I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but they’re moving an entire brick house on Rt. 625 next to Conestoga Wood Specialties. I’ve been watching with fascination over the last few weeks as they dug out around the foundation, cut through the concrete sections, and slid massive steel I-beams underneath. Then—somehow—they lifted the whole thing, inch by inch.

When I drove by Sunday morning, there it was… an entire house sitting on a flatbed trailer. I can’t imagine the tension of that moment. One wrong move and everything cracks. You don’t rush something like that, I think. You don’t move a house quickly. You move it slowly, carefully, deliberately… or not at all.

Hidden Work

This past weekend I concluded a year-long counseling program through the Allender Center. It was a big commitment—homework, reading, writing, reflecting and then four long modules with hours of teaching, integrated into small group work. Whew, I’m glad I’m done.

One of the best parts was my small group—seven people from all over the country, with different backgrounds and stories, all following Jesus and wanting to grow. The counseling module wasn’t just about content; it was about story. With the help of a skilled facilitator, we selected several stories from our past and learned together to discern how God redeems past struggles and uses them to shape us into who we are becoming. We didn’t just discuss lecture content—we shared parts of our lives that most people don’t see.

One woman in our group—I’ll call her Julie—stood out to me from the beginning. She carried herself with a quiet strength that built as the weeks progressed. Thoughtful, gracious, present—the kind of person who asks the right question at just the right moment. Who thinks before she speaks. You could see the fruit of the Spirit in her life. We were all blessed by her discernment and wisdom.

Real Transformation

Then this past weekend, she shared another piece of her past—brokenness, anger, control issues, deep family dysfunction, years of estrangement. Honestly, it didn’t even sound like the same person.

I sat there thinking, How does someone become… this… from that?

The answer wasn’t dramatic.

It was slow, hard transformation by the grace of God.

Mountain Moments vs. Slow Miracles

Jesus once said, “If anyone says to this mountain, ‘Go, throw yourself into the sea,’ and does not doubt… it will be done” (Mark 11:23). That’s big, bold, mountain-moving faith, and I believe Him.

God can do the sudden, miraculous, and unexplainable. But if I’m honest, most of the miracles I’ve seen don’t look like mountains crashing into oceans. They look like Julie. They look like years of God patiently lifting, repairing, and reshaping—inch by inch. Anger slowly softening into grace. Control loosening into trust. Wounds being addressed—not all at once, but over time.

They look a little like a house… being moved.

Don’t Despise the Slow

We tend to want instant change—we want things fixed, healed, and removed NOW. Or sometimes we know who God is calling us to be, but the gap is so wide that we get discouraged and never take any meaningful steps towards change.  We expect that mountains are moved instantly. But God often works differently. But whether fast or slow, moving a mountain is still a miracle. And deep, lasting life transformation is almost always slow. So slow, sometimes, you wonder if anything is happening at all.

Until one day you step back and realize—
you’re not where you used to be.

The house has moved.

It Was Moved

In the next few days, on a pretty little lot nearby, a home will suddenly appear—a little brick house waiting for its new owners. It will look like it’s been there all along, and with a little careful landscaping, everyone who drives by will assume it’s been there for generations.

But it wasn’t.

It was moved… carefully, intentionally, inch by inch, foot by foot.

And when we look at people’s lives—like Julie—it’s easy to assume they were always that way, that they’re naturally kind and patient and oozing godliness. But they weren’t.

God moved them.

Slowly. Carefully. Faithfully.

And all around us are slow-motion miracles.

And you are one too.