Originally shared on the PX homepage.
During the terrible storms Thursday night we got hit hard. Our power went out at 6:15 pm. It was not restored for 26 hours. Not too bad. A couple of years ago we were without power for 6 days! But even being without power for a little more than a day is disruptive and throws off your routine. Since we had no lights, we went to bed early. Friday morning, I had two meetings but I was back at my office in my house at 10:30 am. It was frustrating, I felt like I couldn’t do anything without internet or computer access. I was hot with no air-conditioning. I couldn’t use my coffee maker. During my whining my wife mentioned she enjoyed the silence. No TV blaring. No music on Spotify. The refrigerator wasn’t running nor the dishwasher humming. Just quiet. A forced upon us moment of silence.
In a world that runs on constant connection, the ability to “turn off” has quietly become one of the most important disciplines we can practice. We live with notifications tugging at our attention, news cycles that never sleep, and responsibilities that follow us home. Without intentional pauses, the mind never fully resets — it just keeps absorbing, reacting, and pushing forward.
Turning off isn’t laziness. It’s stewardship. It’s recognizing that we were never designed for uninterrupted output. Even the Bible builds rest into the rhythm of creation: evening and morning, work and Sabbath, labor and renewal. When we ignore that pattern, we eventually feel it — in our patience, our creativity, our relationships, and even our spiritual clarity.
Stepping away for a moment — shutting down the screen, silencing the phone, walking outside, sitting quietly with no agenda — gives the soul room to breathe. It allows thoughts to settle instead of churn. It restores perspective that gets lost in the noise. And often, it’s in those quiet spaces that we hear what we’ve been missing: a fresh idea, a needed conviction, a reminder of gratitude, or simply the sense that life is bigger than the next task.
Turning off is not escape. It’s recalibration. It’s choosing to live as a whole person rather than a constantly-running machine. And when we return to our work, our families, and our responsibilities, we do so with more clarity, more patience, and more strength than before.
A life that never pauses eventually frays. A life that learns to turn off — even briefly — becomes more grounded, more present, and more human.