I found myself thinking about my to-do list this morning.

Not the one written down, but the one that lives in my head.

The one filled with goals, responsibilities, expectations. The things I want to accomplish. The things I feel like I should be doing at this stage, in this season.

And if I’m honest, it’s a long list.

Some of it is meaningful. Some of it is necessary. Some of it probably crept in without me ever really choosing it.

But as I sat with what I read today, a question started to settle in a way I couldn’t ignore:

Where does God fit into that list?

Not in theory. Not in intention.

In practice.

The image from Psalm 42 stayed with me, the deer longing for water. Not casually wanting it. Not something optional. It’s survival. It’s need.

I’m not sure I live like that.

If I’m being real, I know how to operate without stopping. I know how to move from one responsibility to the next, to stay productive, to keep things going. That’s been a strength in a lot of ways.

But it also creates a quiet illusion, that I can sustain myself on momentum alone.

The psalmist describes a different kind of exhaustion. Not just being tired, but being worn down in a way that accomplishment doesn’t fix.

And instead of chasing something new, he turns toward God.

That part gives me pause.

Because I can fill a day pretty easily. Meetings, responsibilities, conversations, tasks. By the end of it, I can say I did a lot.

But that doesn’t mean I was present.

It doesn’t mean I was grounded.

It doesn’t mean anything in me was actually restored.

There’s something uncomfortable about realizing that being in God’s presence isn’t difficult because it’s unavailable—it’s difficult because it’s not always what I choose first.

There’s always time for what we truly want.

So the question isn’t whether God is near.

The question is whether I desire Him enough to stop.

Enough to sit still.

Enough to not reach for something else to fill the space.

I don’t have a clean answer for that today.

Just an awareness that what I say I want and how I actually live don’t always line up.

And maybe noticing that is where the shift begins.