retreat | is it necessary?
re·treat /rəˈtrēt/
verb
withdraw from enemy forces as a result of their superior power or after a defeat.
noun
An act of moving back or withdrawing
So often we keep pressing forward — advancing positions, taking names, stacking responsibilities like trophies. But we don’t always realize what each step is costing us. A bit of our armor here. A bit of our courage there. A bit of ourselves slipping away without us noticing.
If we’re not wise, or if we don’t have people around us who love us enough to say, “Hey… you need to step back,” we start believing dangerous things.
That we’re stronger than we really are.
That we’re invincible.
That the world hinges on our decisions.
My friend, that’s not strength. That’s the quiet delusion of believing we must survive by being the fittest.
On the flight home I accidentally watched a movie called The Long Walk (I thought I had clicked on Superman — big difference). In the movie, a dozen young men are told to walk until they physically can’t anymore. The reward: riches and fame.
I didn’t make it far into the film. The first boy who stopped walking was immediately killed. At that moment all the others realized, Oh… this isn’t a game.
And sitting there on that plane, I realized:
Neither is our life when we treat it like that.
Many of us try to muscle through every season — powering up, pushing harder, thinking we can outwork exhaustion and outthink our own limits. But eventually, if we never stop, never rest, never exhale, we end up just like those boys: walking until we quite literally can’t anymore.
So what’s the answer?
Retreat.
Withdraw.
Step back.
Turn your phone off.
Take a nap.
Let someone else carry the weight for a moment.
Retreat isn’t weakness — it’s wisdom. It’s admitting we were never designed to be the last man standing, the hero, the lone survivor.
What if we were never meant to win the race in our own strength at all?
What if Someone already ran it — and won?
Someone who stood face-to-face with temptation, exhaustion, and danger — and overcame every time.
There is. His name is Jesus.
And not only did He win — He invites us to retreat into Him.
To hide in His shadow.
To rest beside still waters.
To lie down in green pastures.
To sit at the table He prepares for us in the presence of our enemies.
So yes — you could keep pushing to prove the world wrong.
Or…
You could retreat into the One who has already proven everything that truly matters.
verb
withdraw from enemy forces as a result of their superior power or after a defeat.
noun
An act of moving back or withdrawing
So often we keep pressing forward — advancing positions, taking names, stacking responsibilities like trophies. But we don’t always realize what each step is costing us. A bit of our armor here. A bit of our courage there. A bit of ourselves slipping away without us noticing.
If we’re not wise, or if we don’t have people around us who love us enough to say, “Hey… you need to step back,” we start believing dangerous things.
That we’re stronger than we really are.
That we’re invincible.
That the world hinges on our decisions.
My friend, that’s not strength. That’s the quiet delusion of believing we must survive by being the fittest.
On the flight home I accidentally watched a movie called The Long Walk (I thought I had clicked on Superman — big difference). In the movie, a dozen young men are told to walk until they physically can’t anymore. The reward: riches and fame.
I didn’t make it far into the film. The first boy who stopped walking was immediately killed. At that moment all the others realized, Oh… this isn’t a game.
And sitting there on that plane, I realized:
Neither is our life when we treat it like that.
Many of us try to muscle through every season — powering up, pushing harder, thinking we can outwork exhaustion and outthink our own limits. But eventually, if we never stop, never rest, never exhale, we end up just like those boys: walking until we quite literally can’t anymore.
So what’s the answer?
Retreat.
Withdraw.
Step back.
Turn your phone off.
Take a nap.
Let someone else carry the weight for a moment.
Retreat isn’t weakness — it’s wisdom. It’s admitting we were never designed to be the last man standing, the hero, the lone survivor.
What if we were never meant to win the race in our own strength at all?
What if Someone already ran it — and won?
Someone who stood face-to-face with temptation, exhaustion, and danger — and overcame every time.
There is. His name is Jesus.
And not only did He win — He invites us to retreat into Him.
To hide in His shadow.
To rest beside still waters.
To lie down in green pastures.
To sit at the table He prepares for us in the presence of our enemies.
So yes — you could keep pushing to prove the world wrong.
Or…
You could retreat into the One who has already proven everything that truly matters.
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