𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝

Nobody warned me how much of life would be spent building.

Somewhere along the way, I think I assumed there would come a point when I would finally arrive. By this stage of life, I imagined I would be standing on the mountaintop, taking in the view, admiring everything that had been created through years of effort. Instead, here I am, still building.

The strange part is that I genuinely love creating things.

God blessed me with a mind that sees possibilities everywhere. Give me a blank page, a business idea, a relationship, a house project, a book, or a dream, and I immediately begin seeing what it could become. I can often feel the finished version long before the first step is taken. I see connections where others see separate pieces. I see potential where others see obstacles.

What I don’t particularly love is the building process itself.

The vision is exciting.

The construction is exhausting.

As I sit writing this today, I look around and realize that nearly every area of my life is under construction. Our home is in the middle of renovations. There are books being written, edited, marketed, and published. Business projects are evolving. New ideas are constantly taking shape. My health is asking for a different level of attention than it did ten years ago. Even my faith feels like it’s being stretched into deeper territory.

Everything seems to be asking something of me at the same time.

For years, I thought growth looked like becoming more. More productive. More disciplined. More successful. More accomplished.

Lately, it feels like growth looks a lot more like surrender.

That realization hasn’t come easily.

Much of my life required a tremendous amount of grit. I learned how to push through discomfort, solve problems, carry responsibility, and keep moving when things were difficult. There were seasons when strength wasn’t optional. It was necessary. Those qualities served me well, and I’m grateful for them.

Yet standing on the doorstep of fifty, I find myself learning a very different lesson.

Trust.

Trusting God at a deeper level.

Trusting timing.

Trusting purpose.

Trusting that not everything has to be forced into existence through effort alone.

Trusting that healthy relationships allow us to share the weight instead of carrying it all ourselves.

If I’m honest, that lesson feels harder than hard work ever did.

Hard work feels familiar.

Surrender feels vulnerable.

Life, however, has a funny way of teaching the lessons we need whether we’re ready for them or not.

As I write this, the dishwasher needs emptied. Laundry is running. The cat desperately needs brushed because she’s shedding enough fur to create a second cat. Dirt keeps finding its way onto the floor from landscaping projects happening outside. The pool needs attention. My Pinterest boards have consumed more hours than I care to admit. There are books I want to finish reading, books I want to finish writing, and a children’s manuscript my son created that deserves more attention than I’ve been able to give it lately.

Then there are the things we don’t always talk about.

Hormones.

Stress.

Autoimmune flare-ups.

Mast cell reactions.

The mysterious hives that occasionally appear on my hands or neck when my body decides it has had enough of carrying tension it hasn’t fully processed yet.

At some point recently, I found myself looking around and wondering why there always seems to be so much.

So much to learn, do, heal, build, carry, manage, improve, and figure out.

The answer that kept coming back was surprisingly simple.

Because we’re alive.

A few days ago, I said to Craig that we need to start viewing this season as though we’re freshmen in college.

Not because we’re starting over.

Because we’re learning.

The older I get, the more I realize that every season requires a different education. The lessons that served us at twenty-five aren’t necessarily the lessons required at fifty. Life keeps asking new questions. Growth keeps introducing new assignments. Wisdom isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about becoming willing to remain a student.

That shift has brought me an unexpected amount of peace.

Maybe I’m not behind.

Maybe you’re not behind either.

Maybe we’re simply in a classroom we didn’t expect to be sitting in.

The frustration often comes from wanting the reward while we’re still in the middle of the coursework. Human beings are notoriously impatient when it comes to delayed gratification. We want the healthy body before we’ve built the habits. We want the thriving business before we’ve developed the systems. We want the beautiful relationship before we’ve learned vulnerability. We want the finished home while it’s still covered in construction dust.

What I’ve slowly come to understand is that every meaningful thing I’ve ever experienced required a season of unseen work.

Nobody applauds the foundation being poured.

Nobody celebrates the thousands of ordinary decisions that create a healthy life.

Most people only notice the outcome.

Very few ever see the build.

Maybe that’s why so many of us feel exhausted.

Not because we’re failing.

Not because we’re doing something wrong.

Simply because building requires energy.

Building requires patience.

Building requires faith.

Building requires us to continue showing up long before there is visible evidence that our efforts are paying off.

And perhaps that’s the lesson I’ve been learning all along.

The purpose of the process isn’t simply to create the thing we’re building.

The process is creating us too.

As I look around at the unfinished projects, the endless to-do lists, the renovation dust, the books waiting to be completed, the shifting hormones, the cat hair, the dishes, the dreams, and all the beautiful chaos that comes with a full life, I am beginning to see something I missed for a very long time.

The mess is not evidence that life is falling apart.

The mess is evidence that life is still being created.

And maybe that’s exactly where the beauty has been hiding all along.

What area of your life feels under construction right now?

Your health?

Your faith?

Your marriage?

Your finances?

Your business?

Your healing?

Your relationship with yourself?

Share it below.

Sometimes it helps to remember that being unfinished doesn’t mean you’re failing. It simply means you’re still becoming.

And if this resonated, share it. Someone else may need the reminder that the mess they’re standing in today might actually be evidence that something beautiful is being built.

As always loving and praying for you and our world,

Rene Schooler