Where Does Your Stability Lie?

Feb 13

Most people define stability as a place where life feels balanced.

I didn’t look that up online. I didn’t consult a dictionary. I didn’t ask anyone else for the definition.

We can see what stability means to most people simply by the way we live day by day.

For many, stability is financial. It’s having more than enough money in the bank to cover bills, with something left over for unexpected mishaps, vacations, family needs, and the little desires of the heart. When the account is full and the pressure is low, we breathe easier. That feels stable.

For others, stability is relational. It’s having a solid support system—a circle of friends who truly understand you. People you can lean on without hesitation. People who simply get you. That kind of connection feels safe. It feels secure.

Then there’s career stability. A good job. Reliable income. Health benefits. A 401(k) match. A company with longevity and reputation. A title that carries weight. Yes, that sounds like stability too.

And yet…

I can’t tell you what stability means to you. Only you can answer that.

So what am I here to say?

Just like the character Chocolate in my story Bitter Chocolate, Sweet Grace, even when life appears stable by all of these definitions, it often still isn’t enough. There’s always something more we want. Something shinier on the other side. An invisible emptiness that lingers—even when everything looks “just right.”

So the real question becomes:

Where does true stability lie?

For me, everything tangible can change.

I could lose a job.
The money could disappear.
The house could fall apart.
People could walk away.

And yet—I would not crumble.

How?

Because my stability is not rooted in what can be taken from me.

I have lived long enough to know that what we have today can be gone tomorrow. Experience has taught me that security built on temporary things is, by nature, temporary.

My stability lies in the One who created me.
The One who knew me before I was formed in my mother’s womb.
The One who has provided for my needs time and time again—often in ways I could not see coming.

It may not make logical sense to everyone. Just like one plus one does not equal three.

But when you experience divine provision, peace beyond understanding, and strength you know did not come from yourself—sometimes one plus one really does equal three.