The space between

What if the in-between was the most sacred place of all?

Most of us don't think much about hallways when we walk through a house. They're just what connects one room to another.

But I think about them a lot.

Not because they're complicated to design—quite the opposite. But because they hold something that no other room does. They're the space between. The place you pass through, often without noticing. But something happens there. Something quiet. Something important.

I've been thinking about this lately—not just in floor plans, but in life.

The season I'm in right now? It's a hallway.

I'm not where I was. But I'm not quite where I'm going, either. It's tempting to rush through these spaces. To distract myself, to make plans, to fill the air with noise. But the hallway has its own beauty, its own invitation. It slows me down. It invites me to breathe. It asks me to trust.

Because in a well-designed home, the hallway doesn't just connect. It prepares you. It gives you a pause between experiences. A moment to let go of where you've been, and gather yourself for what's next. Maybe life is the same.

Maybe the "hallway seasons" are where we learn who we really are—apart from the titles, the roles, the next destination. Maybe this is where the light changes. Where we get to decide what we carry forward—and what we finally set down. In the home I'm building next, I'm paying close attention to the hallway. Where it leads. What it feels like to walk through it. What it opens into.

And in my life, I'm doing the same. Letting this moment between moments be enough. Letting it shape me quietly. Letting God speak, not in thunder—but in stillness.

Reflection for You

Is there a hallway you're walking through right now?

Not quite where you were, not yet where you're going.

What would happen if you slowed down and let it speak?