Find Peace Through the Noise

Find Peace Through the Noise

Lately, it feels difficult to have a conversation that stays light for very long. It does not matter how ordinary the starting point is. Before long, it turns toward the news. A tragedy that just happened. Another story that leaves you shaking your head. Another reminder of how unsettled the world feels. Sometimes the conversation ends, but the weight does not. It lingers in our minds. You find yourself thinking about it later, replaying details you can’t change, carrying concern you do not know where to put. And over time, that quiet heaviness begins to feel normal. But maybe it shouldn’t. Not because the world is not broken. It is. Scripture is clear about that. But living with a constant low level of emotional strain slowly reshapes the heart. It trains us to expect crisis, to brace for disappointment, and to live as though peace is something fragile that can be taken at any moment.

When the noise never stops, most of us drift toward one of two responses. Some become anxious. They stay alert, constantly aware, emotionally invested in everything that happens. They feel deeply, worry often, and carry a sense of responsibility they can’t resolve. Their minds rarely rest because there is always something else going wrong somewhere. Others move in the opposite direction. They grow tired of feeling and slowly begin to shut down. Tragedies feel distant. Stories blur together. It becomes easier not to care than to care and feel overwhelmed. What starts as self-protection quietly turns into indifference. Both responses make sense. Neither is what God intends. One leaves us restless and heavy. The other leaves us guarded and numb. And both slowly pull us away from the kind of compassionate, steady trust God calls His people to live in.

There’s a difference between being aware and being burdened. Awareness can lead to prayer, compassion, and wisdom. Burden, when it is constant, often leads to exhaustion or emotional withdrawal. The endless stream of information pulls us into stories we were never meant to carry alone. We absorb pain without space to process it. We grieve quickly and then move on to the next thing, rarely pausing long enough to let God meet us in it. Over time, the soul grows tired. Not dramatic tiredness, but quiet tiredness. The kind that settles in unnoticed and slowly reshapes how we see the world. 1 Peter 5:6-7 tells us to “Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you.” We should remember that.

One of the hardest concepts of faith is remembering that God is not overwhelmed by what overwhelms us. What feels like chaos to us is not chaos to Him. An applicable Psalm that is meant to provide comfort for this kind of thing is Psalm 23. This does not minimize suffering. God sees it. He cares deeply. Scripture tells us He is close to the brokenhearted in Psalm 34:18. But it also tells us He is steady, present, and unchanging. When we forget that, we begin to carry questions we can’t answer and outcomes we can’t control. Faith invites us to release that weight back into God’s hands, again and again.

Peace does not mean disengagement, and it does not mean emotional shutdown. It means choosing a posture shaped by trust rather than fear. Paul tells the Philippians in 4:6-7: “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” It means allowing ourselves to care without being consumed, to grieve without despair, and to stay present without becoming numb or overwhelmed. It means learning when to step back, when to be silent, and when to simply pray instead of reacting. Jesus felt compassion deeply, yet He was never frantic. He withdrew to quiet places. He rested. He trusted the Father enough to pause, even while surrounded by need. That invitation still stands.

The world has always been fragile. Scripture never pretends otherwise. But it also reminds us that God’s kingdom is not fragile. “He is before all things, and in him all things hold together” (Colossians 1:17). While crises rise and fall, God’s purposes remain steady. He continues to redeem, restore, and bring light into dark places, often in ways we do not immediately see. Holding onto that truth does not remove sorrow, but it softens anxiety and reopens compassion. It keeps the heart tender without letting it break under the weight.

Perhaps the question is not whether we care about what is happening in the world. Most of us do. The deeper question is whether we trust God enough to let Him carry what we can’t. We were not created to live in a constant state of alarm or emotional shutdown. We were created to live in trust. So, it is okay to pause. To turn down the noise. To guard your heart gently rather than closing it off. Not out of indifference, but out of faith. God is still God. He is still present. He is still faithful. “And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28).

-  John Wells

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In our universe there is God and there are people and things.

We were made to worship God, love people and use things.

However if we worship ourselves, we will ignore God, love things and use people.

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