Scattered

Not broken.

Not lost.

But spread thin—pulled across too many directions, voices, responsibilities, and expectations. Like seed thrown wide, some falling on good soil, some caught on the wind before it ever touched the ground.

Your Word says that “where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (Matthew 6:21). And today I see how easily my heart wanders—how quickly it attaches itself to outcomes, approval, productivity, and the quiet fear of falling behind. My mind moves faster than my spirit can follow.

I feel the scattering in my thoughts.

In the way my prayers start strong but drift.

In the way I listen with one ear while planning the next step.

In the way my body is present but my heart is already somewhere else.

Yet even here, You are not distant.

You are the Shepherd who gathers.

The One who calls the scattered sheep by name.

The God who says, “I will give you shepherds after my own heart, who will feed you with knowledge and understanding” (Jeremiah 3:15).

The One who does not shame the wandering heart, but gently restores it.

You remind me that scattering is not the same as abandonment.

That You are skilled at gathering what life has spread out.

Your Word calls me back to a quieter posture:

“Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10).

Stillness feels almost foreign when the world rewards motion. But I sense that stillness is not inactivity—it is alignment. It is allowing my soul to come back under Your voice instead of the many voices I have been trying to please.

Jesus, You told Martha that “only one thing is necessary” (Luke 10:42). I confess how often I live as though everything is necessary. I gather burdens You never handed me. I chase outcomes You never asked me to control. I measure fruit before You’ve even finished planting.

Today, I ask You to gather me.

Gather my thoughts back to truth.

Gather my desires back to what is eternal.

Gather my heart back to love—love for You, and love for the people right in front of me.

Let the scattered pieces of my life come back into order, not by force, but by affection—drawn together by Your presence. Teach me again that abiding comes before bearing fruit, and that fruitfulness is a result of staying close, not striving harder.

If my soul must be scattered, let it be scattered like seed in Your hand—not blown by fear or hurry, but sown with purpose. And when the season comes, gather what You have grown, for Your glory and not my own.

I rest now, not because everything is done, but because You are faithful.