The Journey of Trusting God

There are days when life feels heavy—when questions go unanswered and nothing seems to make sense. In those moments, I’ve had to remind myself of one simple truth: God knows more than I do.

It’s not easy giving up control. I like to have a plan, a reason, and a way forward. But faith means I don’t have to have it all figured out. Faith says, “God, I trust You even when I don’t understand.”

God sees the full picture of my life, while I only see one small piece. When I’m overwhelmed by fear or uncertainty, He gently invites me to hand it all over—my doubts, my pain, my dreams. And every time I do, I find peace I can’t explain.

I’ve learned that the safest place for my life is in God’s hands. He walks with me through my questions. He holds me close through my suffering. And He lovingly leads me along the path He’s prepared—even if I can’t see where it ends.

He has never failed me. He has never left me. And He won’t start now.

So I choose to trust Him—one step, one day, one breath at a time.

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want… He leads me in paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.” – Psalm 23:1,3

A Sunday Journey to Grandma’s House

There was something magical about Sunday afternoons at Grandma’s house.

It didn’t matter how busy the week had been or how much homework was waiting—I always looked forward to those few hours like they were the best part of life. The moment we pulled into her driveway, it felt like time slowed down.

Grandma would be waiting at the door, apron on, arms wide open, smelling like homemade biscuits. The house always smelled like comfort—chicken, fresh rolls, and something sweet cooling on the counter. We never had to wonder what was for dinner. The answer was always, “Come in and see.”

After we ate (always too much), the grown-ups would talk in the living room while we kids ended up outside—barefoot in the grass, playing tag or just swinging on the old porch swing. 

Grandma’s house didn’t have all the latest things, but it had what mattered most—warmth, laughter, and the kind of peace you can’t explain but you feel deep in your bones.

Looking back now, I realize it wasn’t just about the food or the fun. It was the feeling of being known, loved, and welcomed. It was family in its purest form.

Sunday afternoons at Grandma’s were more than a tradition. They were memories being stitched into the fabric of who we are.

A Journey of Unexpected Grace

It’s easy to assume that Jesus would choose the best and the brightest to reveal Himself to first. A religious leader, maybe. Someone well-respected. But that’s not what He did.

Instead, He chose a woman.

Not just any woman—one who had been rejected by her own people. She came to the well alone in the heat of the day, probably because it was easier than facing their stares. Her past was messy. Her heart likely heavy. But it was there, in that quiet, lonely moment, that Jesus met her. And not just to say hello. He revealed who He truly was—the Messiah. Before He told anyone else that plainly, He told her.

Why?

Because that’s who Jesus is.

He meets us in our brokenness. He doesn't wait until we’re polished and presentable. He sees value in the unseen. He speaks truth to the heart that’s hiding. And He chooses those who feel unworthy to carry His story.

That day at the well wasn’t just about water. It was about grace. About being fully known and still fully loved.

Jesus saw her—and He sees you.

He knows the shame, the regrets, the reasons you keep to yourself. And still, He shows up—not to shame you, but to save you. Not to turn away, but to draw near.

Because the journey of faith often starts in unexpected places with unexpected people. And the ones who know they need Him most are often the first to truly see who He is.

“Then Jesus declared, ‘I, the one speaking to you—I am He.’” – John 4:26

Creation Whispers God’s Name: A Journey of Trust

 

I See God’s Creation — Why Do I Still Doubt?

Sometimes, I just stop and look around. The sky is wide and full of light. Trees stand tall, stretching their arms toward heaven. Birds fly with grace, and flowers bloom in colors too perfect to describe. It’s all right in front of me — God's creation.

And then a thought hits me:
If God could speak all of this into existence, why do I doubt He can do miracles for me?

The same voice that said, “Let there be light,” also speaks into my life. The same hands that shaped the mountains also hold me when I’m afraid. But when things get hard, when prayers seem unanswered, I forget. I doubt. I feel small.

But looking at the beauty around me reminds me: He is powerful. He is present. And He is personal. If He can design an entire universe, He can still write something beautiful in my life too — even when I don’t see it yet.

So today, I choose to trust again. Because creation reminds me: God can. God does. God will.

The Journey Begins With the Soil

 

You can have the best seed—full of life, purpose, and potential. You can water it faithfully, give it light, and speak words of encouragement over it.

But if the soil is hard, rocky, or full of thorns… it won’t grow.

Jesus told a story just like this in Matthew 13—the parable of the sower. The same seed was scattered, but only one type of soil allowed it to grow and bear fruit.

The seed was never the problem.

The water wasn’t missing.

It was the condition of the soil.

And in our lives, that soil is our heart.

Sometimes, we wonder why God’s Word doesn’t seem to be working. We hear sermons. We pray. We try. But if our hearts are cluttered with bitterness, pride, distraction, or fear—it can keep truth from taking root.

God isn’t looking for perfection. He’s looking for a heart that’s soft, open, and ready to receive. A heart willing to be tilled, even if it hurts a little. A heart ready to grow.

So before you question the seed… check the soil.

God is ready to plant something beautiful. Let Him have the ground to work with.

The Journey to His Nearness: Where My Good Begins

There’s a quiet kind of comfort in knowing you’re not alone.

Psalm 73:28 says, “But as for me, it is good to be near God.”

Those words remind me that God’s presence isn’t just a nice idea—it’s my safety, my strength, and my hope.

I’ve felt it in the middle of a doctor’s office waiting room, unsure of the outcome.
I’ve felt it on tear-stained pillows, when sleep wouldn’t come and neither would peace.
I’ve felt it when I whispered, “Lord, I don’t understand,” and somehow still felt held.

The nearness of God doesn’t always change my situation—but it changes me.
It stills my racing heart.
It quiets my fear.
It reminds me that even here—especially here—He is close.

And His closeness?
That’s not just comforting.
It’s good.

So no matter what today holds, keep drawing near.
Because where He is—that’s where our good begins.

Even With a Broken Heart — The Journey Still Matters

Some days, I carry more than just the schedule, the smiles, and the Sunday expectations. Some days, I carry heartbreak. Not just my own—but the deep ache of others walking through divorce, sickness, grief, and disappointment. The kind of pain that lingers long after the prayers are spoken and the church doors close.

It’s not always just my burden I carry. It’s the whispered prayer requests, the tearful hugs after service, the silent messages asking for help. It’s the ache of people who feel unseen, and somehow, I tuck their pain into my own heart too.

And then there are the wounds no one warns you about—the ones that come from inside the church. The ones that feel like betrayal. When someone you called “family” turns away. When assumptions are made, and rumors whisper louder than the truth ever gets to speak. When people gossip instead of asking the source, and choose distance instead of grace. And even when they ask the source, their hearts have already decided—choosing gossip over grace, assumption over understanding. It’s hard to grasp why they turn from someone who still loves them and still prays for God's protection and blessings over them. I’ve learned that leaning on God isn’t just a spiritual phrase—it’s survival.

Because some nights, the tears fall when no one’s watching. Some Sundays, the spotlight feels more like a microscope. And some prayers feel too broken to leave your lips—but God still hears them. He sees the unseen. He counts every tear. He comes close, especially when no one else does.

So today, I’m praying.
For those who misunderstand.
For the ones who assume the worst instead of asking.
For the ones who gossip but never listen.
And I’m praying with love—not bitterness—because I still care. I still love. I still hope.

To the pastors' wives, ministry leaders, and silent servants—
You are not alone.
Your heart matters.
Your tears are not wasted.
And your quiet faithfulness? It’s noticed by Heaven.

Even with a broken heart, I’ll keep walking.
Because I know the Healer walks with me.
And even when I feel misunderstood or unseen—He sees.
He knows.
And He’s still building something beautiful, even in the places where we’ve been broken.