
Letting Peace Rule
Paul wrote:
“And let the peace that comes from Christ rule in your hearts.” —Colossians 3:15 (NLT)
That word let matters.
Sometimes we act as though peace is something God refuses to give us. Maybe the problem is that we keep handing it away.
I do not need to become less responsible. I do not need to stop working hard or abandon my goals. But my family is growing older while I am busy. My grandchildren are growing up. Days are passing.
A recent health milestone forced me to ask a related question: What am I doing with the time God has already given me?
The opportunities to sit, talk, laugh, listen, and be present are happening right now—not later.
Psalm 90:12 says:
“Teach us to realize the brevity of life, so that we may grow in wisdom.” —Psalm 90:12 (NLT)
Maybe wisdom is not always knowing what to add. Sometimes it is knowing what needs to slow down.
What I Brought Home
I brought home pictures, memories, and probably more stuff than we needed. But I hope I brought home something else too:
Perspective.
Aruba reminded me that one bad experience does not have to erase everything beautiful around it.
Bonaire reminded me what it feels like to slow down enough to enjoy where I am.
Curaçao reminded me that God’s presence is not limited to peaceful moments—and that He can use someone you barely know to remind you that He sees you.
Annita and McKenzie are already planning a third cruise for April, and this time, more family will be coming—not less. I think I understand better now why that matters to me.
It is not about running away from real life. It is about choosing, on purpose, not to keep missing one another while we are busy living it. It is seven more days of leaving some of the noise behind—not to get away from one another, but to truly be together instead of simply being around one another.
I am already looking forward to it.
But I do not want to wait until April to live differently. That would miss the entire point.
I needed this vacation—not because I wanted to escape my life, but because I needed to remember how much of my life I do not want to miss.
Help me not to leave the lesson somewhere out in the Caribbean.
A Prayer for the Return
Lord, Thank You for the time away. Thank You for Annita, my family, the conversations, the laughter, the quiet moments, and even the uncomfortable moments that exposed the parts of me that still need work.
Thank You for the beauty of Aruba, the peace of Bonaire, and for meeting me in Curaçao. Thank You for Michael and his willingness to pray when he saw that I was struggling. Thank You for reminding me that You were with me.
Help me not to leave the lesson somewhere out in the Caribbean. Teach me to carry peace into ordinary days. Help me slow down enough to notice the people You have placed in my life. Help me listen better, love better, react more slowly, and trust You more.
When life gets busy again, remind me that being busy is not the same as being faithful. Teach me to live the life You have given me instead of constantly rushing toward the next thing.
In Jesus’ name, amen.
Faith for Real Life. Real Faith. Real Struggles. No Pretending.
