Let's Be Cleere

It’s here! It’s here! It’s here!!! Tomorrow is the day "Rooted, Not Rushed” releases and I am SOOOO excited!!!!!! This book feels so timely. When I think about how AWARE the Holy Spirit is, it makes me cry. He is so personal. This book feels really important for where we are as a culture and amidst the ever-present distractions of this world.

Speaking of distractions and focusing on what actually lasts, the Lord has been teaching me so much about the difference between being faithful with what He’s entrusted to me and trying to control what happens with it.

When something matters, we want to know how it will turn out. We want reassurance that our decisions are wise, the people we love will be okay, and the things we’re investing in will matter. Sometimes our desire for control looks an awful lot like responsibility. Preparation. Being thoughtful. Wanting to do something well.

We can do everything within our responsibility and still not be able to determine the result. That’s not a failure of faithfulness. It’s a reminder that we’re human, and God is God.

In this week’s podcast (listen above before you read! or vice versa— whatever floats your boat), I shared five reminders. I think these will be really PRACTICAL and helpful reminders as you sort through whatever this looks like in your own life.

p.s. Before we dive into alllllll the good content, could I ask you a favor? If you haven’t preordered Rooted, Not Rushed, would you consider it now? It costs as much as a meal from Chick-fil-A and would mean SO much to me!!!

Preorder your copy here!

Hiiii friends!!!

I want to talk about something I’ve been recognizing in myself lately, and I have a feeling I’m not the only one. In fact, I know I am not the only one because as I started to marinate on this and bring it up in conversations, my friends quickly empathized and agreed that many of us 

Somewhere along the way, I think we have started treating available capacity like an invitation to fill it.

If I have a free afternoon, surely there’s something productive I could do with it. If I have the ability to help someone, shouldn’t I? If an opportunity is good, why wouldn’t I take it? And if I used to be able to juggle all of these things, shouldn’t I be able to figure out how to do it again?

It’s almost like having room for something automatically means that room needs to be occupied. And the strange thing is, I can do this with really GOOD things. Work I love. People I care about. Opportunities I’m grateful for. Responsibilities I genuinely want to steward well. However, I’ve been wondering whether I’ve confused being faithful with being fully utilized??? Those are not necessarily the same thing.

Just because there is room for something in my life doesn’t mean God intended for it to live there.

In a world that constantly encourages us to optimize, expand, improve, and make the most of every available minute, margin is not allowed. Empty space on our calendar actually makes us feel uncomfortable sometimes. But what if some of the space we’re so eager to fill is actually space God wants us to protect? Not because He’s calling us to do nothing, but because He’s forming something in us that requires more than our ability to accomplish things.

Hiiii friends!!!

Okay, so last time we talked about the hidden cost of living scattered, and I feel like the natural question after that conversation is: Great. But how do we actually STOP?

I can tell myself be present all day long, but then I remember the toothpaste while I’m writing, grab my phone to order it, see a text, answer the text, remember something else I need to look up and somehow ten minutes later I’m reading reviews for something I never intended to buy AND WE STILL DON’T HAVE TOOTHPASTE.

So today, I want to get incredibly practical.

But first, I think we have to get RID of the idea that wholeness requires a less full life. There are seasons where life is FULL. People need us. Work needs us. Our families need us. There are appointments and deadlines and decisions and relationships and responsibilities that aren’t going anywhere. Some seasons are inherently more busy than others— that is reality. I am not expecting you to somehow find a different life, okay?

I don’t think wholeness means having fewer moving parts. I think it means those parts stop pulling us in opposite directions.

My body can be here while my mind is tomorrow. I can be doing something important while mentally following every thought that interrupts me. I can be responsible for one thing while emotionally carrying five others. None of those moments feels particularly significant, but by the end of the day, I’ve left little pieces of myself everywhere.

So how do we begin gathering them back?

Read more at https://cleerelystated.substack.com/

Hiiii friends!!!

I’ve been thinking about an assumption I didn’t even realize I was carrying: If I have the capacity to do more, I probably should.

If I can squeeze it in, why wouldn’t I? If I can help, shouldn’t I? If the opportunity is good, shouldn’t I take it? If I used to carry this much, why can’t I carry it now?

Somewhere along the way, I think a lot of us have confused maximum capacity with faithfulness.

We assume healthy things should always be growing. More opportunity, more impact, more responsibility, more momentum. So when life starts narrowing instead of expanding, we wonder what’s wrong.

But what if nothing is wrong?

What if some seasons aren’t meant to hold everything we’re capable of carrying?

Read more at https://cleerelystated.substack.com

You can be sitting at dinner while your mind is answering an email. Playing with your kids while mentally preparing for tomorrow. Praying while thinking about the twelve things you need to do when you’re finished.

We’re physically in one place, mentally in another, emotionally carrying something from three hours ago—and wondering why we feel so tired.

In the first episode of the Rooted, Not Rushed series, Cleere is putting language around something so many of us are experiencing: scatteredness. Not necessarily a life that’s too busy, but a life where our attention, bodies, thoughts, and spirits rarely seem to occupy the same place at the same time.

We’ll talk about what this way of living is quietly costing us, why hurry is about more than the speed of our calendars, and how the habits we repeat are forming us. Because we are all being discipled—the question is, by whom or by what?

If you’ve ever ended a day wondering where it went—or realized you were technically present for your life but somehow missed a lot of it—this conversation is for you.

You don’t need a different life to become a different kind of person within it. Let’s start growing roots right here.

Do you want to know the quickest way to feel seventeen again?

For me, it’s a concert.

There is something about live music that strips away the mental clutter. The to-do lists. The emails. The pressure. For a couple of hours, nobody is thinking about what happened yesterday or what’s waiting tomorrow. You’re simply there. Singing. Laughing. Remembering. Fully alive inside a moment you can’t get back.

A couple of weeks ago, Will and I went to Nashville with some dear friends for Alan Jackson’s final concert, and it was one of those nights I’ll remember for a long time. It was his farewell show so the artist lineup was unreal! Luke Combs, Thomas Rhett, George Strait— sooo many good ones! They weren’t just performing songs—they were telling stories. Then they’d step offstage, disappear into the crowd, and become fans again, singing every word with the rest of us.

As I looked around the stadium, I couldn’t stop thinking about how present everyone was. Thousands of people weren’t just hearing music. They were remembering first dances, high school summers, road trips, parents, grandparents, old friends, and seasons of life that had long since passed. One song somehow held the past and the present at the same time. It was as if everyone had collectively decided, “For these next few hours, I’m going to be fully here.”

Read all the notes for this episode and more at cleerelystated.substack.com

Have you ever watched your child struggle with something and immediately felt the urge to step in?

Maybe they couldn’t find the right words in a conversation.

Maybe they were frustrated by homework.

Maybe they forgot something important.

Maybe they felt nervous before an event.

Maybe they were disappointed by a friendship.

Or maybe they were standing on a stool trying to fill up their own water bottle, taking twice as long as it would take you.

Maybe they were struggling to zip their jacket.

Order their own meal.

Ask the question themselves.

Carry the bag.

Tie the shoe.

And before they even had a chance to work through it, you were already reaching for a solution.

Explaining. Fixing. Helping. Rescuing.

If you’re a parent, you know exactly what I’m talking about. Chances are, when it’s happening in real time, you don’t even realize you’re doing it.

Because watching our children struggle is uncomfortable.

Personally, I think it’s often harder to watch your child struggle than it is to face your own struggles.We love them. We want to protect them. We want to spare them unnecessary pain. We want to make things easier when we can.

Sometimes we see the obstacle before they do. Sometimes we see their potential and all the possibilities that lie ahead, and because we can spot the roadblock coming, we want to clear it before they ever reach it.

The motivation is beautiful. It’s love.

We love them so much that we want to spare them heartache. Frustration. Disappointment. Embarrassment. Failure. We want to cushion the fall before it ever happens.And honestly, this is something I think about all the time with Sledge.

As a special-needs parent, this question carries an extra layer for me. There are moments when helping is absolutely necessary.

Moments when support, advocacy, therapy, and intervention matter deeply.

But there are also moments when I find myself asking:

Am I helping because he truly needs help?

Or am I helping because I’m uncomfortable watching him struggle?

Because if I’m honest, there are times when Sledge has proven himself far more capable than I expected.

He adapts.

He perseveres.

He figures things out.He keeps trying.And over and over again, he reminds me that capability is often built in the very moments we’re tempted to step in.

Lately I’ve been wondering something.

What if, in our effort to help, we occasionally step in too soon?

What if some of the very experiences we’re trying to save our children from are the experiences that would help them discover what they’re capable of?

What if every time we rush in before they actually need us, we unintentionally communicate a message we never meant to send?Not, “I’ve got you.”

But, “I don’t think you’ve got this.”What if our constant rescuing quietly teaches them to doubt their own resilience?

To question their ability to problem-solve?

To believe that discomfort is something to escape rather than something they can move through?

Because confidence isn’t built when someone else always does it for us.

Confidence is built when we discover that we can do hard things.That we can recover.

That we can adapt.

That we can try again.That we can survive disappointment.

That we can face challenges and keep moving forward.

That God has equipped us for more than we realize.Even if we fall.

Even if it’s messy.

Even if it takes longer than we’d like.

Even if the water bottle spills all over the floor.

That’s why I was so excited to sit down with my friends Sissy Goff and David Thomas to discuss their new book, Capable: How to Teach Your Kids the Strengths, Skills, and Strategies to Build Resilience.

Get all the notes and resources on from this podcast at cleerelystated.substack.com and join the community!

Last week we talked about what happens when life pivots. How panic narrows our perspective. How our minds start filling in gaps God never filled in. How one conversation, one disappointment, one unanswered question can suddenly occupy far more emotional real estate than it deserves. We talked about the temptation to regain control when life feels uncertain and the invitation to trust God’s character when we don’t yet understand what He is doing.

But this week, I want to take that conversation one step further. I don’t want this to feel redundant but it felt important to walk through and camp out in for a moment. Because recognizing panic is one thing. Becoming steady is another.

When I revisit Genesis 22, what strikes me most is not the miracle at the end of the story. It’s not the ram in the thicket or even Abraham’s obedience. It’s the pace of the story— it’s the ordinary movements happening beneath extraordinary pressure.

Get all the notes and extra content at https://cleerelystated.substack.com

There’s a story in Scripture that feels almost too extreme to relate to—and yet somehow, it speaks directly into this exact tension. Hang with me here for a second.

Genesis 22: 1-2 says:

Some time later, God tested Abraham’s faith. “Abraham!” God called.

“Yes,” he replied. “Here I am.”

“Take your son, your only son—yes, Isaac, whom you love so much—and go to the land of Moriah. Go and sacrifice him as a burnt offering on one of the mountains, which I will show you.”

Here, God asks Abraham to take his son Isaac—the very promise he waited years (many years!!!!) for—and offer him as a sacrifice. A sacrifice. Yes, you read that correctly. It sounds assaulting and impossible that a loving God would ask that, doesn’t it? And Scripture doesn’t soften it. God even says, “your son, your only son, whom you love.” He’s not unaware of what He’s asking.

If I’m Abraham, I’m asking for confirmations, second opinions, and maybe a burning bush or five. But that’s not what we see. Abraham gets up the next morning… and he goes.

And here’s what’s wild: it’s not immediate. It’s a three-day journey.

“The next morning Abraham got up early. He saddled his donkey and took two of his servants with him, along with his son, Isaac. Then he chopped wood for a fire for a burnt offering and set out for the place God had told him about. On the third day of their journey, Abraham looked up and saw the place in the distance. “Stay here with the donkey,” Abraham told the servants. “The boy and I will travel a little farther. We will worship there, and then we will come right back.”

Three days of walking.
Three days of thinking.
Three days of holding something that doesn’t make sense.

And if we’re honest, that’s where most of us unravel. Personally, that sounds excruciating. There were some moments in the NICU after my son, Sledge was born where things felt really shaky and uncertain. There were so many what-ifs. I have very stark memories of begging Jesus, “Please Jesus, please let us keep him. I will never ask for another thing in this life. Please let us keep him and heal him.” The space between is always the hardest part— it is anything but passive. The waiting. The wondering. The time where your mind has room to spiral.

Read more at cleerelystated.substack.com

Have you ever walked through something hard—maybe a tragedy, a really heavy season, or even just a stretch where you’re juggling more than you can carry—and someone looks at you and says, “Let me know if you need anything”?

You smile. You say thank you. You mean it. And they mean it!!! But deep down, you already know… you’re not going to let them know. Not because you couldn’t use the help but because you don’t even know what you need. And even if you did, you’re not sure you have the energy to explain it, ask for it, or coordinate it.

There are moments in life when everything feels heavier than usual. Not always in ways you can explain—just an undercurrent of restlessness that swirls in your chest, a mental fog you can’t quite clear, a weight you’ve learned how to carry without naming. And in those moments, something in you goes quiet—not because you don’t feel cared for, but because you don’t feel met.

Read the full podcast notes at cleerlystated.substack.com