Stasi and I attended the memorial service of a family friend last fall, a beautiful young man whose life was cut short in his twenties. But that is not my story to tell here. Our family needed to be together afterwards—you can’t just go home after something like that—so we planned on lunch. But I simply couldn’t make that transition quickly. While most of the congregation filed out of the church, I sat in my chair looking out the window, allowing my tears to continue, not requiring myself to bounce back. To rise up for the conversations I knew were waiting in the hallway outside. My soul needed God, and he was waiting right there for me in a more gracious transition. 

We are so accustomed to moving pedal to the metal in our own...