by Jo Gilbert
There’s something about life on the waterways that naturally leans towards movement.
You’re always heading somewhere, whether it’s the next mooring, the next town, or the next stretch of canal. For a long time, I thought that really suited me. I’ve always loved to travel. I like the change, the sense of freedom, and the feeling that something new is just around the next bend.
I’ve been fortunate enough to live and travel in different countries, and I’ve always loved learning about new cultures and people, even on a smaller scale, noticing the differences between towns, cities and villages here in the UK.
And if I’m honest, I think I assumed that kind of life fitted quite comfortably with my faith too. Trusting God on the move. Following where He leads. Not getting too settled.
But recently, things have looked a little different.
Because of circumstances largely outside of our control, such as visa limitations for my husband and the need for a more consistent work pattern, we’ve found ourselves staying in one place for longer than we’re used to.
And I’ve been surprised by what that’s brought up in me.
If I’m honest, part of me resisted it at first. Staying still felt restrictive, like something was being taken away. I missed the movement, the variety, and the sense of progress.
But slowly, something has shifted.
For the first time in a while, I’ve started to notice the value of being known somewhere. Of recognising the same faces. Of having conversations that don’t just happen once in passing, but continue and deepen over time.
On the waterways, you meet so many people, and those connections can be genuinely meaningful, even if they’re brief. But there’s something different about staying. About choosing, or being required, to remain long enough for roots to begin to form.
I think I’ve realised that I’ve been very good at moving on, but not always as good at staying.
And yet, throughout the Bible, we see both. There are seasons of going, of travel, of change, of stepping into the unknown. But there are also seasons of staying, of building, of investing in people and place.
Right now, I think God is teaching me something about that second kind of season.
About what it means to really sow into a community, not just passing through it, but being present in it.
And perhaps that’s the lesson in all of this.
That whatever season we find ourselves in, there is something to receive from it.
If it’s a season of movement, then embrace it fully. The newness, the challenges, the learning and growth. Enjoy meeting new people, gathering stories, and stepping into whatever God places in your path.
And if it’s a season of staying, then lean into that too. The beauty of deeper relationships, the challenges that come with them, the comfort of familiarity, even the quiet rhythm of routine, and the stability that stillness can offer.
“Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow…” (Matthew 6:28)
They don’t strive. They don’t rush ahead. They simply grow where they are.
And maybe that’s something we’re invited to learn as well.
That in every season, whether we are moving or staying, we keep our eyes fixed on Jesus. We take time to listen for His voice. We don’t take for granted the life we’ve been given.
And we do our best to love the people around us well, to be a reflection of Christ in the everyday moments, and to remain open to what God is shaping in us, wherever we find ourselves.
Because sometimes the journey is found in the moving,
and sometimes it’s found in the staying.