Where do you think faith lives? Maybe before we can answer that, we need to talk about faith itself.

Most people think of faith as religious belief. But faith is much more fundamental than that. Faith is what makes you believe the sun will rise tomorrow. It’s sitting down without testing the chair first. It’s the trust that lets you flip a light switch, step into an elevator, or merge onto the highway believing other drivers will follow the rules.

Faith is the quiet certainty that holds your world together – that your next step will find solid ground, that meaning exists even in suffering, that love is worth the risk.

We’re all people of faith. The question isn’t whether you have faith, but where you place it – and where you feel it in your body when that faith is threatened or confirmed.

So where do you think faith lives? In your mind? Your heart? I’m discovering more and more that faith runs through the whole system—through breath and body, memory and emotion, the same places that carry both joy and fear.

For most of my life, I thought having strong faith meant being able to produce the right results – growing in patience and joy, moving mountains through prayer, living up to the faith described in Hebrews 11 or the trust that made Jesus marvel at the Roman centurion. But I’m beginning to believe it’s more about learning to be safe. Not the kind of safety that hides from the world, but the kind that trusts—deep down—that love holds firm, even when life doesn’t.

That truth hasn’t come easy for me. It’s been shaped through anxiety, sleepless nights, and a long wrestle with my own need for control. It’s also been shaped in my roles as a husband and dad—the two places where my nervous system has been both most triggered and most transformed.

When Nervous Systems Speak Louder Than Words

When my kids were young, I thought being a good dad meant keeping everything together. Always calm. Always steady. Always strong. But beneath the surface, my temper would get the best of me, power struggles would define our interactions, and everyone learned to walk on eggshells around me. My kids and Karen would ask each other, “Is dad in a good mood?” before approaching me.

Looking back, I can see how my own dysregulation spilled into the room before I ever said a word. Some of it came from my own attachment patterns, some from the secondary trauma and compassion fatigue that comes with working with at-risk and vulnerable youth. But our nervous systems don’t parse the context – they just respond to what feels safe or unsafe. When mine was anxious, they felt it, regardless of the “good” reasons behind my stress. When I was at peace, they softened too.

That’s what I mean when I say grace meets the nervous system. It’s not abstract. It’s relational. When grace slows me down, it gives everyone around me permission to rest.

The same goes for marriage. Karen and I have walked through seasons of stress and loss—where unspoken fears spoke loudest. But when one of us could stay grounded, even just a little, it changed the whole atmosphere of the house. Love became the regulating presence.

A few months ago, I wrote about how connection rewires the wounded mind. That truth still shapes everything I’m learning now—that the Spirit doesn’t just meet us in isolation, but in relationship. We’re not renewed alone; we’re rewired together.

A Map for the Journey

Romans 5:1-5 has become my map for this process – not as separate steps but as one flowing reality. Paul describes how justification by faith creates this cascade: peace with God that settles something deep in our nervous systems, access to grace that becomes our secure base, suffering that doesn’t destroy but actually develops endurance, and hope that doesn’t disappoint because it’s grounded in love poured into our hearts.

This isn’t abstract theology. This is where faith actually lives – in a marriage when grace steadies two people who used to talk past each other, at the dinner table when laughter replaces tension, in the moment when a father learns that gentleness regulates better than control. This is what the cross makes possible – not just forgiveness of sins, but the actual rewiring of human hearts toward love.

The Contagious Nature of Peace

I’ve learned that when I am calm, I can help my family find calm. When I can breathe, they breathe. When I let the Spirit meet my own system, I become a safer place for others to land.

But this isn’t a magic formula. I’ve made real progress – I rarely explode like I used to, I’ve learned to change my self-talk, and I have tools that actually help. But I’m still learning. Some conversations still catch me off guard. Some days I can feel the old patterns trying to take over. The difference is that now I’m more aware of what’s happening in my body before it spills over into the room. I’m learning to notice the tension, the quickened heartbeat, the shallow breathing – and sometimes, just sometimes, I can pause long enough to let grace meet me there.

This work of integration – learning to let faith settle into our nervous systems – it’s slow and imperfect. But even small shifts toward peace create space for everyone around us to breathe a little easier.

That’s the work of transformation – not becoming perfect, but becoming whole. Not fixing everything at once, but learning to notice where grace wants to meet us, right in the places that tighten and brace and worry.

Reflection

So where does faith live? Not just in your mind or your heart, but in your whole system – in the places that tighten when you’re afraid and soften when you feel safe. In the breath that quickens with anxiety and slows with peace. In the nervous system that either braces for threat or rests in trust.

If you’re carrying tension you can’t name, try this: Pause for one deep breath. Notice where faith lives in your body right now – is it tight with worry or settled with trust? Let grace meet you there, in whatever state you find yourself. That’s not weakness; that’s formation. That’s grace doing its quiet, steady work.

Scripture speaks to this integration of faith and our nervous systems:

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” – Philippians 4:6-7

“Be still, and know that I am God.” – Psalm 46:10

“Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.” – 1 Peter 5:7

“You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in you.” – Isaiah 26:3

This is the first in a series of reflections on faith and the nervous system. There’s so much more here worth exploring.