07/17/26 | Written by Idina Cole

Have you ever reached the end of the day and wondered how it took such a different turn than you expected?

Not because something catastrophic happened. Nothing necessarily went wrong. In fact, from the outside, your day may have looked productive. You answered the emails, made the phone calls, crossed a few things off your list, took care of the people who needed you, and kept everything moving. But somewhere beneath all of that activity, you sensed something was missing.

You felt disconnected.

Maybe not from your responsibilities, but from the quiet confidence you woke up hoping to carry into the day.

I think most of us begin our mornings with good intentions. We genuinely want to spend quality time with the Lord. We want to open our Bibles before we open our inboxes. We want to hear His voice before the world begins telling us what needs our attention. We tell ourselves, Tomorrow will be different. Tomorrow I'll spend time with God first.

Then tomorrow comes.

The alarm goes off, and before our feet ever touch the floor, our phone lights up.

Maybe it's a text message from someone you love. Maybe it's an email from a client, your boss, or your child's school. Maybe it's a reminder about a bill that's due or a notification that seems harmless enough. You glance at it for what you think will be just a second.

And somehow, that one glance becomes the first conversation of your day.

I've noticed something about myself in those moments. My breathing changes before I even realize it. My mind immediately starts rearranging the day. I begin solving problems that haven't even happened yet. Sometimes I haven't even said, "Good morning, Father," and already my heart is responding to someone else's voice.

I don't think we do this because we don't love God.

I think we do it because we've become so accustomed to responding to what's urgent that we don't always notice what's quietly leading us.

For the longest time, I thought my struggle was poor time management. I thought if I could just become more disciplined or create a better morning routine, everything would fall into place.

But the Holy Spirit has a way of asking better questions than the ones we ask ourselves.

One morning, while reading through Luke chapter five, I came to a verse I've read many times before. It wasn't highlighted because it had always seemed especially significant. It wasn't one of those verses I had memorized or often quoted. In fact, if I'm honest, I probably would have read right past it again.

But this time, I couldn't.

It was as though the Holy Spirit gently placed His hand over the page and whispered, Stay here a little longer.

So I did.

And that one verse began a conversation with the Father that I'm still having today.

Have you ever had a moment where one verse in Scripture simply wouldn't let you keep reading?

You turn the page, but somehow your heart stays behind....

Well, that's what happened to me.

I had opened my Bible to Luke chapter five like I had many times before. There wasn't anything unfamiliar about the passage. Jesus was healing people, His reputation was spreading, and crowds were gathering everywhere He went. The more He ministered, the more people came looking for Him.

It all made sense.

If someone was healing the sick, restoring lives, and speaking with the authority Jesus carried, of course people were going to tell everyone they knew. I probably would've done the same thing.

As I continued reading, Luke described what almost seemed inevitable. The crowds kept growing. More people wanted to hear Him. More people came hoping to be healed. More lives were reaching toward Him because they believed He had what they needed.

Then I came to verse 16.

I don't know why that verse stopped me.

I've read it before. I've underlined it before. I've heard messages preached about the importance of prayer. There was nothing new about the verse itself.

But that morning was different.

Without even thinking about it, I reached for my pen and wrote two words in the margin of my Bible.

Business mindset.

Then I just sat there looking at the page.

If I'm honest, I couldn't have explained why I wrote those words. Luke wasn't talking about business. He wasn't talking about money, customers, marketing, or building anything we would normally associate with entrepreneurship.

So why did those two words come to my mind?

I remember quietly asking the Lord, What does business have to do with this verse?

The more I stared at the page, the more I realized I didn't want to rush to an answer. I've learned something over the years about the way the Holy Spirit teaches me. When He won't let me move on, I've stopped trying to. Some of the deepest things He's ever shown me didn't come because I hurried to the next chapter. They came because I stayed with the question a little longer.

So that's exactly what I did.

I went back and read the verses leading up to verse 16 again. Jesus healed. The crowds grew. More people came. More needs surfaced. More opportunities presented themselves.

Then......

Jesus walked away.

I sat there wondering why.

Why did Jesus walk away?

It wasn't because He was overwhelmed. It wasn't because He didn't care about the people. And It wasn't because He needed a break from ministry.

There had to be something deeper happening.

As I sat quietly with that question, I had no idea the Father was about to expose a way of thinking I had carried for years without ever recognizing it.

So I went back and read the passage again.

Jesus heals. The crowds grow. People begin talking about Him everywhere.

More people come because they've heard what He's done. Some want healing. Others want answers. Some are simply curious. However they arrived, they all wanted something from Him.

As I read those verses, I found myself doing something I hadn't expected.

I wasn't asking, What would Jesus do?

I was asking, What would I do in that situation?

That question exposed more than I was prepared for.

If I'm honest, I probably would've looked at the growing crowds as confirmation that I needed to keep going. After all, isn't that what we often call momentum?

• If more people are reaching out, we assume we should make ourselves more available.
• If opportunities keep coming, we assume we should keep saying yes.
• If business is growing, we assume we should increase our visibility.
• If people need us, we convince ourselves they can't wait.

None of those thoughts sounded wrong to me. In fact, they sounded responsible.

I realized I had been measuring growth the same way the world often measures success. More opportunities meant more work. More demand meant more availability. More visibility meant I must be moving in the right direction.

Then I looked back at Jesus.

The very thing I expected Him to do...

He didn't do.

The crowds increased.

The demands multiplied.

His influence continued to grow.

Yet Luke doesn't tell us that Jesus extended His ministry hours or reorganized His schedule to fit more people in. He doesn't say Jesus became more accessible because more people needed Him.

He simply says,

"But Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed."

I sat there for a long time with that one sentence.

Not because I understood it.

Because I didn't.

I couldn't figure out why Jesus would walk away when there was still so much need standing right in front of Him.

And then another question quietly surfaced.

What if Jesus wasn't allowing the needs around Him to determine the direction of His day?

I wasn't ready to answer that question yet. But I knew I needed to keep sitting with it.

I Stayed With the Question

I've noticed there are different ways to read the Bible.

Some mornings, reading Scripture feels like walking through a beautiful landscape. You notice what's around you, you're grateful for what you've seen, and then you continue on your way. Every time we open God's Word, He is faithful to meet us.

But then there are other mornings when the Holy Spirit gently whispers, Don't rush past this.

Those moments are different. They're usually not dramatic, and they don't always come with tears or some overwhelming emotional experience. More often than not, they're incredibly ordinary. It's simply a quiet invitation to stay a little longer than you planned.

That's what happened with Luke 5.

I wish I could tell you that as soon as I wrote the words Business Mindset in the margin of my Bible, everything suddenly became clear.

It didn't.

If anything, I walked away with more questions than answers. Why would the Holy Spirit connect business to a verse about Jesus withdrawing to pray? Why did those words come so naturally if I couldn't even explain what they meant?

Years ago, I probably would've reached for a commentary or searched online to see how someone else understood the passage. There's absolutely a place for learning from trusted teachers, and I'm grateful for the men and women God has used to help me grow in His Word.

But I've also learned there are moments when the Father simply wants to teach me Himself before I hear someone else's perspective. Not because He doesn't use teachers, but because He desires relationship before research.

So I closed my journal, laid my pen beside my Bible, and simply sat with Him.

I wasn't trying to force an answer. I wasn't thinking about writing a podcast or a blog. I wasn't looking for content.

I was simply being a daughter spending time with her Father.

Looking back, I've realized that's where some of the deepest things He's ever shown me have been born. Not when I was trying to produce something for other people, but when I was willing to remain in His presence long enough for Him to reveal what had been sitting in front of me all along.

I picked my Bible back up and slowly read the passage again. Jesus healed the sick. His reputation spread. Crowds gathered from everywhere because they had heard what He was doing, and each person came carrying a need only He could meet.

As I read, I found myself imagining what those days must have been like. The conversations never seemed to end. The interruptions were constant. Everywhere Jesus turned, there was another person waiting, another request, another opportunity to help.

Then my eyes landed on verse 16 again.

"But Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed."

I read it once.

Then I read it again.

This time, I stopped asking, Lord, what does this verse mean?

Instead, another question quietly formed in my heart.

Father...what did Jesus understand that I don't?

That question changed everything.

I wasn't asking for information anymore. I was asking for understanding.

There's a difference.

Information tells us what happened.

Understanding begins to reveal why.

As I sat there with my Bible still open in front of me, I sensed the Holy Spirit inviting me beneath the surface of the story. He wasn't asking me to simply admire what Jesus did. He was inviting me to understand how Jesus thought.

As I continued sitting with Luke 5, I found myself doing something I hadn't expected. Instead of paying attention only to what Jesus was doing, I started asking myself what I would've done if I had been in His place.

That question made me a little uncomfortable because I already knew the answer.

If I had watched my calendar filling up with appointments, I probably would've assumed that meant God was opening doors. If more people were calling, emailing, and asking for my help, I would've taken that as confirmation that I needed to become even more available. And if what I was building was finally gaining momentum, I would've thought, This is the moment to lean in. Don't slow down now.

The more I reflected on it, the more I realized those thoughts weren't unique to me. They're part of the way many of us have learned to think. We celebrate busy schedules because they look productive. We wear exhaustion almost like a badge of honor because it makes us feel committed. We tell ourselves that if people need us, then we must be making an impact. Somewhere along the way, we've quietly accepted the idea that being needed is the same thing as being faithful.

I don't think most of us ever stop to question those assumptions because they've become so familiar. They sound responsible. They even sound noble. I know I never questioned them.

Until I looked back at Jesus.

The crowds were growing. More people were showing up everywhere He went. They wanted to hear Him teach. They wanted Him to heal them. They wanted His attention. If there was ever a moment to increase His availability, this would've been it.

Instead, Luke records something that completely interrupted the way I had been thinking.

"But Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed."

I read that sentence again and again.

Jesus didn't withdraw because His ministry wasn't growing.

He withdrew because it was.

I don't know why that thought hit me so deeply, but it did.

For years, I had quietly believed that growing demand required growing availability. It seemed logical. If more people needed me, then surely I should give more of myself. If more opportunities appeared, I should say yes. If things were finally beginning to grow, I needed to keep the momentum going.

But Jesus seemed to live from an entirely different mindset.

The greater the demand became, the more intentionally He protected His time with the Father. He never allowed the needs around Him to become the voice that governed Him. His relationship with the Father remained His highest priority, even when everyone else wanted something from Him.

I just sat there staring at that verse because I realized I had been measuring success through a completely different lens. Without ever saying it out loud, I had assumed that growth should change my priorities.

Jesus allowed growth to deepen His dependence.

That realization stopped me.

The Holy Spirit wasn't correcting my calendar.

He was exposing the mindset underneath it.

Jesus Wasn't Building From Pressure​
​

For most of my life, I've read that verse as a reminder to pray more. And while that's certainly true, I don't think that's all Luke was trying to show us. This time, the Holy Spirit invited me to look beyond the practice and pay attention to the posture behind it.

Jesus wasn't reacting to the crowds. He wasn't allowing the growing demands around Him to determine the direction of His day. He had already settled something in His heart before the crowds ever arrived.

That stopped me.

Because if I'm honest, I've often allowed the loudest need to become the highest priority. I didn't necessarily do it because I lacked wisdom. I did it because I cared. I wanted to help. I wanted to serve people well. I wanted to be faithful with what God had entrusted to me. Yet somewhere along the way, I had quietly begun believing that being available to everyone was the same thing as being obedient to God.

The more I thought about that, the more I realized those two things are not always the same.

Jesus cared deeply for people. No one demonstrated compassion more perfectly than He did. Yet compassion never caused Him to abandon communion with His Father. The needs were real. The people mattered. But neither the crowds nor their expectations became the source of His direction.

Instead, Jesus continually returned to the Father.

As I sat there with my Bible open, I began asking myself a different question. What if Jesus wasn't withdrawing from people? What if He was withdrawing to remain anchored in the One who had sent Him?

That one thought shifted something inside of me.

For so long, I had viewed withdrawing as stepping away from the work. But Jesus wasn't stepping away from His assignment. He was returning to the very relationship that sustained it.

Isn't that what happens to us sometimes?

We become so consumed with carrying the assignment that we slowly drift from the One who gave it to us. We tell ourselves we'll spend time with Him after we answer the emails, finish the project, return the phone call, or make it through another busy week. We never intend to replace intimacy with productivity. It just happens so gradually that we hardly notice.

As I looked back at Luke 5, I realized Jesus never allowed His assignment to become more important than His relationship with the Father. In fact, His relationship with the Father was what governed His assignment.

That's when those two words I had written in the margin finally began to make sense.

Business mindset.

Not because Jesus was teaching entrepreneurship.

Because He was modeling stewardship.

He showed me that a Kingdom businesswoman doesn't build from pressure. She builds from presence. She doesn't let demand dictate her decisions. She lets the Father's voice govern them.

When I saw that, I understood why the Holy Spirit had stopped me in this passage.

He wasn't teaching me how to grow a business.

He was teaching me how to steward an assignment.

As I continued reflecting on Luke 5, another thought quietly settled into my heart. Jesus wasn't just protecting time with the Father. He was protecting something much deeper. He was protecting the first voice that would shape His day.

That realization didn't come all at once. It unfolded over the next few days as I reread my journal and looked back over what the Holy Spirit had been highlighting. I've noticed that's often how He teaches me. Sometimes the revelation comes while I'm reading. Other times, it comes later as I sit with what He's already shown me. I've learned not to rush those moments either because the conversation with the Holy Spirit doesn't always end when I close my Bible.

As I read through my notes, one sentence seemed to rise off the page.

The first voice you agree with becomes the lens through which you'll interpret everything else that happens that day.

I sat there for a long time thinking about that one word: agreement.

Not hearing.

Agreement.

There's a difference.

Every day we're surrounded by voices. Some come from the people around us. Others come from the conversations already happening inside our own minds before we've even climbed out of bed. We hear responsibilities calling our name. We think about deadlines, unfinished projects, expectations, bills that need to be paid, people who need us, and all the things waiting for our attention before the day has even begun.

None of those voices are surprising. Living in the world means we'll always hear them. The question isn't whether we'll hear them. The question is which one we'll agree with first.

That morning I realized I had spent years believing my greatest struggle was distraction. I thought my phone was the problem. I thought the endless notifications, emails, and growing to do list were keeping me from spending time with God. But as I sat there with Luke 5 open in front of me, I realized those things weren't the real issue at all. They were simply revealing who had captured my attention before I had intentionally given it to the Father.

Suddenly, I wasn't reading Luke 5 the same way anymore.

Jesus didn't withdraw because He was trying to escape the crowds. He withdrew because He refused to let the crowds become the loudest voice shaping His heart. Before He listened to what people expected from Him, He listened to the One who had sent Him. Before the needs around Him demanded a response, His heart had already been settled in the Father's presence.

That realization changed the way I looked at my own mornings.

I stopped asking whether I had checked my phone first or answered an email before opening my Bible. Those weren't the questions that mattered most. They were simply revealing something deeper.

The real question was this:

Whose voice is shaping the way I see today?

Because once I've agreed with fear, everything begins to feel threatening. Once I've agreed with pressure, everything feels urgent. Once I've agreed with scarcity, every decision begins to flow from lack instead of trust. But when I begin my day with the Father, His peace becomes the lens through which I see my circumstances. His truth steadies my heart before the world has a chance to stir it. His promises remind me who I am before anyone else tells me who they need me to be.

As I closed my journal that morning, I couldn't help but smile. The Holy Spirit hadn't been teaching me a better morning routine.

He had been teaching me how a daughter begins her day.

I realized the Holy Spirit wasn't asking me to become a different person overnight. He wasn't handing me another spiritual checklist or giving me one more thing to accomplish before breakfast. Instead, He was extending an invitation. It was quiet, gentle, and free from condemnation. He was simply inviting me to begin with Him.

As I reflected on Luke 5, I began to see that this was exactly what Jesus modeled. Before the crowds told Him who needed Him, He met with the Father. Before the demands of the day began pulling at His attention, He returned to the One who had sent Him. Before everyone else had an opinion about where He should go or what He should do, His heart had already been settled in the Father's presence. That wasn't just part of His routine. It was the foundation from which He lived.

I found myself asking whether that was true of me. Was I allowing the Father's voice to establish my heart before the world began competing for my attention? Or had I quietly accepted the idea that productivity, urgency, and other people's expectations deserved the first part of my day? Those questions weren't easy to answer, but they were necessary because they exposed something much deeper than my schedule. They revealed what had been shaping my heart.

The beautiful thing is that the Father wasn't exposing those places to shame me. He was inviting me to return. That's His heart. He doesn't point out what's out of alignment so He can push us away. He lovingly reveals it because He wants to draw us closer. Every invitation to realignment is really an invitation back into relationship.

Maybe that's the same invitation He's extending to you today.

Not to wake up an hour earlier. Not to create the perfect morning routine. Not to strive for a flawless quiet time. Simply to begin with Him.

Maybe tomorrow that looks like sitting quietly with your Bible before opening your email. Maybe it's whispering, "Good morning, Father," before your feet ever touch the floor. Maybe it's taking five unhurried minutes in your car before walking into work. Or maybe it's meeting with Him during your lunch break because the morning didn't unfold the way you hoped. This has never been about perfection. It has always been about posture.

I've come to believe that's how Kingdom businesswomen are formed. Not by chasing influence or mastering another strategy, but by learning to remain with the Father before they respond to the world around them. Long before anyone sees what they're building, the Father is shaping who they're becoming. And perhaps that's why Jesus so often withdrew to lonely places to pray. Not because the work wasn't important, but because He understood that everything He did flowed from His relationship with the Father.

As I sat there that morning, I realized the Holy Spirit hadn't been teaching me a better morning routine at all. He had been teaching me how a daughter begins her day. And when a daughter begins with her Father, everything else begins to find its proper place.

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