Share on bsky
For most of my life, I didn’t ask God why.
The truth is, I wasn’t even sure if there was a God.
I believed there was something bigger than us, but I couldn’t confidently tell you where I placed my beliefs with the amount of pain in the world, in my family, in the people I loved, and in my own life.
It felt like every time I caught my breath, another storm was waiting.
So I spent years trying to make sense of it all.
If I could understand why things happened…
If I could prepare for what was coming next…
If I could control just enough of my life…
Maybe I could protect myself from any more hurt.
I believed peace would come when I finally had the answers.
Instead, over the years, all I seemed to find was frustration, uncertainty, and an increasingly desperate need for control.
Because the truth is, life isn’t something we can control. No matter how hard we try, there will always be things beyond our understanding.
Somewhere along the way, something began to change—and it wasn’t just my patience.
It wasn’t overnight.
It wasn’t with some dramatic moment where everything suddenly made sense.
It happened quietly.
I started looking back instead of only looking ahead.
For the first time, I could see that my life wasn’t just a collection of random tragedies and impossible circumstances. Somehow, every season—every heartbreak, every disappointment, every lesson I never wanted to learn—had led me to where I was standing.
I began to realize there had always been a path.
I just couldn’t see it while I was walking it because I refused to trust a path I couldn’t prove existed.
I didn’t realize it then, but I wasn’t searching for answers nearly as much as I was searching for safety.
So whenever life became uncertain, I stepped off the path.
I convinced myself that if I planned better, prepared better, worked harder, or held on tighter, I could build a safer road than the one unfolding beneath my feet.
But every path I forced eventually led me back to the same place—exhausted, discouraged, and wondering why nothing seemed to work.
Looking back now, I realize it wasn’t because I had failed.
It was because I kept chasing roads that were never meant for me.
The path God had prepared never disappeared.
I was simply wandering away from it, believing I could find a better one on my own.
I wanted certainty before surrender. Evidence before faith. A guarantee before I would take the next step.
But faith was never asking me for certainty.
It was asking me to trust.
The closed doors I fought so hard to open weren’t rejections—they were redirections.
The seasons that felt like they were breaking me were often the ones that were changing me the most.
The things I thought would destroy me ended up teaching me resilience, compassion, humility, and grace.
I’m still learning.
I’m still asking questions.
I’m still discovering what faith really means.
I don’t have every answer, and I don’t expect that I ever will.
But today, I know something I didn’t know before.
I know God is there.
Not because my life has suddenly become easy.
Not because all my prayers have been answered the way I wanted.
Not because I finally understand why pain exists.
I know He’s there because when I look back, I can see moments I should have never made it through—and somehow, I did.
I can see doors that closed only for better ones to open.
I can see people who came into my life exactly when I needed them.
I can see strength I know didn’t come from me alone.
And I can see a version of myself today that never would have existed without the journey.
Maybe that’s why I can finally look back with gratitude instead of resentment.
Not because every painful chapter suddenly makes sense. But because I can finally see that God was faithful even when I couldn’t see Him.
He never asked me to understand the whole journey. Only to trust Him enough to take the next step.
I’m still finding my faith.
Some days it’s unwavering.
Some days it’s quiet.
Some days it looks like confidence.
Other days it looks like choosing to trust even when I can’t see what’s ahead.
Maybe that’s what faith has been all along.
Not certainty.
Trust.
Trusting that I don’t have to understand every chapter to believe there’s purpose in the story.
Trusting that even when I can’t see the road ahead, I’m not walking it alone.
Now I wonder if He had been patiently walking beside me the entire time, waiting until I was ready to stop trying to force my own way, let go of where I thought I needed to go, and simply allow the path He had prepared for me to unfold.
I don’t know exactly where this path leads. But for the first time in my life, I’m okay not knowing.
Because I’m beginning to trust that the One who laid the path knows exactly where He’s taking me.
And maybe that’s the miracle.
Not that I found all the answers. But that after a lifetime of searching for certainty, I finally found enough faith to keep walking—even without it.
~
Read 0 comments and reply