Dear Reader,
Imagine this: you are navigating through a busy city, following a route you have carefully mapped out. Everything seems to be going smoothly—until the road ahead is suddenly blocked. There’s a clear detour, but instead of following it, you insist on your own way. You try to manoeuvre around the obstacles, ignoring the signs and growing more frustrated by the minute.
How often does life mirror this?
We plan, pray, and pursue what we believe is right. But when things don’t go as expected, we try to force outcomes—convincing ourselves it’s determination, when sometimes it’s just our pride refusing to yield.
Now let’s bring it even closer to home. You’ve had a disagreement with someone. Deep down, you’re not upset because they were wrong—you’re upset because you didn’t “win.” You didn’t have the final word, the last say, the triumphant mic-drop moment. And so, you are restless, waiting for the perfect line to prove your point and walk away as the champion.
But pause for a moment and ask yourself: is it really about what’s right? Or are you just trying not to lose?
When we insist on having our way, on forcing outcomes, or on being the one who walks away with the final word, we trade peace for pride. And often, we walk away empty.
There is great strength in letting go. In realising that not every battle is ours to win. That sometimes, walking away quietly is not weakness, but wisdom. That yielding, when done in love and humility, is more noble than insisting on being right.
“A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.” – Proverbs 15:1
Many times, our need to win an argument is just the flesh trying to exalt itself, while the Holy Spirit is gently nudging us toward humility. The fruit of the Spirit isn’t loud or forceful—it’s love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control (Galatians 5:22–23). That’s the evidence of spiritual maturity—not who walked away with the loudest voice.
“Pride wants the last word. The Spirit of God wants the last fruit.”
Even Jesus, who had every right to defend Himself, often chose silence. “He was oppressed and afflicted, yet He did not open his mouth” (Isaiah 53:7). That wasn’t weakness—it was power under perfect control.
But let’s be honest—choosing humility costs something. It stings the ego to stay silent when everything in you wants to clap back—but you choose Jesus instead. It can feel like defeat to walk away quietly when you’re burning to make your point.
And sometimes, we fear being misunderstood. We think if we don’t defend ourselves, people will assume we are guilty, weak, or unsure. So pride steps in—not to protect truth, but to preserve image.- I often fell in this category if i am being honest.
But there is hidden strength in restraint. Stillness isn’t passivity—it’s power restrained by love. The world may never see it, but heaven does. And often, that quiet choice echoes louder than any closing remark ever could.
Because here’s the truth: long after the moment has passed, what lingers isn’t the satisfaction of a sharp comeback—it’s the peace that comes from honouring God.
And maybe, just maybe… ten years from now, what will matter most won’t be how clever your response was, but how well you surrendered to the Spirit in that moment. I once found myself in a similar situation, on the edge of “winning,” when the Holy Spirit gently whispered, “Let it go.” Refer to my Previous Blog Post. It was hard. Everything in me wanted to defend my honour. But I obeyed—and peace rushed in like a river. That moment didn’t make me look powerful. It made me free.
So the next time things don’t unfold as you imagined, or your voice isn’t the one that ends the conversation—choose stillness. Choose grace. You may find that in surrender, you actually win something far more valuable.
“You didn’t lose when you stayed quiet—you won the war your ego tried to start.”
With quiet strength,
Sharon Paulina Boye
April 7, 2025
P.S. I am a work in progress. These words are from my heart as I navigate letting God’s will find expression in me.
I don’t always walk away—but I am learning.
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