This is Part 2 of last week’s article. If you missed Part 1, you can catch up here.

I sometimes wonder what the younger version of me would think if he could see my life now. The nervous guy in his late twenties standing behind a music stand to preach his first Sunday morning message.

He couldn’t see the finished picture. Honestly, I still can’t. That’s what makes Peter’s first meeting with Jesus so interesting to me.

Jesus Sees More Than the Current Version of You

As I’m reading through John 1, I get to verse 42 and see Andrew bringing Simon to Jesus and Jesus takes one look at him and says:

“You are Simon the son of John. You shall be called Cephas.”
John 1:42, ESV

Cephas corresponds to Peter, which means “rock.”

Even with that name, Peter wasn’t the perfect picture of a disciple.

He was impulsive. He was bold and sometimes he spoke before he thought. He misunderstood Jesus a lot and even tried to correct Him on a few occasions. He made huge promises and later, he denied Jesus.

Then he was restored.

By Pentecost, we see this same Peter standing in leadership and boldly proclaiming the message of Christ. You know, what’s really interesting is that he is called “Rock” before he looks much like one.

I think about that when I look back at some of the earlier versions of myself.

The first real Sunday morning sermon I ever gave was at a little Baptist church. I had taught lessons and spoken in different scenarios before, but this was my first Sunday morning message. The sanctuary looked like something out of the 1970s, with wooden pews and an organ.

I was in my late twenties, standing in the center of the stage with a music stand in front of me. I believe God gave me a message for them. Habakkuk’s story was on display and I passionately shared the text and then connected it to reaching the community instead of becoming an insulated group of people that never reached out.

I was so nervous that I could have stood there and read the notes word for word, but I didn’t. I was still tied to them, though, because I was afraid people would notice how nervous I was.

When I finished, people were appreciative.

The younger version of me would be surprised by how well I can carry myself in front of a group of people now. Our current church is many times larger than that first little Baptist church, and although I still get nervous sometimes, it isn’t something I think about very much anymore.

In all the things the Lord has led me to do, He keeps showing me that I need to care less about what people think and care more about what He thinks.

It’s hard for me to imagine that God can use the times when I feel inexperienced or unqualified.

But He does.

Peter is a good reminder that God does not wait until every weakness is gone before He uses someone. Peter failed badly. He denied Jesus when it mattered most, and Jesus still restored him.

That doesn’t mean failure doesn’t matter or that sin doesn’t have consequences. Repentance matters. But Jesus can tell the truth about us while still seeing more in us.

I’ve confused unfinished with unqualified many times, especially when I’m afraid my unfinished side might affect someone else. Being unfinished means God still has work to do in me. It does not automatically mean He cannot use me while He is doing it.

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The Things We Use for Identity Keep Changing

It’s easy to define yourself by your job title or your ministry position.

I remember a time when I first started working at the church I grew up in. I walked into the pastor’s office and asked, “What is the title for my role?”

I didn’t really understand why that question might sound strange. To me, a title was simply an explanation for what you did and what position you had on the team.

I remember him looking at me funny and confirming the title. Later, we had a conversation about how unstable titles can be, how they change, and how they often don’t reflect everything a person actually does.

Titles probably matter to me more than I wanted to admit. I also know that criticism tends to stick with me longer than encouragement does, which probably explains why uncertainty about my role can get under my skin so easily.

There have been times when I’ve faced uncertainty about my role and what authority I do or don’t have. It has taught me that outside of the church leadership structure and outside of the successes and failures of executive leadership, I am still a pastor. I am still a shepherd.

The same thing can happen outside ministry. A job can change without changing your value. A relationship can end without erasing who you are. A season of being needed can pass without making you unnecessary.

Sometimes the role changes before we have figured out who we are without it.

There is a big difference between calling and position. I will continue to love and serve the Lord regardless of what happens to a particular position.

Success can be just as unstable as failure when we use it to decide who we are.

I’ve learned that I am the same person with or without the title. If other people don’t recognize what I believe God has called me to do, I’m still the same person. I still need to be faithful to what the Lord has asked of me.

I’m also the same person if an article goes viral or if it flops.

You can take personality tests, ask others for their opinions on you, but their ideas still does not have final authority over my identity. The only one who gets the final word on my identity is my heavenly Father. He is the one who created me and called me. He knows my experiences, failures, and successes.

He is the one who calls me His own. That is my identity before anything else.

Maybe “Who Am I?” Is the Second Question

John actually gives us language for this earlier in the chapter:

“But to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God.”
John 1:12, ESV

John doesn’t leave the identity question completely unanswered. In the same chapter where he spends so much time telling us who Jesus is, he also tells us what happens to those who receive Him. We become children of God.

That doesn’t answer every question about personality, calling, work, or the future, but it gives all of those questions somewhere solid to begin.

I think John spends so much time telling us who Jesus is because Jesus eventually gives this invitation:

“Come and see.”

When Jesus is your starting point, the identity question begins somewhere much more secure.

John is talking about those who have received Christ and believed in His name. Paul describes that same response in Romans 10:9 as confessing Jesus as Lord and believing in your heart that God raised Him from the dead.

For those who have put their faith in Christ, being a child of God is where our identity begins.

Being a child of God doesn’t mean we should stop thinking about who we are, how we are supposed to serve the Kingdom, or what our gifts and talents are. Healthy self-awareness means understanding that I am a child of God, while also understanding that I am flawed, redeemed, and still being changed.

The problem comes when I get down on myself because I’m not the perfect picture of the person I think I should already be.

Jesus knows me at a level nobody else does. That gives Him an authority to define me that the people in my life simply do not have.

When I start with myself, I am wholly inadequate to make myself worthy of being a child of God. When I start with Jesus, I remember that I have been redeemed through Him.

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What Do I Do Tomorrow?

1. Pay Attention to Your Mirrors

The first thing you need to do is pay attention to your mirrors.

Ask yourself what makes your mood about yourself rise or fall. Is it the way people talk to you? Is it what someone thinks about you? Is it whether something went well at work?

We have to be careful about making external circumstances the foundation for how we understand ourselves.

For the next week, pay attention to the moments when your opinion of yourself suddenly changes. Maybe someone criticizes you and you immediately feel worthless. Maybe someone praises you and suddenly everything feels fine again.

When that happens, stop and ask, “What did I just decide this means about me?”

That question may show you which mirror has been carrying too much weight.

Sometimes that mirror is a parent. Sometimes it is a pastor, leader, family member, or friend. Sometimes it is simply whether you succeeded or failed.

Their opinion may be important. Your achievements may matter. But neither has the authority to tell you what you are worth.

Your failure doesn’t define you any more than your success does.

2. Identify Your Labels

The second thing I would encourage you to do is identify your labels.

Here is an exercise for this week. Write down the labels you have put on yourself.

Maybe it’s successful. Failure. Rejected. Gifted. Not enough. Divorced. Addict. Difficult. Disappointing.

Then ask the question: Who gave you that label?

Is it describing something that happened, or is it defining who you are?

Are you treating somebody’s opinion as God’s verdict?

Don’t immediately replace the label with a nicer one. Ask where it came from first.

Maybe “failure” came from one decision you regret. Maybe “difficult” came from one person who didn’t know what to do with you. Maybe “successful” came from a season when everyone seemed impressed.

Understanding where the label came from helps you decide whether it ever had the authority to define you in the first place.

3. Look at Jesus

I would recommend that you read John 1 slowly. Maybe continue through the Gospel.

Instead of immediately asking, “What does this say about me?” first ask, “What does this show me about Jesus?”

I think that matters because as you understand who Jesus is, you begin to understand who you are supposed to be as someone who follows Him.

4. Take the Next Faithful Step

There will be many times in your life when you already know what the next faithful step is, but you are anxious to take it. You do not need to know what the finished version of your life looks like before you obey what God has already made clear.

Maybe it’s an apology. Maybe it’s somewhere you need to serve. Maybe you need to pray, have a conversation, start something, stop something, or ask for help.

Be faithful with what you already know.

5. Let Yourself Be Unfinished

There are plenty of things I’m still working on, including this feeling that I need to be good enough. That one still pops up more than I’d like to admit.

I’m so glad Jesus did not demand that we become perfect before we could follow Him.

Personal spiritual growth is very different from proving yourself. I think that’s where we sometimes go wrong. We start treating growth like evidence that we are finally good enough for God or for the people around us.

We don’t need to prove ourselves. We need to love Him and serve Him faithfully.

The story of Peter teaches me that God is patient. He keeps working with people who have doubts, questions, failures, and confused ideas about who they are.

And He keeps working.

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You Do Not Have to Know the Finished Version of Yourself

When I think back to the person I was at that little Baptist church, giving my first Sunday morning message in my late twenties, I didn’t know what God had in store.

I didn’t know whether what I was doing would even be something I would do for the rest of my life.

I was worried that I wouldn’t communicate well, that people wouldn’t want me to speak anymore, or that the whole thing would be a wasted effort.

But that wasn’t the whole story.

God was doing something in me that I couldn’t really articulate at the time. Over time, some of the anxiety that had such a grip on me started to loosen.

Maybe as you read this today, you feel behind or forgotten. Maybe you feel confused. Maybe you feel too damaged to be used by God, or maybe you don’t think you are impressive enough.

Maybe you are unsure about your calling. Maybe you have failures in your life that you feel have defined you. Maybe you simply cannot see what God could possibly do next.

I want you to know that you have not been forgotten.

I can’t tell you what God is going to do with every part of your story. I couldn’t have told the guy standing behind that music stand in his late twenties what the next fifteen years would look like either.

What I do know is that being unfinished does not put you outside the reach of God. Your worst season does not leave Him wondering what to do with you.

In John 1:39, Jesus says: “Come and you will see.”

That is the invitation. Come and see.

You do not need to have yourself figured out before you can follow Jesus or before He can use you in a meaningful way.

If you have put your faith in Christ, you are His child before you are anything else.

Follow Him from there.

Maybe you’re a bit like me, and you’ve stood in front of a mirror talking to yourself, rehearsing scenarios, thinking through things, and saying things you probably wouldn’t say to anyone else.

The interesting thing about a mirror is that it doesn’t respond to you. It just reflects what is happening in front of it. If you make a face, it shows you that face. It can be a great place to judge yourself in terms of appearance. Do you look tired? Is your hair a mess? Are you getting older? Do you see a new wrinkle popping up? How do your clothes look? Are you underdressed or overdressed for wherever you’re going?

The interesting thing about mirrors is that they can’t tell you how valuable you are, and they can’t reveal what your calling is. They can only reflect what you’re already doing.

I think the concept of mirrors can be applied to a lot of different areas in our lives. One would be our work environment. Often, the people around us reflect what we’re already doing. The same thing can happen in relationships. Our spouse, family, friends, accomplishments, and failures can all become a kind of reflection.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve often used the mirror of what other people think, what they say, and how they act around me as a mirror for my own behavior, choices, and leadership. When people around me are acting differently than normal, sometimes I immediately think I could be the cause of it.

It’s not a terribly good way to evaluate myself because sometimes the other person is acting that way and it has nothing to do with me. I think I’ve become less self-centered in that way as I’ve gotten older, but this still catches me sometimes.

I think it’s different for every person when it comes to who they think they are and whether they need someone else to tell them who they are. Sometimes we measure our success and failure based on the opinions of people we care about. Other times, we somehow elevate the opinion of someone who probably should not have that much influence over us.

I’m not an expert on human behavior, but it seems like we have a desperate need for approval and acknowledgment.

Those mirrors are not completely useless. Other people can tell me things about myself that I need to hear. Success and failure can teach me, and my past can help explain why I react the way I do. The problem comes when I give those things the authority to decide what I am worth.

Success is funny that way. One day we can feel like we’re on top of the world and everything is fine, and then the next day we’re down in the valley. We have a hard time understanding why that is, so we start looking for answers.

Today I’m focusing on John 1, and I can’t get past the first verse:

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”
John 1:1, ESV

Why would John begin a Gospel about Jesus there instead of at Bethlehem?

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Everybody Has a Beginning Except Jesus

John 1 starts with “In the beginning,” echoing Genesis 1. John is trying to explain to us that Jesus, also known as the Word, existed before the world did. He was there with God, and He is God.

What I think is interesting about the phrasing at the beginning of John is that John doesn’t place Christ in the category of created things. He is outside the category of created things. Jesus doesn’t begin at Bethlehem, and all creation comes through Him.

Everybody has a beginning except Jesus.

I was the kid who grew up without a father in my life. I was probably fifteen or sixteen when I started looking for my biological father online. I remember there was a single picture in the family photo album of him and my mom standing together, and it wasn’t very clear. I really didn’t even know what he looked like.

At the end of the day, what I really wanted was to know who he was. What was he like? Was he somebody I could have known?

Before I started looking, I knew that he had been in prison and that he was, in many ways, mentally unstable. I knew there were reasons it would not have been safe for me to be around him.

What I didn’t know was that when I turned eighteen, I could have met him if I had known where certain members of his family were and had open communication with them. Because of the issues surrounding my father’s incarceration and the fear of being put into an unsafe situation, I didn’t reach out to the extended family I was able to find.

Then one day, during a random search, I found his obituary.

I felt like there was a piece of me missing, and I had lost the ability to find it and add it to my life. I understood the reasons why I wasn’t in his life, but there was always a desire to understand for myself.

It’s amazing how people can tell you something is a bad choice or the wrong decision, but when it comes to people you are deeply connected to, there’s a part of you that just wants to find out for yourself.

I remember asking the state for a copy of his prison records, thinking I might find a picture or something more detailed and personal about him. What I found was a troubled and broken man, and that was just the part that wasn’t redacted.

There was a pattern of repeat offenses. I think the thing that surprised me was the level of brokenness a person must experience to keep returning to the very thing that ultimately destroys them.

Finding all that information didn’t really give me any closure. It just gave me more questions that I could never have answered.

For a long time, I wondered if the part of him that was so broken was somehow in me too. I wondered whether I would live a broken life or, at some point, make a decision and lose everything.

My father’s story helped explain some of the fears I carried, but it did not obligate me to repeat his choices.

Learning about his story didn’t really change how I viewed my own story as much as I expected. What it did make me realize is that my beginning was probably one of the most unlikely things that could have happened.

Because I know my God, I know that He does amazing things with unlikely people. Understanding my father’s story helped solidify what a truly miraculous opportunity it has been for me to do what I’m doing today.

So much of what we understand about ourselves comes from our beginnings. Who was in our lives? What were their personalities and behaviors like? How did those things shape us?

I think that’s why it’s important to know where you came from. Family history can explain a lot about a person in terms of behaviors and patterns that might be familial or hereditary.

The hardest part is separating your past from who you are today.

There are pieces of your past that you were not in charge of and could not change in the moment. But there are choices you can make today about where you go from here.

When someone says, “Your past doesn’t define you,” that’s a nice thing to say, but it doesn’t make much difference when you’re actively allowing your past to define you. It has to become something you understand, but it also has to become something you live.

Understanding my dad’s story was hard. I think the hardest part was knowing I would never get to meet him and realizing that his decisions were not my own.

Every human story has a beginning. We have grandparents, parents, and history behind the history. Jesus has no starting point, at least not in the way we do. From our perspective, He has always existed and will always exist.

Jesus existed before my story began, and I think that’s important because His perspective is so far beyond my own. Because I know He loves me, I can trust Him, do the things He has asked me to do, and follow His example.

Before anyone had formed an opinion of me, before I even had an opinion about myself, Jesus already knew me.

So the question I’m left with is this: if Jesus comes before all of those things, why should any of those things get the final word about who I am? Why do I value other opinions above His?

He came first.

What If Your Picture of God Comes From the Wrong Place?

In verse 14 of John 1, we see the Word become flesh. God comes near. He becomes visible and knowable. In verse 18, Jesus makes the Father known.

I’ve learned that if you want to know what God is like, Jesus is the clearest picture of the Father.

The concept of father was always elusive to me growing up because it wasn’t something I saw in my own life. The few men who were in that role were so unlike good father figures that I didn’t have a realistic or complete example of what fatherhood should be.

And I don’t think I’m being unfair when I say there is a difference between trying to be a good father and failing sometimes, and having no concept of being a father because you’re not really trying at all.

Some of the best fathers I knew were on television. Knowing that those dads were scripted and edited and not real at all probably distorted my view of what fathers should be.

Because my biological father wasn’t in my life, I was able to compartmentalize my experience with God from him. Although there was a period of time when I thought my stepfather might take that role, it never really happened in a meaningful way.

I think one of the assumptions I had about God was that I needed to be good enough. That has framed my thinking for a long time.

It took years of learning and growing with God to understand that I will never be good enough on my own. My standing with God comes through Jesus Christ and His sacrifice, not through my ability to accomplish enough or perform well enough.

I’ve grown past some of that, but it still comes up more than I’d like to admit.

Another challenge for me has been trusting God in the everyday things.

One of the things that surprises me about Jesus is the way He treats people. When He approaches the woman at the well, He chooses to engage her before calling out the sin in her life. She didn’t have to be good enough to have a conversation with Jesus.

It seems to me that Jesus moves toward people. The people who make Him the angriest are often the religious leaders who send people away from Him or build barriers between people and God.

His patience seems almost never-ending for the person who is honestly trying to follow Him, serve Him, love Him, and still fails miserably.

He never avoids truth, but He also isn’t looking for opportunities to humiliate struggling people.

I think that reveals something important about God. He loves His people and wants to see them grow.

One of the things I had to learn was that God was not judging me based on my accomplishments or my ability to be good enough.

Jesus showed me that I am loved apart from my accomplishments.

Being a child of God gives me the incredible opportunity to be loved by my heavenly Father before I am valued for what I have done.

Curiosity Can Come Before Certainty

I grew up in a fairly large church, and at fifteen years old it seemed like a big church with lots of opportunities. Because I had been there for most of my life, I loved the people and the work that was being done there.

I started serving because I wanted to. At the time, I was serving in family and children’s ministry. I wanted the kids to know who Jesus was and to have someone in their life they could count on.

I did so many things in kids’ ministry, from teaching to administrative work, repairing and preparing the building, working with volunteers, and working with parents. I loved being part of it.

I was also terrible at speaking in public. I had a hard time getting my thoughts in order, and I would draw a blank when I stood in front of people with a microphone. But I loved music, and some of my first opportunities to lead worship happened in that ministry.

I remember leading groups, teaching, and training volunteers. In the beginning, there were a few leaders who gave me responsibility, and I was so excited to do something for the Lord. I also wanted to show that I was capable and responsible enough to do it.

At fifteen, I had an inkling that I would probably be in ministry in the future, but I had no idea to what extent. If you had asked me what I would be doing when I turned forty, I probably would have guessed something in technology.

A lot of people in my church family saw the preacher in me at a very young age. Being given the chance to speak seemed insignificant at the time, but I know that is where I got some of my first real feedback. Even though I felt like I did horribly, I just kept improving from there.

I didn’t have a lot of people in my life who were willing to really mentor me. It was more of a, “Here’s an opportunity. Go do the job. We’ll tell you good job at the end,” situation. Looking backward, I think it makes sense that some things took as long as they did because I was doing a lot of the growing myself.

The desire to dig into God’s Word, explore, and understand history was something I had for myself. I would do massive deep dives into Scripture because I loved it.

God has never shown me the whole plan in advance.

Looking back, there are decisions I would make differently. I probably would have tried harder to find grants or special funding so I could attend seminary earlier. At the time, I believed certain things about myself and about what I could afford, and those beliefs shaped what I did next.

I believe wisdom does the next right thing. We fall short when we demand certainty before we are willing to take the first step.

And the next faithful step is not always some huge calling decision. Sometimes it is much less impressive. It might be keeping a commitment, apologizing, serving when nobody notices, having the conversation you have been avoiding, or simply being faithful where God has already placed you.

We want to know the destination before we agree to follow because there is a level of trust and control that we have to give away before we can truly follow Christ.

That makes me think about what Jesus says in John 1:39:

“Come and you will see.”

About twelve years ago, I helped plant a church. I was a year or two out of ministry at our previous church, and in some ways I was starting over. I didn’t really know anyone outside of the church I had been part of, and there weren’t many people giving me opportunities at that point.

I knew that I was called, but I didn’t know when or where. What scared me was spending a lot of time doing something I wasn’t called to do and somehow missing the opportunities the Lord had for me.

It became clear afterward that I didn’t really need a church to affirm my calling.

If someone came to me and said they didn’t know what God wanted to do with their life, I would ask them about the desires, skills, and things the Lord has already put in them. Then I would talk with them about what the next step could look like.

Before anything else, though, I would make sure they are committed to having a relationship with God where they spend actual time with Him. They dig into His Word. They worship. They serve.

I believe those things matter when you’re trying to understand the calling God has placed on your life.

A lot of people believe uncertainty means they are failing. I don’t think that’s always true. Sometimes the fact that they’re asking the question and genuinely wanting to be obedient to the Lord is an amazing thing. They may simply need time to put the pieces together and understand what God is doing in their life.

I would warn them against falling into performative Christianity or accepting positions and open doors that really aren’t for them. And I would encourage them to pray and dig into their relationship with God because everything else flows from there.

Sometime this week, read John 1 without starting with yourself. Instead of asking, “What does this say about me?” ask, “What does this show me about Jesus?” Write down what you notice. You may be surprised how many identity questions begin to look different once Jesus becomes the starting point.

Start With Jesus

I think this is where John 1 keeps bringing me back.

I can learn a lot about myself by looking at my past. I can understand why certain things affect me the way they do. I can listen to people I trust, learn from success and failure, and even pay attention to the patterns in my own personality.

Those things can help me understand myself.

They just can’t carry the full weight of telling me who I am.

My father’s story is part of my story, but his choices are not my identity. The opinions of people around me can help me grow, but they do not get the final word about my value. Even my calling is something I am still learning as I follow Jesus.

John starts somewhere more secure.

“In the beginning was the Word.”

Before I knew who I was, Jesus already was.

That is why I think the invitation Jesus gives later in the chapter matters so much:

“Come and you will see.”
John 1:39, ESV

Maybe you don’t need to have every question about yourself answered today.

Maybe the first step is simply to come and see.

Learn who Jesus is. Spend time with Him. Let Him correct the parts of your picture of God that came from people who represented Him badly. Take the next faithful step He has already put in front of you.

Because before we can really answer, “Who am I?” I think John wants us to ask a better first question: Who is Jesus?

There is another side to this question that John 1 brings up. What happens when Jesus sees something in you that you cannot see in yourself yet? That is where Peter’s story takes us next.

I’ve stopped myself more times than I can count saying, “I should know this.” There’s a part of Christianity that tells us we should have all the answers. We know that God is good, sovereign, loves us, and has a plan. But we still find ourselves staring at a problem thinking: “Okay, then explain this.”

Your question doesn’t come from a heart that is angry or wants to rebel; it usually comes from genuine confusion.

I’ve prayed prayers that were reasonable. I’ve done what I believed God was asking me to do. Yet, the relationship ended anyway. The opportunity vanished. I watched other people receive the thing I prayed about for years.

And in all of that, I stared at a door I was certain God had opened.

No one feels the pressure to have all the answers quite like a pastor.

In the beginning of my ministry, I remember walking into an interview and thinking, “I’ve got this in the bag.”

I was so excited to move toward the calling that was growing in me from a young age. I just knew this was it. The beginning of serving in a pastoral role at my church.

Everything seemed like it was stacked in my favor. I had been with the organization for over 10 years and knew absolutely everyone. I was on the leadership team for the biggest department of the church. I continued to develop under their leadership and my calling was confirmed on numerous occasions. They even saw it before I did.

I walked away thinking everything went well. Beyond excited to start this journey.

Then about a week later, I was made aware that I didn’t get the job. I still don’t know why. They never told me.

Sometimes the hardest part of faith isn’t believing that God exists. It’s believing God knows what He’s doing when we don’t.

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Habakkuk Had Questions Too

Habakkuk was a prophet in Judah. Associated with King Josiah were reforms and revival among the people. Then he watched as Judah moved back toward corruption and rebellion. It wasn’t just a theory; it was reality. Habakkuk watched things get better and then become worse again.

Habakkuk starts with the prophet crying out to God and there’s a part of his plea that resonates with me:

“O LORD, how long shall I cry for help, and you will not hear?” (Habakkuk 1:2a)

Notice what’s not happening here.

He’s not walking away. He talks to God about God.

Sometimes confusion hurts more because we remember when things looked hopeful.

Over the last 25 years, I’ve been privy to some great and horrendous decisions by leadership. Some had lasting consequences that still show up today in the people that were affected. In many of those situations, I had no control or ability to steer the organization away from disaster.

In those moments, I remember asking the Lord, “Do you see what’s happening here?”

Have you ever prayed that prayer?

I’ve noticed that people aren’t always asking God for a miracle. Sometimes they’re just asking Him to make the story make sense.

Sometimes God’s Answer Creates More Questions

God answers Habakkuk:

“Look among the nations, and see; wonder and be astounded. For I am doing a work in your days that you would not believe if told.” (Habakkuk 1:5)

Essentially, he’s saying, “I see it. I’m already doing something.”

That’s wonderful, but God’s plan involved the Babylonians. The challenge with that is that Habakkuk wanted God to deal with Judah’s wickedness. He did not expect God to use someone even worse to accomplish it.

Habakkuk had a second problem that was almost like trying to treat a disease with a disease. He objects to what God is doing by changing his question from “Why aren’t you acting?” to “Why would you act like that?”

Sometimes we ask the Lord to please do something, then something happens, and we say, “Not THAT.”

I’m the type of person that knows my place in my family is to provide. That often means that I’m making the sacrifices that are needed to ensure that my family has what it needs to thrive. In the past, that has meant working two, sometimes three jobs at a time, to make sure that we had what we needed.

Not all of the jobs were ministry-related. Sometimes I would work just to put dinner on the table while pursuing ministry.

I’ve gone through seasons where I could see the writing on the wall, and I was desperate to find a different job. If you’ve ever tried to apply for a job, you know what it’s like to experience lots of front doors but no callbacks. One of the hardest parts about doing interviews, at least in my experience, is to keep showing up when it seems like you’re being rejected constantly.

There have been a few times where I did not particularly appreciate the opportunities that were in front of me. Not that I wasn’t capable of doing, or even willing to do, the jobs.

What I can tell you is that God’s methods sometimes remain mysterious, even when His character does not.

We often say we want God’s will until His will takes a road we would never have chosen.

God Does Not Shame Habakkuk for Asking

Habakkuk does something that many of us are afraid to do: he pushes back. He asks how God’s holiness fits with what God had just revealed. Then he does something significant: he waits.

I will take my stand at my watchpost and station myself on the tower, and look out to see what he will say to me, and what I will answer concerning my complaint. (Habakkuk 2:1)

As I read this, it’s interesting to me that Habakkuk is expecting an answer but also seems willing to be corrected. It also seems like he isn’t demanding that God admit that he’s wrong. It sounds like he recognizes that perhaps his understanding is incomplete, and that’s a very different kind of doubt.

He’s not saying that God owes him an explanation, but he’s saying that he doesn’t understand, and he’s asking the Lord to teach him what he’s missing.

If you’re anything like me, you often feel guilty for questioning God. Maybe you were taught that mature Christians never ask why. But Scripture contains an awful lot of people asking why. You have David, Jeremiah, Job, Habakkuk. Even the Psalms are repeatedly giving words to confusion and lament.

I’ve had people meet with me, and they immediately apologize before admitting that they were angry or confused with God. What’s interesting about that is there is a distinct difference between someone questioning God and someone rejecting God. It’s the difference between saying, “I don’t understand you; therefore, how could I follow you?” and “I know you know what’s best for me, but I don’t understand, so please help me fill in the blanks.”

You need to remember that God is not threatened by your questions. In fact, your questions will keep bringing you back to God, and that’s the point.

You Are Allowed to Admit That You Don't Know

Here’s a verse from Isaiah that can help us:

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the LORD. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.” (Isaiah 55:8–9)

Isaiah isn’t saying God is irrational or unknowable. What he is saying is that God’s thoughts and ways transcend ours. We can genuinely know Him without ever possessing his perspective completely. The distance is meant to produce humility as we seek him, not discourage us from seeking him.

It’s important to understand that our maturity as believers isn’t in having an explanation for everything. In fact, sometimes maturity sounds like saying, “I don’t know,” and then, “But here’s what I do know.”

There have been plenty of times where someone has come into my office and told me about their situation, and I sit back and think, “Well, that’s a new one.” Sometimes that person needs a detailed explanation. Sometimes they just need someone to listen and point them back to Christ.

Remember, faith isn’t pretending you understand. Faith is knowing where to stand when you don’t.

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“Lean Not on Your Own Understanding” Doesn't Mean Stop Thinking

The book of Proverbs gives us a great image to understand this truth.

“Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.” (Proverbs 3:5–6)

The image behind “trust” carries the idea of placing your weight upon something, and “lean not” means refusing to make your own understanding the support structure holding everything up.

It doesn’t mean you should stop thinking, asking, or investigating, or that you should ignore reality. It means that your ability to understand everything cannot be the prerequisite for trusting God.

What we don’t want to do is limit our trust in God to times when His reasoning passes our inspection.

I was recently at a conference and, on my way back, sitting on the airplane during our descent, I felt the plane move to the right when we should have been going straight to the runway. I had no idea why the plane was turning. From my vantage point, I couldn’t tell you why that was happening. I just had to trust that the pilot knew what he was doing.

If understanding everything were required before trusting God, none of us would ever take the first step.

Habakkuk Never Gets the Kind of Answer We Usually Want

As you read through chapter 2 of Habakkuk, you see that Habakkuk gets revelation from God, but God doesn’t give him a neat explanation of every detail. God tells him what he’s doing and assures him that Babylon will eventually answer for its wickedness too.

“the righteous shall live by his faith.” (Habakkuk 2:4b)

God tells Habakkuk that the vision has an appointed time. It will happen, but Habakkuk must live faithfully before he sees everything resolved. You see, God doesn’t satisfy every curiosity. He gives Habakkuk enough revelation to keep walking.

We often want God to explain everything. We want to understand what’s happening before we trust, but Habakkuk shows us that God’s character allows us to trust Him, and then we can continue in obedience while understanding remains incomplete.

It’s not exactly blind faith. Habakkuk has reasons to trust God, but he simply doesn’t have all the information.

God may not give you enough information to explain everything. He will give you enough of Himself to keep going.

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The Circumstances Haven't Changed. Habakkuk Has.

Once you get to the end of chapter 3, you see the line about the fig tree not blossoming. It’s important to remember that Babylon is still coming. Judgment hasn’t disappeared for them, but the scary thing God described earlier hasn’t been canceled. Habakkuk even says his body trembles at what is coming, and yet:

“Yet I will rejoice in the LORD.” (Habakkuk 3:18a)

When you see that, you might think Habakkuk has gone crazy and he’s not thinking in terms of reality. But the opposite is true. He isn’t ignoring reality. The fields are empty; the livestock are gone. The threat is real. His confidence has shifted from circumstances to God’s unchanging nature.

He goes from “I don’t understand God” to “I know God well enough to trust him even where I still don’t understand him.”

There have been plenty of times in ministry where I have asked out loud, “Why am I still here? What plan do you have for me in this season?” I’ll be honest, I don’t always understand it, but I know that God has a plan.

Because I know that God rewards faithfulness, I’m going to keep showing up even when I don’t know what tomorrow will bring or what this season has in store for me. I know that God is there, and I know that He will sustain me through every hill and valley.

You see, Habakkuk didn’t leave the conversation with all the answers. He left knowing where to put his weight.

What Do You Do When You Don't Understand God?

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Stay at the Watchtower

Habakkuk was standing at the watchtower waiting. He doesn’t know everything. He doesn’t particularly like what he does know, but he stays. He listens, he waits, and eventually the man who began the book asking, “God, what are you doing?” ends it saying, “Yet I will rejoice in the Lord.”

He doesn’t rejoice because everything became understandable. He rejoices because somewhere between chapters 1 and 3, understanding stopped being the thing holding up his faith.

Maybe that’s where you are right now: you don’t understand the diagnosis, the closed door, why the prayer still hasn’t been answered, why God chose this road. You don’t have to pretend that you do understand. Stay at the watchtower, keep talking to him, keep listening, keep putting your weight on what you already know about his character.

Remember, you can trust God before you understand God.

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There is a strange thing that can happen when you start taking your faith seriously. You read more. You underline things. You start listening to sermons differently. You discover books you had never heard of. You learn words like sanctification and justification. You find commentaries, podcasts, Bible studies, and probably several people on YouTube who are very confident that everyone except them has interpreted something incorrectly.

The more you learn, the more questions you discover. Then one night you close your Bible and a much more uncomfortable question appears. Do I actually have faith, or am I just getting really good at Christianity?

Maybe you know how to explain what you believe. You know what Christians believe about Jesus. You understand more about the Bible than you did six months ago. You can recognize bad theology you would have completely missed before.

But then you look inward. And suddenly you aren’t nearly as confident. What if all of this is staying in my head? What if I’m learning about God without actually knowing Him? What if the doubts I still have mean that I don’t really believe any of this?

I’ve noticed something after years of conversations about faith.

Sometimes the people most worried about whether their faith is real are looking for something faith was never supposed to provide. Perfect certainty.

They think real faith should eventually reach a point where all the questions disappear. But the Bible gives us a much more interesting picture.

Peter Didn’t Understand Everything Either

There is a moment in John 6 that I think speaks directly to this question. Jesus has been teaching. And His teaching is difficult. Not difficult in the sense that everyone needed another cup of coffee before the sermon started. Difficult enough that people who had been following Him began questioning whether they wanted to continue.

John tells us:

“When many of his disciples heard it, they said, ‘This is a hard saying; who can listen to it?’” (John 6:60 ESV)

A few verses later, something heartbreaking happens. Many of them leave. They had heard Jesus teach. They had watched what He was doing. Some of them had probably eaten the bread when Jesus fed the crowd earlier in the chapter.

But now following Him had become harder. So Jesus turned toward the Twelve.

“Do you want to go away as well?”

I wonder what I would have said. I would like to imagine myself giving some brilliant theological answer. Peter doesn’t.

Instead, he says:

“Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life, and we have believed, and have come to know, that you are the Holy One of God.” (John 6:68-69 ESV)

I love Peter’s answer because he does not say, “Jesus, don’t worry. We completely understand everything You just taught.” He doesn’t. He says, in essence, I know enough about You to know where I’m staying.

Many of the other disciples were struggling with what Jesus had said. Peter was standing in the same room listening to the same teaching. The difference wasn’t that Peter had figured everything out. The difference was where Peter had decided to place his trust.

That is much closer to biblical faith than the certainty many of us are trying to manufacture.

Knowledge Is Not the Enemy of Faith

I don’t think you should be worried that you’re spending too much time learning about Christianity simply because you’re learning a lot. Study. Read your Bible. Ask questions. Learn theology. Understand why Christians believe what they believe.

Faith is not strengthened by ignorance.

You cannot grow in your trust of someone while intentionally refusing to know anything about them. Paul writes in Romans 10:17 that “faith comes from hearing, and hearing through the word of Christ.”

Truth matters. What you believe about Jesus matters. The problem isn’t knowledge. The problem comes when knowledge becomes the destination instead of the road that leads us toward Jesus.

You can study a map for hours. You can memorize every highway number. You can calculate the mileage, study the terrain, and know exactly where every turn should happen. But eventually, if you want to travel somewhere, you have to put the car in drive.

Knowledge can show you the road. Faith begins putting your life on it.

There Is a Difference Between Knowing About Jesus and Trusting Jesus

James gives us an uncomfortable reminder when he says that even demons believe that God is one. In other words, possessing correct information about God is not, by itself, saving faith. The demons are not atheists. Their theology contains some accurate information. Their problem is not that they need another Bible study. They do not love God, submit to Him, or trust Him.

That distinction matters.

But I would be careful about turning that verse into another reason to panic and start examining every thought you’ve ever had. The better question isn’t: Do I know enough? And it isn’t: Do I feel certain enough?

Maybe the better question is: What am I doing with what I know about Jesus? Peter knew something about Jesus. And because of what he knew, when everyone else started walking away, Peter stayed.

“Lord, to whom shall we go?” That’s faith. Not perfect understanding. Trust.

Doubt Doesn’t Automatically Mean Your Faith Is Fake

This is especially important if you’re new to following Jesus. You may have assumed that becoming a Christian would make everything clearer. Some things probably did become clearer. Others may have become much more complicated.

Now you’re asking questions you never bothered asking before. What does this passage mean? How do I know the Bible is trustworthy? Why does God allow suffering? Why didn’t He answer this prayer? Why do Christians disagree about this? Why don’t I feel closer to God today than I did yesterday?

Questions can feel frightening when you believe faith is supposed to eliminate them. But questions can also be evidence that you are actually engaging with what you believe.

I’ve written before about a season when I could honestly say, “I still believe in God. I just don’t understand what He’s doing.” Those are not the same sentence.

You can trust God while struggling to understand Him. John the Baptist did. Peter did. Thomas did. You probably will too.

Faith isn’t measured by how rarely you have questions. Sometimes faith is revealed by where you take them.

If you’re wrestling with that right now, I wrote more about it in I Still Believe in God. I Just Don’t Understand What He’s Doing.

Stop Checking Your Spiritual Pulse Every Five Minutes

There is another danger hidden inside this question. We can become so concerned about whether our faith is genuine that we spend more time examining our faith than looking at Jesus.

How strong is my faith today? Did I really mean that prayer? Why didn’t I feel anything when I read that passage? Did I worship sincerely enough? Was that doubt evidence that I don’t believe? Is my heart in the right place?

Eventually, faith can begin to feel like constantly checking your own spiritual pulse. I don’t think that is where Jesus wants your attention. Your hope was never supposed to rest in your ability to believe perfectly. Your hope rests in Jesus.

There will be days when your faith feels strong. There will be other days when you pray something much closer to the father in Mark 9: “I believe; help my unbelief!”

Jesus didn’t reject that man for bringing Him imperfect faith. He helped him.

I think some Christians imagine Jesus standing over them with a clipboard, measuring whether their faith has finally reached an acceptable percentage. I don’t see that Jesus in the Gospels. I see people approaching Him afraid, confused, desperate, doubtful, and sometimes barely holding themselves together.

And I see Jesus continually inviting them closer.

Let What You’re Learning Become Something You Live

So keep studying. But occasionally close the book. Not the Bible. You know what I mean. Close the commentary. Pause the podcast. Put down the highlighter. And ask a simpler question.

What am I going to do with what I just learned?

If you’ve learned that God is faithful, where do you need to trust Him today? If you’ve learned that Jesus tells you to forgive, is there someone you need to begin forgiving? If you’ve learned that God cares for you, what anxiety do you need to bring honestly to Him? If you’ve learned that Jesus calls us to generosity, where can you become generous? If you’ve learned that He welcomes sinners, what are you still hiding?

Knowledge becomes incredibly powerful when truth moves from something you understand to something you begin building your life around.

That doesn’t mean earning God’s approval through obedience. It means our trust begins showing up in the way we live.

If you want to think more about that process, How Do I Know God’s Will for My Life? explores a similar idea. Much of following God isn’t decoding hidden information. It is faithfully walking with Him using what He has already revealed.

Peter’s Faith Wasn’t Finished

There is one more thing I love about Peter’s answer. This isn’t the end of Peter’s story. The man who said, “Lord, to whom shall we go?” would later deny knowing Jesus three times.

Peter still had plenty of growing left to do. His faith was real. It was also unfinished. I think we sometimes assume those two things cannot coexist.

If my faith were real, wouldn’t I be stronger? If my faith were real, wouldn’t I understand more? If my faith were real, wouldn’t I struggle less?

Not necessarily. Spiritual maturity takes time. A new believer isn’t supposed to look like someone who has walked with Jesus for forty years.

And someone who has walked with Jesus for forty years will probably tell you they still have things to learn. The goal isn’t reaching a place where you no longer need Jesus. It’s discovering, year after year, just how much you do.

So How Do I Know Whether I Have Faith?

Maybe Peter gives us one of the simplest answers. “Lord, to whom shall we go?” You may not know everything yet. You won’t. You may still have doubts. You probably will. There may be parts of Scripture you don’t understand and questions you cannot answer.

But somewhere along the way, something has begun changing.

You aren’t simply learning facts about Jesus. You’re coming to Him. You’re trusting Him with your sin. You’re bringing Him your questions. You’re trying to follow what He says. When you fail, you’re returning to Him. When you don’t understand, you’re still saying, “Where else would I go?”

That sounds an awful lot like faith to me.

So keep learning. Keep reading. Keep asking difficult questions. But don’t turn Christianity into an endless research project where you are always collecting information and never trusting the Person standing in front of you.

There is nothing wrong with studying the road. Just remember why you opened the map in the first place. Eventually, Jesus invites us to follow Him. And sometimes the clearest evidence of faith is surprisingly simple.

You keep going with Him.

On a rainy day in Washington, I was on my way home from a conference at a church I hadn’t been to before. It wasn’t far from home, but it was in an unfamiliar part of town. After a few turns, I began to wonder whether I was heading in the right direction. Before long, I was trying to figure out how to get back to where I’d started.

I usually let my phone tell me where to go. Occasionally, though, I decide I know the way. The people who know me best understand that this comes with a certain amount of risk.

For this, I’ve been called “Captain Detour.”

That nickname makes me laugh. Other labels carry more weight. You failed. You questioned. You fell apart. You weren’t sure what you believed. And somehow that became the thing people remembered most about you.

We did that to Thomas.

Peter isn’t commonly called Denying Peter. David isn’t usually introduced as Adulterous David. Moses isn’t Murdering Moses. But somewhere along the way, Thomas became Doubting Thomas. And the strange thing is that the Bible never calls him that.

John actually gives us a much more interesting man.

Maybe what we got wrong about Thomas is the same thing we sometimes get wrong about people who struggle with doubt.

We let one part of someone’s story become their whole identity.

Before Thomas Doubted, Thomas Was Willing to Die

Jesus tells the disciples they are going back to Judea. That’s not a sightseeing trip. The disciples immediately remind Him that people there recently tried to kill Him.

Then Thomas speaks:

So Thomas, called the Twin, said to his fellow disciples, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.” (John 11:16)

Thomas seems to expect the worst. But there’s something else in his response.

Loyalty.

He thinks Jesus is walking into danger and basically says, “Then I’m going too.”

That already gives us a fuller picture than his nickname does.

Imagine standing outside an emergency room with someone who says, “I don’t know how this is going to turn out. But I’m not leaving you.”

There’s faithfulness in that kind of presence, even when the person can’t promise a good outcome.

We often confuse optimism with faith. Thomas doesn’t sound particularly optimistic here, but he is willing to go with Jesus.

I’ve talked to people who are struggling to keep praying. They say things like, “I’ve prayed, and God doesn’t seem to answer. I don’t know if I have the confidence to keep doing this.”

Others are trying to untangle their faith in Jesus from painful experiences in church. Following Him may mean stepping away from a church where they’ve been harmed. Loyalty to Jesus doesn’t require remaining where people mistreat you.

Maybe you’re still praying. Maybe you haven’t known what to say in a long time. I don’t want to assume where you are just because you’re reading this.

But Thomas gives us room to consider that faith doesn’t always sound confident about what happens next.

Sometimes it sounds like, “Jesus, I don’t know how this is going to turn out, but I’m coming with You.”

Thomas Was Willing to Say He Didn’t Understand

Jesus tells the disciples He’s going away and that they know the way.

Thomas responds:

“Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” (John 14:5)

I’ve always loved this moment. You’ve probably been in that room. Someone is explaining something. Everyone else seems to be nodding knowingly.

You’re thinking: I have absolutely no idea what this person is talking about.

Finally, someone says it out loud.

That’s Thomas. And look at how Jesus answers:

“I am the way, and the truth, and the life.” (John 14:6)

One of the most beloved statements Jesus ever made comes immediately after Thomas admits he doesn’t understand.

Some people know what it costs to ask a theological question in church. The room gets uncomfortable. Someone questions your motives. Before anyone has listened carefully, you’re labeled rebellious.

Especially in environments where everyone understands that “you don’t question the man or woman of God.”

You admit you’re struggling to believe something, and someone tries to fix you before they’ve actually heard you. You walk away wishing you hadn’t said anything.

Watch what happens here, though. Thomas admits his confusion, and Jesus answers him. The question becomes part of the conversation.

Sometimes the question you’re embarrassed to ask opens the door to something you desperately need to hear.

Thomas Wanted to See What the Others Had Seen

Now Thomas, one of the twelve, called the Twin, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails, and place my finger into the mark of the nails, and place my hand into his side, I will never believe.” (John 20:24–25)

The disciples had gathered behind locked doors after the crucifixion. Jesus appeared to them and showed them His hands and His side.

Thomas wasn’t there.

We’ve spent generations shaking our heads at him. But everybody telling Thomas they had seen Jesus had received something Thomas hadn’t. They had seen Him alive. They had seen His wounds.

Thomas goes further. He wants to touch the wounds, and his “I will never believe” is stronger than a hesitant question. John lets us hear the force of his refusal.

Still, remembering what the others had already experienced helps us understand him.

I love hearing testimonies about money arriving when someone needed it, healing after months of prayer, or a relationship finally being restored.

But if I’m honest, those testimonies hit differently when I’m struggling. I can be grateful for someone and still think, “That’s wonderful, but I’ve been praying too.”

That’s where I recognize something of Thomas in myself.

Everyone around you seems to have something you haven’t. They got the answer. They felt God’s presence. Their marriage was restored. Their child came home.

And you’re still sitting there saying, “Jesus, what about me?”

Jesus Met Thomas and Called Him to Believe

Eight days later, Jesus appears again. This time Thomas is there.

Jesus addresses him directly:

“Put your finger here, and see my hands; and put out your hand, and place it in my side. Do not disbelieve, but believe.” (John 20:27)

Jesus offers Thomas the very things he said he needed. He also calls him to believe.

There is room in this encounter for both tenderness and challenge. Jesus takes Thomas seriously enough to respond to him and to call him beyond his refusal.

That matters for how we treat people’s questions.

If you’ve been shamed for asking, you need people who will listen. You also deserve people who will take the question seriously enough to explore it with you. Sometimes that means opening Scripture together. Sometimes it means admitting, “I don’t know.”

An honest answer won’t always be a complete answer.

And Thomas’s experience doesn’t promise that every question we bring to Jesus will receive an equally unmistakable response. We may keep praying without receiving the outcome we want. Some questions stay with us for years.

That doesn’t make honesty a mistake. Nor does it mean that trust cannot grow while those questions remain.

Jesus knew exactly where Thomas was struggling. Thomas didn’t have to conceal it before Jesus would speak to him.

We Remember Thomas for His Doubt. John Records His Confession.

The man we’ve nicknamed for doubt makes one of the clearest declarations of Jesus’s identity in John’s Gospel:

“My Lord and my God!” (John 20:28)

John takes us all the way to this moment. Thomas looks at the risen Jesus and calls Him “my God.”

Listen to how personal that confession is.

My Lord. My God.

The man who was willing to go with Jesus into danger, who admitted he didn’t understand the way, and who refused to accept the others’ testimony now recognizes the risen Jesus before him.

His doubt belongs to his story. So does this confession.

Maybe your questions aren’t hypothetical anymore. You used to believe easily. Then someone you loved died. A pastor failed you. The prayer wasn’t answered. The marriage didn’t survive. You watched someone manipulate Scripture.

Now the questions you once kept at a distance are questions you live with.

And somewhere along the way, you began wondering whether you had to hide them to belong.

Thomas’s doubt mattered. Jesus addressed it directly. Yet Thomas was still there among the disciples, and Jesus spoke to him.

You do not have to pretend in order to come to Jesus.

Bring Him the question as it actually is, even if you haven’t found a comfortable way to say it yet.

So That You May Believe

Jesus says something else to Thomas that we need to hear:

“Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” (John 20:29)

That brings the story into our lives.

We weren’t in that room. We haven’t seen what Thomas saw. Jesus’s words make room for people who would come to believe through the testimony of others.

Then John explains why he wrote his Gospel:

Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of the disciples, which are not written in this book; but these are written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name. (John 20:30–31)

John wrote this for people who weren’t in the room. People like us. And he included Thomas.

He could have told us about the resurrection without recording every word of Thomas’s refusal. But there it is. The demand. The resistance. The thing Thomas probably wouldn’t have wanted printed on a church bulletin. And then Jesus comes back, and Thomas is still part of the story.

I wonder how many people need to hear that.

Maybe you learned to stop asking questions because you saw what happened to someone who did. Maybe you asked once, and the response taught you to keep the next one to yourself.

So you learned how to say the acceptable thing while carrying something else entirely. “God is good.” But underneath: “Then why didn’t He help?” You might say, “I’m trusting Him.” But underneath: “I don’t know if I trust Him anymore.”

And maybe you’ve been afraid that saying the second sentence would somehow erase the first. That if you admitted what was really happening inside you, there would be no way back.

Look at Thomas. Jesus heard his refusal. When He spoke to him, He offered Thomas His wounded hands and called him to believe.

You can bring Him what you’ve been carrying. Even the question that sounds angry. Even the one about the prayer you can barely stand to remember. Even the one you’ve rehearsed a hundred times and never dared to finish.

“Why didn’t You help her?” “Where were You when that happened to me?” “How do I know what’s true after someone used Your name to lie to me?” “Jesus, I want to believe You. Why is it so hard?”

I can’t promise you an answer tonight. I can’t tell you that saying it will make the pain disappear. But you do not have to make your prayer sound more faithful than you feel. The question you’ve been hiding can become the prayer you bring.

Before you close this page, take a moment. Think of the question that came to mind while you were reading—the one you almost pushed away.

You could begin this simply: “God, I’ve been afraid to ask You this.”

Then finish the sentence.

I’ve led worship for a long time, which means I’ve spent a lot of hours singing about the goodness, faithfulness, mercy, holiness, and greatness of God. Put a lyric on a screen, give me a piano or guitar, and I’m fine. Take away the music, the lyric sheet, the chord progression, and the worship leader who already figured out what everyone is supposed to say, and things can get a little more interesting.

Sometimes you sit down with God and realize your entire vocabulary for praise has become, “God, You’re good.” Then, because you’re trying to keep things moving, you add, “You’re really good.” After that, there’s usually a pause that lasts just long enough for you to wonder if you’re doing this wrong.

I don’t think you are.

I think a lot of people genuinely want to praise God but don’t really know what praise sounds like outside of a song. We know how to sing someone else’s words. We know how to repeat phrases we’ve heard in church. We know the standard Christian vocabulary. What gets harder is putting our own words around who God is.

That’s what I want to help with.

Praise doesn’t have to be poetic. It doesn’t have to sound impressive. It doesn’t require a certain mood, a quiet room, or a worship playlist playing softly in the background. It just needs to be true.

David’s Praise Came From a Pretty Strange Place

Psalm 34 opens with a line a lot of us know:

“I will bless the LORD at all times; his praise shall continually be in my mouth.”

Psalm 34:1, ESV

That sounds strong and confident. It also sounds a lot cleaner than the story behind it.

David had been running from Saul, who wanted him dead. He escaped to Gath, which seemed like a good idea right up until the people there recognized him. This was David, the guy who killed Goliath. Their Goliath.

Suddenly the place he ran to for safety didn’t feel very safe anymore, so David did something that doesn’t usually make it into the inspirational quote graphics. He pretended to be insane. He scratched on doors, let spit run down his beard, and acted unstable enough that the king basically decided he didn’t want anything to do with him.

Then David leaves that moment and says, “His praise shall continually be in my mouth.”

That changes the verse for me.

David wasn’t saying, “Everything is good.” He was saying, “God is still good.” There’s a big difference. His circumstances were confusing. His future was uncertain. He had been afraid and humiliated, and he still found something true to say about God.

That’s praise.

Praise Isn’t About Sounding Spiritual

I think we make praise harder than it needs to be. Somewhere along the way, many of us picked up the idea that praising God is supposed to sound polished. We need the right words, the right tone, maybe a little emotion in our voice. If we don’t feel deeply spiritual in the moment, we assume we’re probably doing it wrong.

We’re not.

Praise is simply telling the truth about God. God, You’re faithful. You’re patient. You’re merciful. You’re wise. You’re kind.

Those are simple statements, but simple doesn’t mean shallow. The real difference comes when you stop treating those words like a list and start connecting them to your life.

• “God, You’re faithful. I can look back and see moments where I had no clue what was going to happen next, and somehow You carried me through anyway.”

• “God, You’re patient. I’ve made some of the same mistakes more than once, and You haven’t given up on me.”

• “God, You’re merciful. You know everything about me, including the parts I’d rather keep hidden, and You still invite me close.”

Now praise isn’t just vocabulary. It’s memory. It’s recognition. It’s you looking at your own story and noticing God in it.

You Can Praise God Without Pretending Everything Is Fine

This is where I think some of us get tripped up. We hear the word praise and assume it means ignoring whatever hurts.

Something is falling apart, so we tell ourselves to be positive. We’re disappointed, so we say, “God is good.” We’re angry or confused, but we feel guilty admitting it because we think praise is supposed to sound cheerful.

The Psalms don’t work that way.

David talks about fear, loneliness, betrayal, anger, grief, exhaustion, and confusion. He doesn’t hide any of it. Then, right in the middle of those emotions, he keeps returning to what is true about God.

That’s a healthier picture of praise.

You can say, “God, I don’t understand what You’re doing right now, but I still believe You’re faithful.” You can say, “I’m scared, but I know You’re bigger than what I’m afraid of.” You can say, “I wish You had answered differently, but I still believe You’re wise.”

That isn’t pretending. That’s choosing not to let your pain become the only truth you can see.

I think that’s one of the reasons praise matters so much. Praise doesn’t erase the hard thing. It reminds you that the hard thing isn’t God.

Start With One Simple Sentence

If you want a practical place to begin, try this:

God, You are...

Then finish the sentence.

Don’t try to sound profound. Pick one thing you know is true. God, You’re faithful. You’re present. You’re gracious. You’re holy. You’re patient.

Then ask yourself one more question:

Where have I seen that?

That’s where the words usually start to come.

If you say, “God, You’re faithful,” think about the last time you needed Him to be faithful. Maybe it was a financial season. Maybe it was grief. Maybe it was a job you didn’t know how to navigate. Maybe it was a relationship that changed. Maybe nothing happened the way you hoped, but you’re still here, and somehow God kept giving you enough strength for the next day.

Tell Him that.

You don’t need a speech. You need something true.

Praise God for Who He Is, Not Just for What He Gives

Most of us are already pretty good at thanking God. Thank You for my family. Thank You for my job. Thank You for this meal. Thank You for answering that prayer.

Those are good prayers. Keep praying them.

But praise goes a little deeper.

Instead of only thanking God for the gift, pay attention to what the gift tells you about Him. “Thank You for providing” becomes “God, You’re my provider.” “Thank You for forgiving me” becomes “God, You’re merciful.” “Thank You for helping me through that” becomes “God, You’re faithful.”

One focuses on the gift. The other follows the gift back to the Giver.

That difference matters because circumstances change. Jobs change. Relationships change. Health changes. Answers change. Sometimes the thing you were thanking God for last year isn’t part of your life anymore.

But God’s character hasn’t changed.

If your praise is built only on what God gives you, a hard enough season can make it disappear. If your praise is rooted in who God is, the season may change the sound of your praise, but it doesn’t have to silence it.

Borrow Words When Yours Run Out

There are days when your own words aren’t coming. That’s normal. Use someone else’s.

The Psalms are incredibly helpful here because they give language to almost every emotional place a person can end up. If you’re afraid, there are Psalms for that. If you’re grieving, there are Psalms for that. If you’re thankful, there are Psalms for that. If you’re angry, confused, exhausted, or waiting, there are Psalms for that too.

You don’t have to turn this into a Bible study. Open a Psalm and read slowly. When something catches your attention, stop.

If you read, “The LORD is my shepherd,” you might simply say, “God, You’re my Shepherd. There have been plenty of times I didn’t know where I was going, but You did.”

If you read, “God is our refuge and strength,” you might say, “God, You’re a safe place for me when everything feels unstable.”

You’re not trying to impress God with your wording. You’re letting Scripture remind you who He is.

Your Own Story Can Give You Words

One of the easiest ways to find something to praise God for is to look backward.

Think about what God has already brought you through. What did you once pray about constantly that you hardly think about now? What situation felt impossible at the time? Where did someone show up right when you needed them? What did God provide? What did He protect you from? What gave you strength when you were sure you had none left?

We’re funny creatures. We can pray desperately for something for months, receive it, and six months later treat it like background furniture.

The thing that once felt like a miracle becomes normal.

That’s why remembering matters.

Sometimes praise is simply noticing what you’ve stopped noticing.

• “God, I remember when I thought I was alone, and You sent exactly the right person.”

• “God, I remember when I had no clue how we were going to get through that, and somehow You made a way.”

• “God, I remember how afraid I was, and You gave me enough strength to keep going.”

You may find that you know a lot more about praising God than you thought. You just needed to remember.

What If You Really Don’t Feel Like Praising God?

Then say that.

“God, I don’t feel like praising You today.”

He already knows. You’re not going to catch Him off guard.

Maybe you’re angry. Maybe you’ve been waiting for an answer for a long time. Maybe you’re disappointed. Maybe you’re tired of being told to have faith when what you really want is for something to change.

Tell Him.

Then ask yourself what is still true.

Maybe it’s only one thing: “God, I don’t understand You right now, but I know You’ve been faithful before.”

That may be all you have today, and that’s enough.

I don’t think praise always has to sound victorious. Sometimes praise sounds tired. Sometimes it sounds confused. Sometimes it comes through tears. Sometimes it sounds like someone saying, “I still believe You’re good, even though I don’t understand this.”

There’s something deeply honest about that kind of praise.

Praise Puts Things Back in Perspective

Praise doesn’t always change your circumstances.

David still had enemies after Psalm 34. He still had uncertainty. He still had problems he couldn’t solve.

What changed was what he was looking at.

Fear has a way of taking up all the space in the room. So does disappointment. So does grief. If you stare at a problem long enough, it starts to feel like the biggest thing in existence.

Praise doesn’t make the problem disappear. It reminds you that the problem isn’t God.

That matters.

You can still be afraid and remember God is faithful. You can still be grieving and remember God is near. You can still be confused and remember God is wise. You can still be waiting and remember God hasn’t abandoned you.

Praise gives your pain a place without giving it the throne.

A Simple Place to Start Today

If you want to practice this, keep it very simple.

Find a quiet moment and ask yourself three questions:

• Who is God?

• Where have I seen that in my life?

• What can I say to Him about it?

That’s it.

You might end up saying, “God, You’re faithful. I remember a time when I had no idea what was going to happen, and You carried me through. I don’t know what’s going to happen this time either, but I know You haven’t changed.”

That’s praise.

No special vocabulary required. No perfect mood. No band. No bridge repeated six times until everyone finally feels something.

Just truth.

You Already Have Something to Say

When I read Psalm 34 now, I don’t picture David as calm and polished. I picture a man who has just come through a bizarre, frightening, embarrassing situation and is still trying to make sense of it.

And in the middle of that, he looks at God and says, “I will bless the LORD at all times.”

That’s probably closer to real praise than a lot of us realize.

Praise isn’t pretending you have no problems. It’s remembering that your problems aren’t bigger than God.

So if you want to praise Him and you don’t know what to say, start small. Tell Him one thing you know is true, then tell Him where you’ve seen it.

You may be surprised how quickly the words come after that.

And if all you have today is one honest sentence, that’s still a good place to begin.

A Few Questions About Praising God

How do I praise God with words?

Start by naming one thing that is true about God, then connect it to your own experience. For example, “God, You’re faithful. I can see places in my life where You carried me when I didn’t know what to do.”

What are some words I can use to praise God?

You can describe God as faithful, holy, merciful, patient, loving, wise, just, powerful, gracious, compassionate, present, forgiving, and trustworthy. The goal isn’t to build a long list. Pick one and explain why it matters to you.

What if praising God feels awkward?

That’s normal. Most things feel awkward when we’re learning how to put our own words around them. Start small and be honest. You don’t need to sound like someone leading a prayer meeting.

Can I praise God when I’m upset with Him?

Yes. Scripture gives us plenty of examples of people being honest about pain, frustration, and confusion while still turning toward God. Praise doesn’t require emotional denial.

Is praising God the same as thanking Him?

They overlap, but they’re not exactly the same. Thanksgiving focuses on what God has done or given. Praise focuses more directly on who God is.

About Faith Unplugged

Faith Unplugged is for people who love Jesus but sometimes struggle with the pressure, noise, disappointment, and unanswered questions that can surround faith.

I’m not interested in giving you polished religious answers that sound good but don’t help much when real life gets messy. I want to help you recognize Jesus in the middle of the life you’re actually living.

If that sounds like something you need, I’d love to have you here.

There are some questions Christians don’t like admitting they have.

We are pretty comfortable asking God what He wants us to do. We ask Him where we should go, how we should handle something, or what decision we should make. Those feel like acceptable questions. There are other questions that feel a little more dangerous.

God, are You really there? Did I misunderstand You? Why would You let this happen? Can I still trust You?

And maybe the hardest question is the one you never expected yourself to ask.

What if I’m wrong about all of this?

I remember working at a little church in a town not far from where I grew up. I was serving as the Worship Director, and honestly, it was a refreshing season for me. The Lord used that church to help me heal in some ways and to understand what was truly important about the local church.

One night, I was driving home after having a conversation I never expected to have.

For years, I had believed God was leading me toward pastoral ministry. That part had never really been the question. The question was why the road there seemed to keep getting longer.

I don’t remember everything that was said in that meeting, but I remember the message clearly. Without a degree, I wasn’t qualified to be their pastor.

The church was willing to let me preach and provide pastoral care as much as I wanted for free, but if I wanted to actually serve as their pastor, I needed a degree.

What made that especially hard was that I was already preaching, leading worship, and doing a lot of the ministry after their pastor had moved on. I was already doing much of the work. I just wasn’t considered qualified to have the role.

I hit every stop light on the way home, and each one seemed to take longer than normal. Maybe I was just noticing them more that night. I was already tired of feeling like my life was stuck at a red light.

Earlier that week, I had encouraged someone else to trust God. I had told them that God was still working even when they couldn’t see it. I believed what I told them. I still believe it now.

But sitting at one of those red lights, I realized I was having a much harder time believing it for myself.

I remember thinking, God, I know what I’m supposed to say here. I know the verses. I know the answers I would give someone sitting across from me. But I don’t understand what You’re doing.

That was the part that bothered me.

It wasn’t that I suddenly stopped believing in God. I wasn’t questioning whether Jesus was real or whether Scripture was true. It was more personal than that.

I was wondering whether I had misunderstood Him.

Had I prayed for the wrong thing? Had I mistaken my own hopes for God’s direction? Had I been telling myself that God was working when really I just didn’t want to admit that things weren’t going the way I thought they would?

I didn’t have some dramatic crisis of faith that night. I just drove home with questions I didn’t really know what to do with.

I knew how to help other people carry their doubts.

I wasn’t nearly as sure what to do with my own.

Maybe that’s one reason a little moment in Matthew’s Gospel has always caught my attention. John the Baptist knew something about questions that didn’t seem to fit the person asking them.

John Wasn’t Supposed to Be the One Asking This Question

John the Baptist is in prison when Matthew tells us something surprising.

Earlier in his ministry, John had been very clear about Jesus. In John 1:29-34, John identifies Jesus and tells the people around him what he had witnessed. He had seen the Spirit descend upon Jesus. He had testified about who Jesus was.

John wasn’t standing on the outside trying to decide whether any of this was true. He knew Jesus. He had seen things and preached things that left very little doubt about what he believed.

Then, from prison, John sent some of his disciples to Jesus with a question.

“Are you the one who is to come, or shall we look for another?”
Matthew 11:3 ESV

That is an incredible question when you remember who is asking it.

Matthew doesn’t tell us exactly what was happening inside John’s mind, and I think we need to be careful not to pretend that he does. John’s imprisonment may have contributed to his struggle. He also may have expected the Messiah’s ministry to look different than what he was hearing about Jesus. Enduring Word points to both of those as possibilities, but Scripture never tells us exactly what was going through John’s mind.

What we do know is where he was when he asked the question.

He was in prison.

And sometimes where you are sitting changes the way everything looks.

I learned something similar years ago when a pastor I had looked up to for much of my childhood and young adult life fell into sin. I wasn’t especially close to him, but I knew him well enough to respect him. He was one of those people I had always associated with faithfulness and ministry.

When I learned what had happened, it challenged something I had believed for a long time.

Somewhere along the way, I had developed the idea that if someone truly loved Jesus, was called by God, and had served faithfully for years, somehow God would keep them from falling that far.

But calling doesn’t remove our ability to make terrible choices. Being used by God doesn’t make someone incapable of sin. Years of faithfulness don’t mean we stop needing accountability, humility, and grace.

That realization changed the way I looked at ministry, but it also changed the way I looked at myself.

If someone I respected that much could fall, then experience, gifting, and calling were never going to make me immune.

For a while, that realization didn’t make my faith stronger. It made some things feel less certain.

I had believed something clearly, and disappointment forced me to look at it again.

I’ve watched that happen many times over the years. Most people don’t wake up one morning and suddenly decide they don’t believe in God anymore. Usually something happens first.

A prayer isn’t answered. A marriage doesn’t get better. Someone they love dies. A church hurts them. A leader disappoints them. Their child walks away from God. They believe they have obeyed, and life still falls apart.

The question starts as, “God, what are You doing?”

After enough time, it can become, “God, do I really know You at all?”

Sometimes doubt is disappointment that has been sitting alone for too long.

Sometimes We Don’t Doubt God. We Doubt the God We Expected.

I wonder how much of our struggle with God comes from expectations we didn’t even realize we had.

We know God doesn’t promise an easy life. We know that because we’ve heard it preached, and we’ve probably said it ourselves. But knowing that and living it are two very different things.

Somewhere inside us there can still be this quiet assumption that obedience should make the road a little straighter.

If I follow Jesus, surely this will work out. If I pray faithfully, surely God will answer the way I’m asking. If I’m doing what He told me to do, surely He won’t let this fall apart. If this person matters this much to me, surely God will heal them.

Then “surely” doesn’t happen.

That’s when we have to begin separating God from the outcome we expected from Him.

I don’t say that lightly. Some of the things people are carrying are deeply painful. I don’t think the answer is to shrug and say, “God’s ways are higher than our ways,” and move on.

That may be true, but true things can still be used in unhelpful ways.

There are moments when a person doesn’t need a theological sentence handed to them. They need someone willing to sit with the question for a little while.

For many years, I thought my own calling was tied to a particular church. I couldn’t really picture myself serving anywhere else. In my mind, I knew what God had called me to do, and I also had a pretty good idea of what I thought it was supposed to look like.

The problem was that the doors weren’t opening.

I prayed about it. I asked God for opportunities. I asked Him to make a way. I tried to trust His timing.

What I didn’t realize was that underneath many of those prayers was an assumption.

I wanted God to open a door, but I had already decided which door I wanted Him to open.

Eventually, I remember praying something much simpler.

“Lord, I’ll go wherever You send me.”

Something in me changed when I prayed that.

I wasn’t asking Him to make my plan work anymore. I was finally willing to let Him change the plan.

There was a lot wrapped up in that church for me. There were people I loved, history I valued, and a future I could imagine because it was familiar.

Going wherever God sent me meant giving up my ability to picture what came next.

It also made me realize that I had been asking God for direction while still trying to control the destination.

Nothing about that prayer was profound. It wasn’t eloquent. But it was honest.

I finally stopped asking God to prove that my version of the story was right.

I was willing to let Him write a different one.

John Took His Question to Jesus

John did something with his question.

He sent it to Jesus.

I love that because John didn’t clean the question up first. He didn’t try to make it sound more spiritual than it was. He wanted to know if Jesus really was the One.

And Jesus could handle the question.

Sometimes we act as if God is going to be surprised by what we really think. We pray around the thing we are actually upset about. We use good Christian language. We tell God we trust Him while quietly wondering whether we do.

But if you’re angry, He already knows. If you’re confused, He already knows. If you’re disappointed, He already knows.

You aren’t protecting God by refusing to say what is actually happening inside you.

There is a difference between walking away from God because you have questions and bringing your questions with you while you keep walking toward Him.

Maybe faith isn’t never having questions.

Maybe sometimes faith is choosing where you take them.

Jesus Didn’t Explain the Prison

This may be the part of the story that gets me the most.

Jesus answers John, but He doesn’t answer him the way I probably would have wanted Him to.

He doesn’t explain why John is still in prison. He doesn’t give him a timeline. He doesn’t tell him what will happen next.

Instead, Jesus tells John’s messengers:

“Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight and the lame walk, lepers are cleansed and the deaf hear, and the dead are raised up, and the poor have good news preached to them.”
Matthew 11:4-5 ESV

Jesus points John toward what is already happening.

John asks who Jesus is, and Jesus tells him to look again.

I think I would have wanted more.

I would have wanted Jesus to explain the prison. Maybe you would too.

That’s usually what we want when we doubt God. We want to know why something happened, when it is going to change, and how He plans to fix it. We want the missing pages from the story.

Jesus doesn’t give John those pages.

He gives him enough to remember who Jesus is.

There have been times when I wanted God to explain something and instead I had to go back and remember what I already knew. Not because the question stopped mattering, and not because the pain disappeared, but because the thing I couldn’t understand had started becoming bigger in my mind than everything I had already seen.

That happens easily.

One unanswered prayer can become louder than years of answered ones. One painful season can make a lifetime of God’s faithfulness seem far away. One closed door can make us forget every door He has opened.

Doubt has a way of shrinking our field of vision.

Jesus widened John’s again.

Then Jesus Does Something I Didn’t Expect

After John’s messengers leave, Jesus turns to the crowd and starts talking about John.

This is where I might expect a warning about doubt. Instead, Jesus reminds the crowd who John is. He calls him a prophet and more than a prophet. Then He says that among those born of women, no one greater than John the Baptist had arisen.

John brought Jesus a serious question, and Jesus didn’t throw away everything He knew about John because of it.

That matters to me because I know how quickly Christians can become ashamed of doubt.

We think the question means something is wrong with us. We worry it cancels the faith we had yesterday. We start looking back at an earlier version of ourselves and wondering where that person went.

You used to feel sure. Now you don’t.

But your questions may change how you see yourself without changing what Jesus already knows about you.

There have been many times when I had a question and, instead of asking someone, I quietly went and looked it up myself. I didn’t want to seem uneducated or inexperienced. I thought a pastor should probably already know.

Looking back, I wish I had been more comfortable saying, “I don’t know.”

Having a question doesn’t make you unqualified. It means you are still learning.

John asked his question.

Maybe we can too.

What Do You Do When You Doubt God?

I don’t think there is a trick that makes doubt disappear, and I’m suspicious of anyone who makes it sound that easy.

But John’s story gives us somewhere to start.

1. Ask God the real question. Pray the prayer you are actually thinking instead of the one you believe you are supposed to pray.

2. Look at Jesus again. Before you decide everything you believed was wrong because of one painful chapter, return to the Gospels. Look at what Jesus said and what He did.

3. Remember what you have already seen. Don’t use yesterday’s faithfulness to pretend today doesn’t hurt. Let it remind you that today isn’t the only evidence you have.

There are times when faith feels like standing on a hill where you can see for miles.

There are other times when you can barely see what comes next.

The second kind is still faith.

John Was Still in Prison

We have to leave John’s story where Scripture leaves it.

Jesus sent John’s disciples back with an answer, but Matthew never tells us that John’s prison door suddenly opened. In fact, Matthew 14 records that John was later executed by Herod.

That isn’t the ending I would choose.

Maybe that is part of why his story matters so much.

Sometimes Jesus answers our questions by changing the situation.

Sometimes He doesn’t.

Sometimes He gives us enough truth to keep trusting Him while we are still sitting in a place we don’t understand.

I think back sometimes to that drive home from the little church, hitting what felt like every red light between there and home.

At the time, I thought the problem was that God wasn’t opening the door I had been waiting for. I knew I was called to pastoral ministry. I had believed that for years. So when I was told I could preach, lead worship, provide pastoral care, and do much of the work of ministry, but still wasn’t qualified to actually be their pastor, I didn’t know what to do with it.

Sitting at those red lights, it felt like one more place where I was being told to wait.

What I know now is that the conversation wasn’t the end of my calling.

It was one moment on a much longer road.

I couldn’t see that then. I couldn’t see the other churches, the people I would meet, the things God still needed to teach me, or the ways my understanding of ministry would change.

All I could see was the door in front of me, and it wasn’t opening.

I think that is one of the hardest things about doubt.

We usually have to make sense of the story while we are still somewhere in the middle of it.

We don’t know what the next chapter holds. We don’t know whether the door will eventually open or whether God is going to lead us somewhere we never considered. We just know that what is happening right now doesn’t look anything like what we expected.

Maybe that’s where you are right now.

Something happened that you didn’t expect, and you are having a harder time understanding the God you once felt so sure about. You aren’t trying to rebel against Him. You aren’t looking for a reason to walk away.

You just don’t understand what He is doing.

If that’s you, I don’t think you need to be afraid of the question.

John wasn’t.

Bring the question with you and take it to Jesus. Look again at what He has done. Remember what you already know about Him, even if you don’t know what He is doing right now.

Then keep going.

I eventually learned that a red light doesn’t mean the road ends there.

Sometimes you really are being asked to wait. Sometimes the road ahead is going to take a turn you couldn’t see coming. Sometimes you will understand later, and sometimes you may carry questions for a very long time.

But not being able to see where the road is going is not the same thing as having no road at all.

And it doesn’t mean Jesus has left you to travel it alone.

I was still pretty young when I became convinced that I wanted to spend my life serving as a pastor.

I didn’t know exactly what that would look like. I didn’t know which church I would serve, what position I would have, or how God would get me there. But the calling itself wasn’t something I spent much time questioning.

The part I couldn’t figure out was when.

When you’re young and convinced you know what God has called you to do, waiting can feel unnecessary. I wanted to preach. I wanted to lead. I wanted to help people grow in their relationship with Jesus. I was willing to work hard, learn, serve, and do whatever I needed to do.

So in my mind, the only thing missing was the opportunity.

Looking back, I can see how incomplete that perspective was.

There were things I understood about ministry when I was young, but there were also things I couldn’t possibly understand yet. I could study Scripture, learn leadership principles, watch pastors I respected, and gain ministry experience, but some things simply take time.

Maturity is one of them.

There is a kind of maturity you can learn from a book, but there is another kind that only seems to grow through years of making decisions, getting some of them wrong, apologizing, being disappointed, working with difficult people, discovering your own weaknesses, and learning that loving people is usually much messier than leading them from a distance.

I needed that.

The people I would eventually serve needed me to have it too.

That’s something I didn’t understand when I was younger. I thought waiting was mostly about me and what I wanted God to let me do. Now I realize God also cared deeply about the people who would eventually be affected by my leadership.

God wasn’t only preparing an opportunity for me. He was preparing me for the people who would be on the other side of that opportunity.

If God had handed me everything I wanted when I was twenty, I’m sure I would have been excited. I would have worked hard. I would have genuinely loved Jesus and wanted to serve people well.

I also would have carried every weakness into that responsibility. Many of them, I couldn’t see yet.

That’s the frustrating thing about immaturity. You usually don’t know you’re immature in the places where you’re immature. I certainly didn’t walk around thinking, I’m not ready for this. I thought I was ready. That’s why I was frustrated that it wasn’t happening.

Only years later could I look backward and recognize what those years had produced.

I had learned more about people. I had experienced disappointment. I had watched leaders make good decisions and terrible ones. I had made plenty of my own. I had served in different churches, under different leaders, with different kinds of people. I had discovered that ministry involved much more than preaching a sermon or having a title.

Somewhere in all of that, God was growing me.

Not perfectly. I’m still growing.

But that’s one of the uncomfortable things I’ve discovered about waiting. Sometimes God isn’t withholding something good from us. Sometimes there are things that simply cannot be rushed.

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You can hurry an opportunity, but you can’t hurry maturity.

Maybe that’s part of what makes waiting so difficult.

We can see the thing we’re waiting for, but we can’t always see the person we’ll need to become to carry it well.

Maybe you’re waiting for something right now and you’re relatively confident about what you believe God has put in your heart. The question isn’t necessarily what. It’s when.

• When will the door open?

• When will someone finally give you the opportunity?

• When will the relationship happen?

• When will things change?

• When will you finally get to do the thing you’ve spent years preparing to do?

I understand that question because I spent a lot of years asking it.

But looking backward has given me another question that I didn’t know to ask when I was younger.

What if the waiting isn’t only about when God will give you what you’re asking for? What if it’s also about who you’ll be when you receive it?

That question changes the way I read the story of Moses.

Because Moses knew something needed to happen too.

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Moses Was Right About the Problem

There is a moment early in Moses’ story that I think I’ve misunderstood for years.

Before the burning bush, Pharaoh, the plagues, and the Red Sea, Moses was a man who saw something terribly wrong and decided to do something about it.

Moses had grown up in Pharaoh’s household, but the Hebrews were his people. One day he went out and saw an Egyptian beating one of them. The injustice was real, and in that moment, the suffering wasn’t imagined.

So Moses looked around, saw no one, killed the Egyptian, and hid his body in the sand. The next day, Moses discovered that people knew what he had done. Eventually Pharaoh knew too, and Moses ran for his life.

What fascinates me about this story is that Moses wasn’t wrong about Israel needing deliverance. They did. God had heard their cries. God was going to rescue them, and Moses really was going to play an enormous role in that rescue.

Moses was right about the problem. He was even right that something needed to be done. He just wasn’t ready to decide how it should happen. I understand that more than I would like to admit.

I’ve looked at situations in my life and ministry and known that something needed to change. Sometimes I was right. The problem was real. A conversation needed to happen, a decision needed to be made, or something that wasn’t healthy needed to be addressed.

But being right about what needs to happen doesn’t automatically make me right about how or when it should happen.

Moses tried to accomplish through his own strength something God would eventually accomplish through His. Then Moses disappeared into the wilderness.

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Forty Years Is a Long Time to Watch Sheep

Exodus doesn’t spend much time describing what happened next.

Moses fled Egypt and went to Midian. He met a family there, married Zipporah, had a son, and became a shepherd. Then Scripture moves on.

Stephen gives us an important detail in Acts 7. Moses was about forty when he left Egypt, and he was about eighty when God appeared to him in the burning bush.

Forty years.

We can read across those forty years in a few minutes, but Moses had to live every day between those verses.

There were forty summers and forty winters. There were thousands of mornings when Moses woke up and Egypt was still somewhere behind him. He tended sheep, raised a family, and lived a life that probably looked nothing like the one anyone would have predicted for someone raised in Pharaoh’s household.

Scripture doesn’t tell us everything Moses thought about during those years, so I don’t want to pretend we know. I do wonder, though, whether there were moments when he thought about Egypt. I wonder if he replayed what had happened or wondered what became of the people he left behind.

Maybe he thought that part of his life was over. What we know is much simpler. Moses tended sheep.

There is something about ordinary faithfulness that doesn’t photograph very well. Nobody applauds you for another day of getting up, doing your job, taking care of your family, keeping your word, loving difficult people, and following Jesus when nothing dramatic happens.

But those years still count.

Waiting has a way of separating who we are from the things we thought proved who we were.

Take away the title or the opportunity. Take away the relationship you thought would happen by now. Take away the recognition, the plan, or the thing you believed would finally make everything fall into place.

Eventually, we’re forced to confront a much harder question.

Who am I when the thing I thought would validate me doesn’t happen?

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Waiting Has a Way of Bringing Things to the Surface

I’d prefer waiting to produce patience in the same way my coffee maker produces coffee. Put something in, press a button, wait a few minutes, and receive the finished product.

Spiritual formation seems considerably less efficient. Before waiting produces some of the things we want, it often exposes some things we don’t.

I’ve discovered how much I like control. I’ve seen how easily I compare my life with someone else’s. I’ve realized that sometimes my peace wasn’t coming from trusting God nearly as much as it was coming from believing everything was going according to my plan.

I’ve watched this happen in people I’ve pastored too.

Extended waiting changes the questions people ask. At first, we want to know when something will happen. After enough time passes, we start wondering why it hasn’t happened. Eventually, the question can become much more personal.

• What’s wrong with me?

• Did I miss God?

• Has He forgotten about me?

• Can I still trust Him?

Those aren’t questions I think we need to be ashamed of. I’d rather someone bring those questions honestly to Jesus than pretend they don’t exist.

But we should pay attention to them because waiting has a strange way of bringing things to the surface.

The unanswered prayer may not have created the fear, but it can reveal how much fear was already running our lives.

The closed door may not have created our need for approval. It may simply expose it. The delay may not have made us controlling. It may reveal how much peace we’ve been getting from control.

Sometimes that revelation is painful.

But once something has been exposed, we can finally bring it to Jesus.

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The Moses Who Came Back Was Different

Eventually, Moses was tending sheep near Horeb when something caught his attention.

A bush was burning, except it wasn’t being consumed.

Moses walked closer, and God called his name.

“Moses, Moses!” And he said, “Here I am.” (Exodus 3:4)

God told Moses that He had seen the suffering of Israel. He had heard their cries and knew their suffering.

Then God said:

“Come, I will send you to Pharaoh that you may bring my people, the children of Israel, out of Egypt.” (Exodus 3:10)

This is the part of the story that gets me. The thing Moses had once tried to do himself was actually something God intended to do. Israel really was going to be delivered. Moses really was going back to Egypt.

But listen to the response of the eighty-year-old Moses:

“Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the children of Israel out of Egypt?” (Exodus 3:11)

There is certainly a point where Moses’ hesitation goes too far. By Exodus 4, God becomes angry with him. Insecurity isn’t the same thing as humility, and fear isn’t automatically evidence of spiritual maturity.

Still, I can’t get past God’s response. Moses asks: Who am I?

God doesn’t respond by listing Moses’ qualifications. He doesn’t remind Moses that he grew up in Pharaoh’s household or give him a motivational speech about believing in himself.

He says:

“But I will be with you.” (Exodus 3:12)

Moses asks who he is. God tells Moses who will be with him. That is a very different kind of confidence.

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Maybe Confidence Isn’t the Goal

For a long time, I thought spiritual maturity would make me increasingly confident.

In some ways it has. There are things I understand now that I didn’t understand twenty years ago, and there are situations I can walk into today that would have terrified a younger version of me.

Following Jesus has also made me much more aware of what I don’t know.

I’ve made enough mistakes to know my first instinct isn’t always right. I’ve watched plans I was certain would work fall apart. I’ve watched God use circumstances I would never have chosen, and I’ve discovered that experience doesn’t eliminate my need for Jesus.

If anything, experience has made me more aware of it. Maybe the goal isn’t to come out of waiting believing, I’ve got this. Maybe the goal is to know more deeply, God has me.

That’s a different kind of confidence because it doesn’t require knowing what happens next. It doesn’t need every door to open, and it doesn’t fall apart the moment something goes wrong.

It knows where to look when it doesn’t know what to do.

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Waiting Can Produce Endurance

James writes:

“For you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness.” (James 1:3)

I don’t think steadfastness means learning to enjoy difficult things.

Some waiting hurts. Some prayers carry names. Some unanswered questions affect people we love deeply, and there are things I would never tell someone to stop wanting.

Biblical endurance isn’t pretending the pain doesn’t matter.

It’s learning to keep following Jesus while it does.

You continue praying even when you’ve prayed the same thing hundreds of times. You keep opening Scripture when you don’t understand what God is doing. You keep bringing your disappointment to Him instead of slowly allowing disappointment to push you away from Him.

At first, our faith can become deeply connected to outcomes. God opened the door, so God is good. The report came back clear, so God is faithful. The relationship was restored, so prayer works.

Those are wonderful moments, and we should thank God for them. But what happens when the door stays closed? What happens when the report isn’t what you prayed for or the relationship isn’t restored?

Some faith can only survive when prayers are answered. Waiting can teach us a faith that survives when they aren’t.

That doesn’t mean we stop asking.

It means our trust in God becomes deeper than our ability to understand what He’s doing.

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Waiting Can Make Us Softer

There’s something else I’ve noticed after years of sitting with hurting people.

People who have suffered well tend to listen differently.

That isn’t true of everyone. Pain can make us bitter. It can make us suspicious and cause us to build walls so high that nobody gets close enough to hurt us again.

But I’ve also met people whose pain seems to have made more room inside them for somebody else’s.

They don’t rush people through grief. They don’t reach for a Bible verse five seconds after someone starts crying. They aren’t uncomfortable with questions that don’t have immediate answers because they know what it feels like to live in the middle of a story.

Someone who has waited beside a hospital bed hears fear differently. Someone who has struggled financially notices the family quietly worrying about money. Someone who has experienced church hurt notices the person sitting near the back who disappears the moment the service ends.

Someone who has carried an unanswered prayer usually knows better than to promise another person that everything will work out exactly the way they hope.

They’ve learned how to sit beside someone without needing to fix them.

Pain doesn’t automatically make us compassionate. But surrendered pain can teach us how to sit beside someone else’s pain without being afraid of it.

Maybe that’s something God can produce in waiting too.

Not just stronger faith.

A softer heart.

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Waiting Doesn’t Automatically Make Us Better

This is where I think we need to be careful. It would be easy to turn all of this into a formula. Wait long enough, and eventually you’ll become spiritually mature. Scripture doesn’t tell that story.

Israel spent years in the wilderness and frequently became bitter. Saul waited for Samuel, became impatient, and took matters into his own hands. Abraham and Sarah waited for God’s promise and eventually tried to create their own solution through Hagar.

Waiting can produce some ugly things too.

I’ve watched people come through painful seasons with a deeper compassion for others. I’ve also watched people come through pain determined never to trust anyone again.

The difference isn’t simply time.

Time alone doesn’t produce maturity. What we allow God to do with that time does.

James doesn’t simply tell us that suffering automatically makes us mature. He tells us to let steadfastness “have its full effect.”

There is an invitation there.

We may not get to decide when the waiting ends. We may have very little control over whether the door opens or the circumstances change.

But we can pay attention to what is happening inside us while the door remains closed.

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What Is Waiting Producing in You?

Maybe you’ve spent so much time asking God to change your circumstances that you haven’t stopped to notice what your circumstances are doing to you.

Instead of beginning with what you think you’re supposed to be learning, start with what is actually happening.

What comes out of you when someone else receives the good news you’ve been praying for? Where does your mind go when another month passes without an answer? What are you afraid this delay says about you or about God?

Then ask yourself whether waiting has caused you to start forcing things.

There is a difference between taking the next faithful step and trying to write the ending yourself. Sometimes faith means sending the application, making the phone call, having the conversation, or knocking on another door. Other times, those same actions can come from our desperate need to make something happen.

I’ve done both. The difficult part is learning the difference.

I also think it’s worth asking what waiting is doing to the way you see other people. Are you becoming softer or harder? More compassionate or more withdrawn? Can you celebrate someone’s joy without interpreting their blessing as evidence that God has forgotten you?

Finally, ask what surrender looks like today. Not for the next ten years. Today.

Maybe surrender means taking another faithful step. Maybe it means putting your phone down and stopping the constant checking. Maybe it means celebrating with someone who received what you’re still asking God for. Maybe it means talking with someone because you’ve been carrying this alone for too long.

Or maybe it means sitting with God and praying something painfully simple:

God, I still want this. I’m still asking You for it. But I don’t want wanting this to turn me into someone I don’t want to become. Show me what this waiting is producing in me, and help me give You the parts of me that need Your attention.

I think that’s a prayer worth praying.

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The Road Back to Egypt

I wonder what Moses thought as he started walking back toward Egypt. Forty years earlier, he had left as a fugitive. Now he was returning because God had sent him. The problem in Egypt hadn’t disappeared while Moses was in Midian. The suffering continued, and there was still an incredibly difficult road ahead.

But Moses wasn’t returning alone.

God had said: “I will be with you.” Moses probably wouldn’t have chosen forty years in Midian. I wouldn’t either.

Most of us would choose the shortest possible road between where we are and where we want to be. We would rather God open the door, answer the prayer, fix the problem, and let us keep moving. But Scripture keeps introducing us to people whose stories contain long stretches they probably would have skipped if given the choice.

Abraham had his years without Isaac. Joseph had his prison. David had his caves. Moses had Midian. That doesn’t mean God will eventually give us whatever we’re waiting for if we endure long enough. God made specific promises to those people, and their stories aren’t blank checks for ours.

Some prayers will be answered differently than we hope. Some things we’re waiting for may never happen the way we’ve imagined them. Some questions may follow us for a very long time.

That’s why I’ve started wondering whether when is the only question worth asking.

• I still want to know when.

• I still pray for doors to open.

• I still ask God to change things.

But somewhere alongside those prayers, I’m learning to ask another one.

God, who are You helping me become while I wait?

Because waiting is doing something.

When fear comes to the surface, bring it to Jesus. When jealousy appears, bring that too. Bring Him the anger, the disappointment, the need for control, and the part of you that’s tired of praying the same prayer.

You may not be able to see what God is doing with the thing you’re waiting for yet. But you can begin paying attention to what He’s doing in you.

Moses walked into Midian after trying to accomplish something through his own strength. Forty years later, he walked back toward Egypt carrying something far more important than confidence in himself. He carried the promise of God’s presence.

Maybe that’s one of the gifts hidden inside waiting.

You may not know when the waiting will end, but you don’t have to leave it empty-handed.

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It was a long day at the church and we didn’t want to cook. After spending probably a little too long deciding where we wanted to eat, my wife and I made our way to a restaurant nearby. We walked in, sat down, ordered our food, and for the first twenty minutes I didn’t think anything about it. I was talking with my wife, our drinks were still full, and we ordered an appetizer so we had something on the table to enjoy while we waited.

Then I noticed that the people who sat down after us got their food.

I looked at their table, then at ours. I tried not to make a big deal about it, but now I was paying attention to the kitchen door. It swung open and a server walked out carrying two plates. For a second, I was sure they were ours. I straightened up a little, moved my phone out of the way, and watched the server make their way across the restaurant.

Then they turned toward another table.

By this point, I was hungry enough that whatever they ordered looked amazing.

A few minutes later, the kitchen door opened again and I did the same thing. This time the server walked right past us and set the food down at the table behind me. At some point, the conversation between my wife and me changed. One of us finally asked, “Did they forget about us?” I looked at the time and tried to remember exactly when we ordered. Then I started looking around for our server without wanting to look like I was looking around for our server.

Every time they walked past, I tried to make eye contact.

I started wondering if our order had ever made it to the kitchen. Maybe the ticket got lost. Maybe somebody forgot to put it in. Maybe our food had been sitting under a heat lamp for the last fifteen minutes while everyone assumed someone else had brought it out. The longer I sat there with nothing in front of me, the easier it became to believe that nothing was happening.

But there was one problem with that assumption. I couldn’t see the kitchen.

There could have been a cook standing over our food at that very moment. Someone could have been plating it. Maybe something came out wrong and they decided to remake it instead of serving it to us. There could have been an entire room full of people working on the very thing I was becoming convinced everyone had forgotten about.

From where I was sitting, I couldn’t see any of that.

All I could see was an empty table.

I think waiting on God can feel a lot like sitting at that table. I pray about something. I ask God for direction. I seek wise counsel, make the phone call, fill out the application, have the conversation, and do everything I know how to do. Eventually, I reach the point where there is nothing left for me to do except wait.

That’s where waiting becomes difficult for people like me. I like movement. I like fixing things. Give me a problem and I will probably start building a plan before you have finished explaining it. At least when I’m doing something, I can convince myself that I’m moving forward.

Waiting takes that away from me.

Eventually, I start doing with God exactly what I did in that restaurant. I start looking around for some indication that He hasn’t forgotten about me. Did I misunderstand Him? Did I do something wrong? Is this a closed door? Should I be doing something else? How long am I supposed to sit here?

The longer nothing seems to happen, the easier it becomes for me to interpret what I can see as evidence of what God is doing.

But I’m sitting at the table.

I can’t see the kitchen.

And I wonder how many times I have mistaken my inability to see what God is doing for evidence that God isn’t doing anything.

Joseph could not see what God was doing either.

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A Prison in Egypt

We have an advantage over Joseph that Joseph never had. We know how his story ends.

We know that Pharaoh will have a dream. We know that a cupbearer will be imprisoned, restored to the palace, and eventually remember Joseph’s name. We know that Joseph will leave prison and stand before the most powerful man in Egypt. He will interpret Pharaoh’s dreams and be entrusted with enormous responsibility and authority. We know that famine is coming and that the young man sitting in an Egyptian prison will eventually become part of God’s provision for an entire region, including the brothers who once sold him.

Knowing the ending makes the middle much easier to read.

Joseph did not have that luxury.

By the time we find him in Genesis 40, his life had already taken several turns that would have been difficult to reconcile with the dreams God had given him as a young man. His brothers hated him. They threw him into a pit and sold him to passing traders. He was carried into Egypt and purchased by Potiphar. For a while his circumstances improved, until Potiphar’s wife falsely accused him after Joseph refused her advances.

Joseph did the honorable thing and ended up in prison for it.

It’s hard for me to comprehend what Joseph’s mindset must have been there, especially because he was thrown into prison for doing the right thing. None of it was fair, and Joseph had no way of knowing what God intended to do with any of it.

When I make a foolish decision and suffer the consequences, at least I can trace the road I walked to get there. I may not enjoy admitting it, but I can understand it. There are other moments when you do what you genuinely believe honors God and discover that obedience has made your life harder.

I have sat with people who know that feeling. They remained faithful in a marriage and were still left behind. They told the truth and paid dearly for it. They served people for years and found themselves forgotten when they were the ones who needed help. They tried to raise their children to know Jesus and then watched one of those children walk away from everything they had taught them.

Eventually, the question becomes difficult to look past.

Where is God when doing the right thing seems to lead you in the wrong direction?

Joseph had no explanation. He had a prison.

Yet even there, Genesis tells us that God had not abandoned him. Joseph was given responsibility within the prison, and in time two prisoners were placed in his care. One had been Pharaoh’s cupbearer, the other his baker. Both men dreamed troubling dreams, and Joseph interpreted them. The baker’s dream carried terrible news, but the cupbearer’s dream meant restoration. Within three days, Joseph said, Pharaoh would return the cupbearer to his former position.

For the first time in a long while, Joseph must have seen something that looked like a road out.

He asked the cupbearer to remember him when he returned to Pharaoh’s court. Joseph explained that he had been stolen from his homeland and had done nothing deserving imprisonment. It was a simple request. Tell somebody that I am here.

Everything happened exactly as Joseph predicted. The cupbearer was restored to his position. Then Genesis gives us one painful sentence.

“Yet the chief cupbearer did not remember Joseph, but forgot him” (Genesis 40:23, ESV).

I wonder how long Joseph expected someone to come.

For the first few days, every sound outside the prison might have carried possibility. Perhaps today would be the day. Perhaps the cupbearer had already spoken to Pharaoh. Perhaps someone was coming with orders for his release.

A week passed. Then another.

Eventually, footsteps in the hallway must have stopped sounding like rescue.

Genesis tells us that two whole years passed.

We read those words in seconds, but Joseph lived every single day of them.

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Two Whole Years

The Bible can make waiting seem deceptively short because centuries can disappear between paragraphs. Abraham waits decades and we turn a few pages. Israel wanders forty years and we finish the story before lunch. David runs from Saul for years, but our eyes keep moving because we already know there is a throne waiting for him.

Real waiting does not feel like reading.

There are plenty of ordinary days inside that time. There are birthdays and changing seasons. Other people’s lives continue moving while yours seems strangely fixed in place. Friends receive the thing you have been praying for. Someone else gets married. Someone else gets pregnant. Someone else gets the job. Someone else’s child comes home. Someone else’s opportunity arrives.

You are happy for them, or at least you want to be. Their joy simply reminds you of the empty chair still sitting at your own table.

Extended waiting has a way of changing the questions we ask.

At first we want to know when something will happen. Eventually we begin wondering whether it will happen at all. If enough time passes, the question can become more personal than either of those.

Has God forgotten me?

I suspect Joseph knew something about that question. The cupbearer certainly had forgotten him, and sometimes human forgetfulness begins to change the way we imagine God. We feel forgotten by people and slowly begin wondering whether God has forgotten too.

But while Joseph was living through another ordinary day in prison, something happened in a room he could not see.

Pharaoh dreamed.

He saw seven healthy cows come out of the Nile, followed by seven thin and ugly cows that consumed them. Then came another dream, this time involving seven healthy ears of grain swallowed by seven thin ones. Pharaoh awoke deeply troubled and called for the magicians and wise men of Egypt, but no one could tell him what the dreams meant.

It was then that the cupbearer remembered.

Joseph was still in prison. He had no idea Pharaoh had dreamed anything. He could not hear the conversations in the palace. He did not know that Egypt’s wisest men were failing to provide an answer. He certainly could not know that, after two years of silence, a man standing before Pharaoh was about to say his name.

From Joseph’s side of the story, nothing had changed. From God’s side, pieces were moving everywhere. It is so easy to assume we understand what is happening behind the scenes, but much of God’s work takes place where we cannot see it.

Joseph could see only the prison. He could not see Pharaoh’s bedroom. He could see that the cupbearer had forgotten him. He could not see the moment when memory would suddenly return. He could see another ordinary morning. He could not see a famine approaching Egypt that would create a need for exactly the wisdom God had been developing in him.

Sometimes the part of the story we can see is the smallest part of the larger story God is writing.

For me, this is what happened in our search for another apartment. We didn’t know what God was doing. We simply prayed and took small steps toward what we believed was the right direction. Looking back, I can see that God was working in that situation in ways we could not see at the time. Doors eventually opened that had previously seemed closed.

In all honesty, there have been moments in my own life when I wanted God to move faster, only to discover later that an earlier answer would not necessarily have been a better one. There were circumstances I knew nothing about and conversations I could never have arranged for myself. There were also things in me that needed more time than I would have admitted at the time.

This does not mean every delay will someday make perfect sense. Some won’t. There are prayers we may carry for the rest of our lives without receiving an explanation that satisfies us. Our faith cannot depend upon our ability to understand God’s reasoning.

Joseph’s story offers something deeper and, I think, more useful.

Our inability to see what God is doing tells us very little about what God is actually doing.

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The Man Who Walked Out

While Joseph was waiting for God to change his circumstances, he continued growing.

The prison years were not empty years. Genesis shows Joseph accepting responsibility wherever he was placed. He served and became trustworthy. When the cupbearer and baker were troubled by their dreams, Joseph noticed their faces and asked why they were downcast.

I find that amazing.

Joseph had plenty of reasons to spend every morning thinking about Joseph. He had been betrayed, enslaved, falsely accused, and forgotten. Yet suffering had not made him blind to the people around him. He still noticed when somebody else was hurting.

Perhaps that tells us something about what God was doing during those years.

Joseph would eventually be entrusted with power. Enormous power. Before that happened, he learned how to serve when there was nothing in it for him. He learned integrity when compromise might have made his life easier. He learned responsibility in places far beneath the position he would eventually hold. He learned to see people while carrying pain of his own.

When Pharaoh finally called for Joseph, the man who walked out of that prison was not the same young man his brothers had thrown into a pit years earlier.

Waiting had done something to him.

This is one of the questions I am learning to ask when God seems slow. I still ask when. I still ask why. I still ask God to open doors. I don’t think there is anything wrong with those prayers.

But I am learning to ask another question alongside them.

Who am I becoming while I wait?

That question puts something back into our hands. We cannot always control when the door opens, but we can pay attention to the kind of person we are becoming before it does.

And until it opens, there is still a life to live.

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Somewhere Beyond the Prison Wall

I would like to tell you that whatever you are waiting for is almost here. I would like to tell you that the relationship will be restored, the opportunity will arrive, the medical report will change, your child will come home, or the prayer you have prayed for years will finally be answered.

I cannot promise you any of those things, and I do not think the hope we have requires us to pretend that we can.

What I can tell you is that Joseph went to sleep one night in the same prison where he had spent years of his life, with no knowledge that somewhere beyond those walls the circumstances of his life had already begun to change.

Pharaoh had dreamed. Wise men had failed. A cupbearer had remembered.

Then Genesis 41:14 says that Pharaoh sent for Joseph and they “quickly brought him out of the pit.”

Quickly.

There is something almost amusing about that word after two whole years. For Joseph, nothing seemed to happen for a very long time, and then a great deal happened at once.

Perhaps you are still somewhere in those two years.

If you are, there is no need to pretend that you enjoy it. Tell God you are tired. Ask Him again. Grieve what has not happened. Keep bringing the same prayer if it is still the prayer in your heart.

Then get up tomorrow and follow Jesus.

Pay attention to the people God has put near you. Do the work that belongs to this day. Enjoy the meal. Take the trip. Call the friend. Serve where you are. Let God form something in you that you might need later. And when the silence begins persuading you that nothing is happening, remember the prison in Egypt.

Joseph could see stone walls and locked doors. Somewhere beyond them, a king was dreaming. Joseph could see a forgotten request. Somewhere beyond him, a man’s memory was stirring. Joseph could see the same place where he had awakened yesterday.

God could see the whole road. You and I rarely have that kind of foresight.

For now, perhaps it is enough to know that the prison wall marked the edge of what Joseph could see. It never marked the edge of what God was doing.

As a kid, I thought good preachers could do something almost magical with the Bible. They could take a passage I had heard a dozen times and make me notice something I had never seen.

Sometimes it was a word. Sometimes it was a detail in the story. Then they would connect it to us, and a story written thousands of years ago would feel like it had followed me to church that morning.

I remember watching the room. People would lean forward. Someone would nod. Sometimes everything would get incredibly quiet. The pastor would bring the Scripture, the story, and the point together, and suddenly I was not thinking about him anymore.

I was thinking about God.

I was fascinated. Somewhere along the way, a thought began growing in me: I want to do that someday.

There was one problem. I was terrified of public speaking. I once gave a five- or ten-minute sermon in junior high, and it was terrible. I would get nervous, lose my train of thought, and forget what came next. Still, I wanted to preach.

So I studied, listened, and waited for an opportunity. Maybe five minutes would become ten. Maybe ten minutes would become a sermon. Maybe one sermon would become another.

There was nothing wrong with wanting to grow. I believe God really was preparing something He would use later. The problem was quieter.

I had started treating the life I was living as preparation for the life I actually wanted.

I thought the important part was coming later—when I had the opportunity, the confidence, the title, or the platform. But God was not waiting for someday to begin using my life. I was.

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Abraham Still Had a Life to Live

Last week, I wrote about Abraham’s waiting years. Scripture can cover a decade with a few words. We turn the page in seconds; Abraham had to live every day in between.

God had promised to make him a great nation, but Sarah could not have children. Abraham followed God to Canaan, built an altar, and heard the promise again:

“To your offspring I will give this land.” (Genesis 12:7)

But there was still no offspring.

Then life kept happening. A famine forced Abraham into Egypt. He made questionable decisions, got into trouble with Pharaoh, and eventually returned to Canaan. By Genesis 13, he was back near an altar he had built before.

Still no Isaac.

We read these chapters knowing the promised son is coming, so every chapter without him can feel like something to get through. Abraham could not read his life that way. He woke each morning with animals to tend, servants to direct, tents to move, problems to solve, and people depending on him. Sarah was there. Lot was there. There were meals, conversations, laughter, and ordinary moments Scripture never records.

The fact that Abraham was waiting on God did not excuse him from the famine or prevent conflict between his herdsmen and Lot’s. He could not place every other responsibility on hold until God gave him a son.

Abraham was waiting for his life to change while his life was already happening.

An unanswered prayer can become so large that it blocks our view of everything God has already given us. Isaac mattered. But Isaac was not the only thing in Abraham’s life that mattered.

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Let Lot Choose

Abraham and Lot eventually accumulated so much livestock and so many possessions that the land could no longer support both households. Their herdsmen began arguing, so Abraham proposed that they separate.

Then he did something surprising: he let Lot choose first.

Lot saw that the Jordan Valley was well watered, “like the garden of the LORD,” and took it. Abraham was left with whatever Lot did not choose.

Remember what Abraham was waiting for. God had promised him land. Abraham had left home to go to the place God would show him. Now he stood in that land and gave someone else first choice.

Waiting can make us afraid there will not be enough—enough time, money, opportunities, open doors, or chances to become who we believe we are supposed to be. Every opportunity begins to feel like the last one, so we grab, push, manipulate, and protect.

Abraham was not always good at waiting. Later, he and Sarah would try to fulfill God’s promise through Hagar. But here, he opened his hands.

Maybe Abraham was beginning to understand that if God was responsible for his future, he did not have to fight everyone around him to secure it. Lot’s choice could not cancel God’s promise.

When you are afraid God will not take care of your future, you start clutching everything in your present.

Abraham let go.

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Lift Up Your Eyes

Then God spoke.

“Lift up your eyes and look from the place where you are, northward and southward and eastward and westward.” (Genesis 13:14)

The timing gets me. God could have reassured Abraham before Lot chose the better-looking land. He could have reminded Abraham of the promise before he opened his hands.

But He did not.

Lot chose. Lot left. Then God said, Look.

And I especially love the next words: “from the place where you are.” Not from the place Abraham wished he were. Not from the land Lot chose. Not from the future where Sarah finally held a son.

From here.

I wonder what Abraham saw. Dirt. Hills. Trees. Animals grazing. Lot’s household disappearing in the distance. It certainly did not look like a great nation, yet God told him to look anyway.

We spend so much of life looking elsewhere—toward the job we hope to have, the relationship we hope will change, the opportunity we hope will come, or the person we hope to become. We can become so accustomed to looking toward where we want to be that we stop seeing where we are.

Look from the place where you are.

What if this place is not merely the space between where you were and where you are going? What if someone here is worth loving? What if something here is worth doing? What if God has something to show you before your circumstances change?

God kept meeting Abraham in places he probably thought he was only passing through. Maybe He does the same with us.

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Tents and Altars

Two things keep appearing in Abraham’s story: tents and altars.

Abraham spent much of his life packing. He would settle somewhere, life would develop a rhythm, and eventually it was time to move again. The ropes came down, the animals were gathered, and the place that had been home became another place behind them.

But when Abraham arrived at Shechem, he built an altar. Near Bethel, he built another. When he returned from Egypt, he went back to an altar and called on the Lord. After Lot chose the Jordan Valley, Abraham moved again:

“So Abram moved his tent and came and settled by the oaks of Mamre, which are at Hebron, and there he built an altar to the LORD.” (Genesis 13:18)

The tent kept moving. The altar kept appearing.

I have had plenty of tents in my life. Jobs changed. Ministry changed. Relationships changed. Plans changed. Places that felt permanent became memories surprisingly quickly.

Some things are tents. We are not meant to keep them forever. But wherever we land, we can still open Scripture, pray, worship, gather with people who love Jesus, and remember what God has done.

Those practices may not change our circumstances or tell us when the next chapter will begin. They remind us who God is while we are here.

Abraham could not control every place the journey took him, but he could build an altar when he arrived.

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Do Not Punish Today for What Has Not Happened Yet

Waiting can steal our lives in another way: it can make us feel guilty for enjoying them.

I have seen this in grief. Someone laughs around a table, then suddenly remembers the person they love is gone. Their expression changes, as if enjoying the moment means they are not grieving enough.

We can do something similar when an important part of life remains unresolved. How can I enjoy this season when my marriage is struggling? How can I celebrate when my prayer is still unanswered? We keep disappointment close, almost as if worrying proves how much it matters.

But disappointment does not require our constant attention. There are still meals worth enjoying, people worth laughing with, birthdays worth celebrating, and sunsets worth stopping for.

Abraham waited twenty-five years for Isaac. Surely not every day was miserable. There were meals around the fire, conversations, beautiful mornings, and evenings when everyone sat around longer than usual.

Isaac was not there. That mattered. But his absence did not make everything else meaningless.

You can be disappointed and grateful. You can wait and laugh. You can pray for tomorrow and thank God for today.

You do not dishonor what you are waiting for by enjoying what God has already given you.

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What Is Already in Your Hands?

Abraham did not have Isaac, but he was not empty-handed. He had Sarah, a household, responsibilities, resources, influence, a calling, a relationship with God, and another morning each time he opened his eyes.

Sometimes the thing we are missing becomes so important that we stop noticing what is already in our hands. We stare at the empty chair and miss everyone else at the table.

Who is already sitting at your table? What responsibility has God entrusted to you? Who could you encourage? What opportunity have you ignored because it was not the opportunity you wanted? What would obedience look like if nothing changed this week?

For years, I believed the important part of my calling was ahead of me. Someday I would preach. Meanwhile, there were already people to encourage, Scripture to study, and small opportunities to serve. They simply did not look like the opportunity I was waiting for.

Maybe faithfulness is not waiting for your life to begin. Maybe it is giving God the life that is already happening.

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How Do I Keep Living While I Wait?

“Trust God” is true. But after years of waiting, we may need to know what trust looks like on a Tuesday afternoon. Start with four questions.

What am I postponing?

Finish the sentence, “I will do that when…” Then ask whether it actually needs to wait. Some things do. Others have simply become attached to a future version of your life. Maybe you can call the friend, begin writing, serve somewhere, have people over, or enjoy this season now.

What am I clutching?

Where has uncertainty made you controlling or desperate? What are you afraid will happen if you open your hands? Sometimes our grip tells us more about our fear than our circumstances do.

What is already in my hands?

Name the people, responsibilities, opportunities, gifts, resources, and ordinary good things you have stopped noticing. You may not have what you asked God for, but that does not mean you have nothing.

Where can I build an altar?

Choose one simple rhythm that helps you remember God is present here too. Open your Bible before your phone. Take a walk and pray. Protect a Sabbath. Meet with someone who helps you remember what is true.

Nothing heroic. Just something that says:

God, I am still here. And I know You are too.

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The Ordinary Tuesdays

When we think about Abraham’s wait, we remember the big moments: leaving home, receiving the promise, looking at the stars, and finally holding Isaac.

But most of those twenty-five years were ordinary. Abraham woke up. Someone prepared breakfast. Animals needed attention. There were conversations, problems, meals, work, sunrises, sunsets, and thousands of days Scripture never records.

I wonder how much of Abraham’s life with God happened on those days.

Maybe nothing you are waiting for will happen today. The phone may not ring. The door may not open. The relationship may not change. The answer may not come.

But today is still your life.

There are people to love, work to do, meals to enjoy, and altars to build. Abraham’s waiting years were not simply something to survive before his life began. They were his life too.

And these days are yours.

Do not miss the life God has given you while you are waiting for the life you have asked Him for.

I checked my phone again.

Nothing had changed in the last eleven minutes. Apparently, I believed that my mechanic might sense my concern. Every time my phone got a notification, I would look over and unlock the screen. Every ding. Every beep or buzz.

My phone lay beside my keyboard, close enough that I could see it in my peripheral vision. The house was quiet since my wife had our only source of transportation. I tapped my foot against the floor and tried to work, but I kept thinking about texting him.

“Hey! Just checking in...”

I wrote the message a few times, then deleted it. Each time I remember thinking, “This is stupid.”

Eventually, I put my phone down and worked on something else. I got up, went into another room and, for a little while, completely forgot about the text.

When I came back to my office, I sat down and kept working.

Then it dawned on me.

“I wonder if he texted?”

To my surprise, he had.

I rushed to open the message. The truck wasn’t fixed. I still didn’t have transportation. I was still going to spend money on the repair and wait for him to finish it.

Yet, I felt better.

I sat there wondering, “Why am I like this?”

The problem wasn’t solved. The truck wasn’t fixed. The waiting hadn’t ended. So why did knowing the plan make me feel so much better?

The problem wasn’t the waiting. It was waiting without knowing.

There’s a reason the microwave has a countdown. There’s a reason restaurants tell us, “It’ll be about twenty minutes.” There’s a reason we obsessively check the little map showing our DoorDash driver making his way toward our house.

We’re remarkably patient when we can see the clock.

It’s waiting without a clock that gets me.

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When You Don’t Know Where You’re Going

I wonder what Abraham thought when God told him to leave his home.

He was seventy-five years old. What was he leaving behind that couldn’t be packed onto a camel? What questions would Sarah have asked him, and how many could he actually answer?

God had told Abraham to go “to the land that I will show you.”

Not where it was. Not how long it would take to get there.

Just go, and I will show you.

I wonder how long Abraham traveled before the excitement of being called by God collided with a much more ordinary question:

“Where exactly are we going?”

One of the advantages of reading Abraham’s story is also one of its dangers.

We can turn the page.

Abraham couldn’t.

God often asks us to live faithfully on the page we’re actually on.

A Promise and Tomorrow

Abraham eventually arrived in Canaan. There, God appeared to him and said something fascinating:

“To your offspring I will give this land.” (Genesis 12:7)

There’s just one problem.

Abraham doesn’t have any offspring.

Genesis has already told us Sarah was barren. Before Abraham packed anything, before he left home, and before God spoke these words about his offspring, Sarah couldn’t have children.

God wasn’t simply promising Abraham land. He was promising a future Abraham couldn’t see any reasonable path toward. Somewhere in that future there would be children, then grandchildren, and eventually enough descendants to fill the land.

But Abraham was standing there without even the first child.

We know Isaac is coming.

Abraham didn’t.

He had to live the story one day at a time. And on this particular day, Sarah was still barren.

Yet Abraham does something remarkably simple.

He builds an altar.

I think I would have wanted more details first. When will Sarah have this child? How will this happen? How long are we going to be here?

Abraham doesn’t have those answers yet.

He has a promise.

And then, apparently, he has tomorrow.

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When Tomorrow Keeps Coming

Time passed.

Abraham traveled. There was a famine. He went to Egypt and came back. He and Lot separated. There were battles to fight and people to rescue.

His life was anything but empty.

But still, no child.

God spoke again and told Abraham that his offspring would be like the dust of the earth, more than he could count.

And still, no child.

At first, waiting can almost feel hopeful. You check the phone because surely the call is coming. You watch the door because you expect it to open. You wake up wondering if today might finally be the day.

Then today becomes tomorrow. Tomorrow becomes next week.

Eventually, enough tomorrows pile up that you stop wondering whether today will be the day and start wondering whether the day is ever coming at all.

By Genesis 15, Abraham finally says something:

“O Lord GOD, what will you give me, for I continue childless...” (Genesis 15:2)

I keep coming back to that word.

Continue.

God had promised. Abraham had believed Him. Abraham had obeyed Him.

And Sarah was still barren.

Sometimes we imagine faith as the absence of questions. But Abraham asks.

“Behold, you have given me no offspring.”

You promised me descendants.

I don’t have any.

Abraham isn’t telling God something God doesn’t know. He’s putting words to the distance between what God has said and what Abraham can see.

God doesn’t rebuke him.

Instead, God takes him outside.

“Look toward heaven, and number the stars, if you are able to number them.” (Genesis 15:5)

I wonder how long Abraham looked.

Away from the tents and fires, the darkness would have stretched farther than he could see. One star. Then another. Hundreds. Thousands. Far too many for an old man standing beneath them to count.

“So shall your offspring be.”

Abraham had asked God for something he could understand.

God gave him stars.

The circumstances hadn’t changed. Sarah was still barren. Abraham was still getting older. There wasn’t a child sleeping in their tent that night.

God didn’t end the wait.

He reminded Abraham who had made the promise.

And Abraham believed Him.

Then morning came.

The stars disappeared with the sunrise. Sarah was still Sarah. Abraham was still Abraham. The promise was still a promise.

And they had another day to live.

When Waiting Gets Long

Then another year passes.

Sarah was getting older. So was Abraham. The promise had not changed, but their circumstances had.

Eventually, Sarah came to Abraham with an idea.

She had a servant named Hagar.

Perhaps this was how God’s promise was supposed to happen.

It’s easy to read Genesis 16 knowing what comes next and wonder how Abraham and Sarah could make such a decision. But they couldn’t turn the page. They had a promise from God, a barren woman, an aging man, and years of waiting.

So they found a way to move things along.

Abraham slept with Hagar. She became pregnant, and Ishmael was born.

Their plan worked.

At least, it seemed to.

There is something frightening about that. Sometimes the door we force actually opens. Sometimes the plan we manufacture actually succeeds.

But almost immediately, things began to fall apart. Hagar looked at Sarah differently. Sarah became angry. Hagar eventually fled into the wilderness.

They had ended one kind of waiting and created an entirely different kind of pain.

I understand the temptation.

Waiting without a clock makes me uncomfortable. Eventually, I start looking for clocks I can control. Maybe I can send another message. Make another phone call. Push the door a little harder.

There is a fine line between faithfully taking the next step and trying to write the next page ourselves.

Abraham crossed it.

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Thirteen Years

Genesis 16 ends with a detail that is easy to miss.

Abraham was eighty-six years old when Ishmael was born.

Then you turn the page.

“When Abram was ninety-nine years old the LORD appeared to Abram...” (Genesis 17:1)

Eighty-six.

Ninety-nine.

Thirteen years disappear in the turn of a page.

Scripture doesn’t give us chapters describing those years.

Abraham had to live them.

Thirteen summers. Thirteen winters. Thirteen birthdays.

Ishmael learned to walk and talk. He grew from a baby into a young man. Abraham’s hair grew grayer. Sarah grew older.

And still, no Isaac.

Maybe Abraham thought Ishmael was the answer. Maybe he had misunderstood God. Maybe this was how the promise was supposed to happen after all.

We aren’t told.

We are simply told that when Abraham was ninety-nine, God appeared again.

God had not forgotten.

Thirteen years had passed for Abraham.

The promise hadn’t aged a day for God.

When the Promise Becomes Impossible

God tells Abraham that Sarah will have a son.

Not Hagar.

Sarah.

Abraham falls on his face and laughs.

I’m not sure I blame him.

He is almost one hundred. Sarah is ninety. Twenty-four years earlier, God’s promise had been difficult to understand.

Now it seemed impossible.

Sarah laughs too when she hears the news.

God responds with a question:

“Is anything too hard for the LORD?” (Genesis 18:14)

That’s an easy verse to put on a coffee mug.

It’s a much harder question when you’ve been waiting twenty-four years.

Romans 4 tells us Abraham didn’t pretend his circumstances weren’t real. He considered his own body. He considered Sarah’s inability to have children.

Faith didn’t require Abraham to close his eyes to reality.

He simply became convinced that reality wasn’t the only thing that mattered.

God had spoken too.

Romans says Abraham was “fully convinced that God was able to do what he had promised.”

I don’t think Abraham learned that in an afternoon.

Maybe that kind of conviction takes years. Maybe it takes stars and failures. Maybe it takes trying to write the story yourself and discovering you’re not particularly good at being the author.

Maybe some things can only be learned while you’re waiting.

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At the Appointed Time

Then, finally, Sarah becomes pregnant.

After all the years of wondering, Genesis describes the fulfillment almost quietly:

“And Sarah conceived and bore Abraham a son in his old age at the time of which God had spoken to him.” (Genesis 21:2)

At the time.

Abraham had spent twenty-five years without being able to see the clock.

God apparently had one all along.

Abraham was one hundred years old when Isaac was born.

I try to imagine him holding that little boy. The same arms that had packed his belongings twenty-five years earlier now held the thing God had promised.

Maybe he remembered leaving home. The land. The stars. Hagar. Ishmael. His own laughter.

Twenty-five years is a lot of life to hold alongside a newborn child.

The promise had finally become something Abraham could touch.

The waiting was over.

Or at least, that’s where I expected the story about waiting to end.

It doesn’t.

The Man Who Walked Up the Mountain

Years later, God tells Abraham to take Isaac to a mountain.

The son he had waited for.

The son God had promised.

Isaac.

God asks Abraham to offer him as a sacrifice.

There are few passages in Scripture that make me more uncomfortable than Genesis 22. But reading it alongside the previous chapters made me notice something.

Abraham gets up the next morning and goes.

The man who tried to help God fulfill His promise in Genesis 16 now walks toward a mountain carrying that promise with him.

Something has changed.

Hebrews tells us Abraham believed God was able even to raise Isaac from the dead.

In Genesis 16, Abraham couldn’t see how God could fulfill the promise, so he created another way.

In Genesis 22, Abraham still couldn’t see how God could fulfill the promise.

But this time he trusted God with what he could not understand.

What happened between those two chapters?

Years. Failure. Grace. Altars. Questions. Silence. Stars. A son.

Waiting.

Suddenly, I began to wonder whether Isaac was the only thing God had been working on for those twenty-five years.

Maybe God wasn’t simply preparing Isaac for Abraham.

Maybe God was preparing Abraham for Isaac.

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Maybe I’ve Been Asking the Wrong Question

I started thinking again about my phone sitting beside my keyboard.

Eleven minutes.

That’s all it took for me to get restless.

Abraham waited twenty-five years.

His story doesn’t mean everything I want will eventually happen if I wait long enough. God made Abraham a specific promise. I can’t turn his promise into God’s guarantee for every prayer I pray.

Some things I’m waiting for may happen. Some may happen differently than I expect. Some may never happen at all.

That’s uncomfortable because I still want the clock.

I want God to tell me when. I want to know how. I want to turn the page and make sure everything works out before I decide how much I trust Him on the page I’m living now.

So I’ve spent a lot of my life asking: How do I get through the wait?

It’s not a bad question.

I’m just beginning to think there may be a better one: Who am I becoming while I wait?

Abraham didn’t simply arrive at the end of twenty-five years with Isaac.

He arrived there as a different man.

The road had changed the traveler.

He had trusted. Questioned. Failed. Tried to force the story. Watched the impossible become possible. And eventually, he learned to place even the promise itself back into God’s hands.

The waiting wasn’t empty space between God’s promise and God’s purpose.

It was part of what God used to form Abraham.

Another Day to Live

Maybe that’s where you are.

You’ve prayed. You’ve obeyed the best you know how. You’ve checked the phone and watched the door. Maybe you’ve even tried to force a few things along the way.

And you still don’t know what happens next.

I wish I could tell you when the page will turn.

I can’t.

I can’t promise your story will end the way you’ve pictured it either.

But you have this page.

You have today.

What is this season revealing about you? Where has waiting exposed your need for control? Are you becoming bitter, or softer? Are you learning to trust God without requiring Him to explain Himself first?

I still prefer clocks.

I like countdowns. I like plans. I’m probably still going to check my phone more than I should.

But Abraham’s story has made me wonder whether my obsession with knowing what happens next can cause me to miss what God is doing now.

We can turn the page in Abraham’s story.

We can’t turn the page in ours.

Maybe faithfulness is learning to live with God on the page we’re actually on.

So perhaps the next time I find myself asking, “God, how do I get through this wait?” I’ll try to remember Abraham.

And I’ll ask a different question.

God, who are You helping me become while I wait?

Waiting is like sending a text message, watching the read notification appear, and then… nothing. You wonder what’s happening because they normally respond to your messages. Then you start asking more questions. Why are they not responding? Did I do something? What am I missing?

Waiting on God often feels like this. Not because He is absent, but because silence can make us question ourselves.

Waiting might be the hardest part of my walk with Jesus. At a very young age, I knew deep in my soul that I would serve as a Pastor. It wasn’t because of pride, or some infatuation with the role, I just couldn’t escape the conviction that God placed in my heart.

I’m not a person that waits very well. I get fixated on what I think God wants from me and my cadence in pursuing that is much faster than it should be.

I can also be pretty forgetful, so being obedient in the moment is very important for me because missing something God wants me to do would be devastating.

My personality is one where:

• I naturally start making plans.

• I solve problems before anyone asks.

• If something is broken, I want to fix it.

• Standing still feels irresponsible.

Maybe you’re like me and you’re waiting, too.

• Waiting for direction.

• Waiting for a job.

• Waiting for healing.

• Waiting for reconciliation.

• Waiting for a spouse.

• Waiting for a child.

I’ve waited for all of those, and I can tell you that waiting often feels like failure. We all have different prayers, different circumstances, but the same questions.

When I was starting in ministry, I carried a deep conviction that God was calling me into pastoral ministry.

The road to the pulpit looked nothing like I expected. There were so many ups and downs that I questioned my calling more than once.

It seemed like others were being promoted before I was. That affected me more than I wanted to admit. I congratulated them. I smiled. I was careful not to let my voice change or reveal what was happening inside me. When no one was looking, I was quietly reminded of what I was still waiting for.

Then in prayer I would ask,

“God…

What’s wrong with me?

What are you doing that I can’t see?”

My heart has always been to be obedient. I was fine with a “not now” from God, but waiting felt like I was missing the mark.

This was during a time of ministry where things were going well. I was doing all the things I believed God had called me to do. Still, what I believed God had called me to do felt miles away.

After three churches, closed doors, and a lot of disappointment, I thought I might have disqualified myself somehow.

I would ask questions like:

• Did I miss God’s voice?

• Did I ruin His plan?

• Was I simply broken in ways that were only visible to others?

Looking back, I wasn't afraid that God had forgotten me. I was afraid I had failed Him.

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Why does God make faithful people wait?

There’s a part of us that automatically assumes delay means disapproval.

Why do we do that?

• I know that I wasn’t running from God, I was running toward Him.

• I know that I wasn’t asking for something sinful.

• I know that I genuinely wanted to serve.

So why would God slow someone down who wanted to obey Him?

My generation grew up playing video games, and one thing that sticks out to me is that as you follow along in a game, each milestone unlocks new abilities, new tools, and new areas.

Real life doesn’t work that way. God often gives us the next responsibility only after we’ve become the kind of person who can carry it.

Waiting is a tool God uses to sharpen us, to deepen our understanding, and to make us fully reliant on Him.

When I was 20 years old serving in a big church, that’s a trial-by-fire environment where my limited wisdom could have had disastrous consequences I’m not saying that I would have made terrible decisions, but I know that the environment (at that time) wasn’t one where I could have grown.

For instance, there are things in a big church that are just handed to you. It always seemed like the Pastor had the ability to show up on Sunday, give the message, and go home while the staff do everything else. From my perspective as a young staff member, that's all I could see. Now I know they carry people's grief, broken marriages, financial struggles, conflicts, hospital visits, staff issues, board meetings, and countless decisions no one ever sees.

Serving in big, small, and helping to plant a church gave me a perspective I would have never had if I had stayed in the big church. I’ll be honest here, some of those experiences felt like detours. There were times when my conversation with God was more like, “WHY?!?!”.

At 20, I thought the greatest gift God could give me was a platform. Looking back, the greatest gift He gave me was perspective.

God wasn’t wasting those years. He was making sure my character could support the calling He had already planned.

I’ve had to ask myself, what if God measures success differently than I do?

For me, success meant being in the center of God’s will, and that should be evident by the doors He’s opening.

While I was measuring whether God was opening doors, God was measuring whether I looked more like Jesus than I did yesterday.

• Was I learning to celebrate someone else’s success?

• Was I learning to serve without a title?

• Was I learning to obey before I was recognized?

• Was I becoming the kind of man who would point people to Jesus instead of myself?

There were plenty of growth areas I was blind to.

I went through a season where God was showing me that I didn’t need the church to give me permission to do what God had called me to do.

It’s embarrassing how obvious that was. For me, I love the church and I still believe it’s the best chance we have to look like Christ before His return.

At some point, I started telling myself that I would obey God when someone gives me the opportunity, but what really happened was the shift in me.

I realized that I can obey today with what God has already placed in my hands.

So I stopped waiting for someone else’s invitation and started being faithful with what God had already entrusted to me.

Not because I needed approval, but because I needed to serve. In that place, God could grow me in ways that wouldn’t have happened otherwise.

Then I noticed something.

As I read scripture, I’ve noticed that God almost never gives someone great responsibility before first giving them a season of hidden growth.

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David’s Waiting Season

David was chosen out of a household of many older brothers to become the next king. He was anointed by the prophet Samuel, and then what happened? After being anointed, it would make sense for him to go right to the palace and being his reign.

But where was David? In the fields, caring for sheep. Keeping them safe. Feeding them.

Why would God train a future king by giving him sheep instead of a throne?

Imagine it.

Samuel has just anointed you. Your family watched it happen. You know you’re God’s chosen king.

And the next morning...

You wake up before sunrise. Grab your staff. Count sheep. Walk the same hills. Sleep under the same stars.

Nothing changed.

I can imagine he might have thought, “God… what are you doing?”

In all the waiting, God still didn’t remove Saul who was Israel’s current king. In fact Saul got to know David after he killed a giant of a man in battle when he was a young man.

The people loved David, and Saul became convinced David would eventually take the throne, so he tried to kill him before that could ever happen.

Even in that season, David waited.

Twice he stood over Saul and didn’t take his life. He chose not to end the waiting.

Even though everyone around him said this was God’s will. David trusted God more than his circumstances.

He could have shown up with his Mighty Men and taken the crown by force. But no, he didn’t take any shortcuts.

This is where I’ve learned that not every opportunity is permission.

It was in the fields, the palace, the battlefield, the caves, and the years on the run that God was forming David into a person that could carry the weight of the crown.

David wasn’t waiting to become king. He was already living like one. Not because he had the title and the responsibility, but because he had the character to carry it.

He protected sheep before he protected a nation and He learned to trust God against lions and bears before he trusted Him against Goliath. He served Saul faithfully before he replaced Saul and he refused to seize the throne before God entrusted it to him.

After years of serving people, I’ve learned that God doesn't prepare us for the assignment by giving us the assignment. He takes His time and prepares us for the assignment long before we carry that responsibility.

God wasn’t delaying the throne because He doubted David’s calling. God cared about the people David was about to serve so much that he chose not to rush the process.

God's greatest work often happens long before His greatest opportunities.

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How do we wait well?

Waiting well is not as passive as we think, but it’s active discipleship. The goal is to obey God with what He has already placed in our hands.

We need to be faithful with where we are right now. Don’t get hung up on a title, promotion, opportunity, or platform.

Ask yourself, “What has God already entrusted to me?”

Become a disciple before becoming a leader.

Jesus is inviting you to come to the table and sit with Him a while. It’s in these quiet moments that we can learn from Jesus, be corrected, and ultimately grow. It will take surrendering your time and what you think you should be doing.

The greatest leaders remain lifelong disciples.

Don’t confuse silence with absence.

God isn’t ghosting you.

He isn’t ignoring you.

He may simply be working somewhere you can’t yet see.

Waiting reveals what we worship.

If this opportunity that you’ve been waiting for never comes, would Jesus still be enough?

Keep serving

Waiting doesn’t mean you have to sit around. David kept shepherding.

Plenty of times I kept serving while I was waiting for God to open the next door.

Keep serving and know that God will open the next door when you’re ready.

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Who Are You Becoming?

Our goal in waiting should never be to just get through it, but to let God accomplish everything He wants to do through it.

David had no idea that while he was caring for sheep, God was preparing a nation.

You don’t know who your present faithfulness is preparing you to serve.

You don’t know what God is doing in the background.

God gave these words to Israel during their long season of exile. They waited decades. While this promise was given specifically to them, I think it reminds us of God’s character. He’s still working for His purposes even when we cannot see what He’s doing.

“For I know the plans I have for you declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” (Jeremiah 29:11)

My prayer for you is that when you look back at the season you’re in now, the one you wanted to escape, you’ll realize that God was preparing you for everything He has planned.

I’ll leave you with a question. In your prayer time, ask God:

“God who are You helping me become while I wait?”

There’s a particular kind of pain that shows up when people who were supposed to help you heal become the ones who made the wound deeper.

When a person who doesn’t know God hurts you, you can almost write it off as “they can’t help it because they never claimed to know God.”

But it’s a very different thing when a person who taught the Bible, led meetings, served on teams, prayed out loud, and knew exactly what to say while they broke something in you.

That hurt stays with you and follows you into worship. It’s with you when you open the Bible and changes the way you hear sermons, invitations, apologies, and even the word “community.”

Sometimes it changes the sound of God’s voice in your mind.

You still love Jesus. You may still believe the gospel. You may still want to be a gracious person. But something in you pulls back.

You develop a tone with people and you notice power dynamics.

You start to see who gets protected, and who gets corrected.

You begin to see people using spiritual language to avoid taking responsibility.

And then you wonder if you’re becoming bitter.

It is possible that you’re not bitter, but injured.

Injured people need more than a lecture about forgiveness.

They need to know that Jesus saw this behavior, too.

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Jesus Was Not Shocked by Religious Failure

Religious people weren’t able to hide their failures around Jesus.

That is both comforting and uncomfortable for religious people.

Jesus loved them. Comforted them. He invited them.

He was never fooled by their appearance.

He knew that a person could know scripture and still miss mercy. He knew someone could stand in a holy place with a heart that was unholy. He knew religious systems could protect reputations at the expense of the wounded.

This matters if you’ve been hurt in church.

Sometimes people act like naming the harm is the same as attacking the faith—and it’s not.

Jesus named harm clearly.

He called out hypocrisy. Exposed pride. Challenged leaders who placed heavy burdens on people and would not lift a finger to help them. He grieved over people who used religion to protect their image and avoid the truth inside.

Jesus didn’t ask hurt people to pretend their wounds weren’t real.

He told the truth.

That means we don’t have to choose between honesty and faithfulness.

You can love Jesus and still say, “that was wrong.”

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A Man Left Wounded on the Road

Jesus told a story about a man who traveled from Jerusalem to Jericho.

This man was traveling a dangerous road—one that was isolated and steep, and where a person would not want to remain alone for long.

On the journey, the man was attacked by robbers.

He was stripped, beaten, and left half dead.

Think about that for a minute.

He was half dead.

He was alive, but not able to get himself home.

Church hurt can feel like that.

You’re still doing all the normal things.

Still answering emails, getting groceries, smiling when you need to.

But there’s a part of you that’s lying in that ditch on the side of the road, trying to breathe.

Jesus says a priest came by. A priest.

If anyone should have stopped and helped this person, it was him.

This person knew the law. He knew that showing mercy mattered.

He knew that God required mercy.

But when he saw the wounded man, he passed by on the other side of the road.

Then a Levite man came. Here’s another religious man. Someone who is connected to worship, service, and sacred things.

He saw this poor man too. And he also passed by.

Jesus doesn’t tell us about their excuses.

Maybe they were busy, afraid, and knew that helping would have cost too much.

Maybe they had somewhere important to be, or they had a very spiritual reason for not getting involved.

But the man in the road didn’t need their reasons. He needed mercy.

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When the People Who Should Stop Keep Walking

If you’ve been hurt in the church, you may relate to this man’s story more than you’d like to admit.

It’s not just the original wound; it’s also the passing by and the silence afterward.

The people who saw enough to know something was off, but didn’t want the disruption of caring.

The leader who quickly changed the subject.

The friend who ghosted you.

The person who said, “I’ll pray for you,” because saying that was easier than sitting with the truth.

The community that knew how to celebrate publicly, but not how to restore privately.

Sometimes the real issue is not that you were hurt, but that the people who should have stopped, kept walking.

When that happens, it’s understandable that people question everything.

Was any of my experience real? Did they ever care about me? Is this what the church is? Is this what God is like?

These are big questions and they don’t go away just because someone tells you to move on.

Church hurt often leaves people grieving two things at once: what happened, and what should have happened but did not.

That second one is harder to explain.

You are grieving an apology that never came, protection that was never offered, the conversation that nobody was brave enough to have, and the version of church that you thought you belonged to.

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When Church Leaders Don’t Look Like Jesus

When you serve as a pastor, one of the most unsettling things you discover is how much brokenness can hide behind the parts of church everyone sees.

People see the stage, the services, the smiles, the meetings, the language.

But leaders often see another layer. And sometimes that layer is painful.

I wish I could say church leadership always looks different from the world. Sometimes it does. There are humble, faithful leaders who quietly carry people, tell the truth, repent quickly, and love well.

But sometimes church leadership can look a lot like any other workplace with a ladder.

People protect position. People manage perception. People treat other leaders with contempt. People use spiritual language to cover insecurity, ambition, or fear.

We are supposed to be different. But we are still human. And when leaders are not deeply connected to Jesus, they can start looking like the systems they preach against.

I have been in rooms where I had to take the heat for things I did not do, could not have known about, and had no power to prevent.

I have been made the scapegoat because someone needed the story to land somewhere other than on them.

I have also been in situations where church leaders said things about me that were not true, hoping I would get frustrated enough to leave quietly.

That kind of thing does something to you.

Not just because it hurts personally, but because it happens in a place where people are talking about Jesus.

And when you are close enough to see that kind of brokenness, you understand why some people walk away wounded. You understand why they struggle to trust again. You understand why a sermon about forgiveness may not be enough.

Because sometimes the pain is not coming from people outside the church. Sometimes the pain is coming from people carrying church keys.

That is why the Good Samaritan story matters so much to me. Jesus did not pretend religious people always stop.

In His story, the priest saw the wounded man and kept walking. The Levite saw him too and passed by.

That part is uncomfortable because it tells the truth.

Religious titles do not automatically create mercy. Church roles do not automatically make someone safe. Being near holy things is not the same as having the heart of Jesus. And if you have been hurt by people who should have known better, I do not want to rush past that.

I just want to say: Jesus sees it. He saw it then. He sees it now. And He is not the one who crossed the road.

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The Surprise in Jesus’ Story

Then there’s a person who showed up in Jesus’ story that no one expected.

A Samaritan.

You have to understand that to Jesus’ audience, the Samaritan should not have been the hero. He was an outsider, a person with the wrong background, and one that people had theological and cultural reasons to avoid.

But he was the one that stopped.

He saw the wounded man and had compassion. Not a vague feeling. Instead of a quick sympathetic glance, he had compassion that moved him.

The Samaritan went to him and bandaged his wounds. Poured oil and wine. He placed him on his own animal and brought him to an inn. Paid for his care and promised to come back.

That is what mercy looks like in the real world.

It sees what is happening.
It moves toward the person who is hurting.
It does the work of restoration, even when it is costly.
It stays involved after the immediate danger has passed.

Jesus showed us that religious people are not always the people who reflect God.

God may send someone you least expect to care for you.

This can be both painful and hopeful.

God’s mercy is not limited to the people who fail you.

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God Is Not the Priest Who Passed By

I want you to know something important.

God is not the priest who passed by.

He’s not the Levite who looked and left quickly.

He’s not the leader who minimized your hurt.

He’s not the friend who got uncomfortable and ghosted you.

He’s certainly not the system that protected itself.

If church hurt has distorted your picture of God, that makes sense. When people carry God’s name while doing harm, it can make God feel unsafe too.

But Jesus tells us this story to separate religious appearance from true mercy.

The priest and the Levite may have represented respected religious leaders, but they did not represent the heart of God in that moment.

The heart of God was on display when the Samaritan man moved toward the wounded person.

If you want to know what God is like, look at the one who stops, the one who comes near, the one who treats wounds gently, the one who does not demand that wounded people get up quickly that everyone else can feel better.

Jesus is not a slave driver who stands over your pain with impatience.

Jesus is not embarrassed by your questions.

He’s not asking you to pretend the road was safer than it was.

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Healing Does Not Mean Calling Evil Good

Those who have been hurt in the church may feel that beginning to heal would invalidate their suffering. That it means the people who hurt them get away with it. That it means they must smile, return, trust quickly, or act like the wound didn’t hurt.

But that’s not healing. That would be denial with church words on it.

Healing doesn’t mean calling evil good. It doesn’t mean pretending the priest stopped when he didn’t. It also doesn’t mean handing unsafe people the same access to you again.

It means that what happened was real, but it is not lord. It means their failure was costly, but it doesn’t get the final word over your relationship with God.

Forgiveness—when it comes—is not the same as pretending. Reconciliation—if it ever happens—requires truth, repentance and repair.

You are allowed to have boundaries.

You are allowed to need time.

You are allowed to stop confusing pressure with the peace of healing.

Jesus never asked wounded people to make other people comfortable by rushing their healing.

The Problem Church Hurt Leaves Behind

Church hurt often teaches us to distrust everyone, not just the people who have proved unsafe.

It’s understandable, but also exhausting.

When you carry deep wounds, your nervous system starts treating every situation like the last one. Every leader sounds like the old one, every invitation feels like a trap, and every disagreement feels like danger.

You may find yourself scanning instead of resting. Maybe you listen for what’s not being said. You might wait for the moment the mask slips.

That thinking might help you survive, but it cannot help you heal.

Those survival instincts may have protected you, but they can also keep you alone.

Church hurt can create this type of problem. It can make isolation feel safer than being loved. And for a while, it might be.

But isolation is a poor long-term shepherd.

While it can’t wound you the same way people can, it also cannot hold your hand, pray with you, bring soup, tell you the truth, or remind you about that person you are when you forget.

The answer is not to run back into unsafe spaces, but to let Jesus teach you the difference between unsafe religion and real mercy.

How to Begin Again Without Pretending

If you are trying to heal from church hurt, you probably don’t need someone to give you a big plan.

You may just need permission to take a small step without feeling guilty that it’s small.

Because when you’ve been hurt by people in the church, even simple things can feel complicated.

Walking into a service can feel complicated. Opening your Bible can feel complicated. Trusting someone who seems kind can feel complicated. Even praying can feel complicated because somewhere in the back of your mind you might wonder if God is disappointed that you’re not doing better by now.

But healing doesn’t usually start with doing better. Sometimes it starts with telling the truth. You don’t have to trust a whole church overnight. You don’t have to tell your whole story to someone who has not earned the right to hear it.

You don’t have to go back into the same room that hurt you just because someone else thinks you should be “over it” by now.

You can begin with Jesus.

And you can begin honestly.

• “Jesus, I’m angry.”

• “I miss who I was before all of this happened.”

• “I don’t know how to trust Christians right now.”

• “I want to believe You are different, but I’m struggling.”

• “I need help.”

That may not sound like a very impressive prayer. But maybe impressive prayers are part of what wore you out.

Sometimes the most faithful prayer is the one that comes out messy, tired, and barely held together.

That is not faithlessness. That is honesty. And honesty is often where healing begins.

Then, little by little, pay attention to where mercy shows up. Not in big, dramatic ways necessarily. Maybe it shows up in one person who listens and doesn’t rush to correct you. Maybe it shows up in someone who can sit with your pain without needing you to make it smaller. Maybe it shows up in a friend who doesn’t use Bible verses like duct tape.

Maybe it shows up in someone who apologizes without explaining why you shouldn’t have been hurt. Maybe it shows up in a quiet Sunday where nobody notices you, and for once that feels like relief.

Trust probably won’t come back all at once. It may come back in pieces.

One conversation. One cup of coffee. One safe person. One prayer in the car before you decide whether you’re going inside. One moment where you realize your faith may be bruised, but it’s not dead.

What To Do With Religious Anger

You may still be angry.

That might make you uncomfortable, especially if you were taught that anger is always a problem.

But some anger is not rebellion. Some anger is grief with its eyes open. When something sacred gets mishandled, anger makes sense. When people use God’s name to cover their pride, anger makes sense. When someone protects the person who caused harm and questions the person who was hurt, anger makes sense.

The question is not always, “Should I be angry?” Sometimes the better question is, “Where is this anger taking me?”

Because anger needs somewhere to go. If you bury it, it usually comes out somewhere else. It comes out in your tone. It comes out in your body. It comes out when someone says one small thing and suddenly you are reacting to ten years of pain.

But if you feed it every day, it can start to change you too. You can become hard and call it discernment. You can become suspicious and call it wisdom. You can become cold and call it boundaries.

And listen, boundaries matter. Discernment matters. Wisdom matters. But your heart matters too. One of the painful things about church hurt is that it can make you afraid of becoming soft again.

You may think, “If I become tender, I’ll get hurt again.” So you keep your guard up. You stay sharp. You keep people at a distance. You make sure nobody gets close enough to do that kind of damage again.

I understand that.

But Jesus has something better for you than being hard to hurt.

He wants you healed.

And healing does not mean you become naive. It does not mean you ignore red flags. It does not mean you hand your heart back to unsafe people and hope they do better this time.

It means the wound no longer gets to be in charge of every room you walk into. You can be tender and wise. You can be honest and merciful. You can have boundaries and still have love. You can remember what happened without letting it become the whole story.

That kind of healing takes time.

Probably more time than people want it to take. But Jesus is patient with wounded people, even when other people are not.

The Last Word Is Mercy

The Good Samaritan story is not only about becoming the kind of person who stops for someone else.

Sometimes it is about admitting that you are the one on the side of the road.

That can be hard to say. Most of us would rather be useful than needy.

We would rather be the strong one, the helper, the person who has learned the lesson and can now explain it to everybody else.

But sometimes you are not the Samaritan yet. Sometimes you are the man in the ditch. You are wounded. You are tired. You cannot get yourself all the way home. And that is not shameful. It is human.

Jesus does not seem embarrassed by people who need mercy. He is not standing over you saying, “You should be farther along by now.” He is not asking you to clean yourself up on the side of the road before He comes near.

If religious people passed by you, Jesus did not. If someone used God’s name carelessly, Jesus has not forgotten His own name. If the church failed to look like Christ, Christ has not failed to be Himself.

There is still mercy on the road. There is still oil for wounds. There is still a place to recover. There is still a way for your faith to become tender again without becoming foolish.

Maybe you are not ready to call the church safe. Maybe you are not ready to trust like you used to. Maybe you do not know what healing is supposed to look like from here. That is okay.

Start smaller. Jesus sees the wound. Jesus tells the truth. Jesus comes near.

And when religious people keep walking, mercy still crosses the road.

A few weeks ago, someone asked me if hell is a real place.

Being a Pastor, I’ve answered this question before and I’ve learned that the real question is not always what you think.

Most people want to know about a friend or family mamber who wasn’t a believer.

Then the next question is:

“How could a loving God send anyone there?”

They never say it with a smile on their face. It’s always with tears, grief, fear, or dissapointment.

That’s makes total sense.

What they realize is that if hell is real, then it’s the most sobering truth of scripture.

But yet, it’s also the most misunderstood.

Let’s talk about what does the Bible actually says.

The Short Answer

Yes.

According to the Bible, hell is a real place.

Not because the church invented the idea.

Not because preachers wanted something to scare people with.

Because Jesus talked about it.

That surprises a lot of people.

When we think about Jesus, we picture compassion, mercy, forgiveness, and grace. All of that is true. But it’s also true that no one in Scripture spoke more clearly about hell than Jesus did.

That should make us stop and ask why.

Why Would Jesus Talk About Hell?

Jesus never used hell as a scare tactic.

He used it as a warning.

There’s a difference.

If I saw a bridge had collapsed around the next corner, love wouldn’t keep me quiet. Love would warn you before you got there.

That’s what Jesus does.

He speaks about judgment because He loves people too much to pretend it doesn’t exist.

He describes hell as:

A place of judgment

Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. (Matthew 25:41)

Separation from God

And then will I declare to them, ‘I never knew you; depart from me, you workers of lawlessness.’ (Matthew 7:23)

Irreversible consequences

And if your hand causes you to sin, cut it off. It is better for you to enter life crippled than with two hands to go to hell, to the unquenchable fire. And if your foot causes you to sin, cut it off. It is better for you to enter life lame than with two feet to be thrown into hell. And if your eye causes you to sin, tear it out. It is better for you to enter the kingdom of God with one eye than with two eyes to be thrown into hell, ‘where their worm does not die and the fire is not quenched.’ (Mark 9:43-48)

Even in Luke 16, where Jesus tells the story of the rich man and Lazarus, the point isn’t to satisfy our curiosity about the afterlife. The point is that our response to God in this life matters far more than we often realize.

Is Hell Just a Metaphor?

Some Christians believe the descriptions of hell are symbolic rather than literal.

It’s true that the Bible uses powerful imagery.

Fire.

Darkness.

Weeping.

Gnashing of teeth.

Whether those images are literal descriptions or pictures meant to communicate a deeper reality, they all point in the same direction.

Hell is not somewhere anyone should want to be.

Sometimes people ask whether the fire is symbolic.

Personally, I think we’re asking the wrong question.

If Jesus repeatedly warned people about hell, then our attention shouldn’t be on trying to soften His words. It should be on understanding why He loved people enough to say them.

The Question Most People Are Really Asking

In my experience, this is where the conversation usually turns.

People aren’t trying to win a theological debate.

They’re trying to understand God.

How could a loving God send people to hell?

That’s a fair question.

The Bible tells us that God is love.

It also tells us that He is perfectly holy and perfectly just.

We often want those truths to compete with each other, but Scripture never does.

Imagine a judge who simply refused to punish evil.

Who looked at abuse, violence, exploitation, and murder and said, “Let’s just forget about it.”

We wouldn’t admire that judge.

We’d call him unjust.

Justice isn’t the opposite of love.

Real love takes evil seriously because it takes people seriously.

Here’s What Gives Me Hope

Whenever I talk about hell, I don’t want people to stop there.

The story of the Bible has never been, “There’s a hell.”

The story has always been, “There’s a Savior.”

Before God ever spoke of final judgment, He made a way for sinners to be rescued.

Jesus didn’t come into the world looking for people to condemn.

He came looking for people to save.

That’s why the cross matters so much.

On the cross, Jesus willingly took the judgment that belonged to us so that anyone who trusts Him could receive forgiveness instead.

Peter reminds us that God is patient, “not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance” (2 Peter 3:9).

God is not eager to condemn.

He is eager to save.

The Real Decision

I sometimes think we’ve made hell the center of this conversation when Jesus made Himself the center.

Again and again, Jesus invited people to follow Him.

To trust Him.

To receive life.

In John 5:40, He says,

“Yet you refuse to come to me that you may have life.”

That verse has always stood out to me.

Jesus isn’t standing with folded arms waiting to reject people.

He’s inviting them to come.

The tragedy isn’t that God refuses people.

The tragedy is that so many refuse Him.

So, Is Hell a Real Place?

According to Scripture, yes.

Jesus spoke about hell because He loved people enough to warn them.

But His warnings were never the end of the story.

Every warning came with an invitation.

Every warning pointed toward the cross.

Every warning reminded people that forgiveness was available while there was still time.

If you’ve been wrestling with this question, I hope you won’t stop with wondering whether hell is real.

Ask the better question.

What will you do with Jesus?

Because the heart of Christianity has never been about fear.

It’s always been about the God who loved the world enough to send His Son so that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life.

Frequently Asked Questions

Did Jesus really talk about hell?

Yes. Jesus spoke about hell more clearly than many people realize. He warned about judgment, separation from God, and the seriousness of rejecting Him. But He never did it casually or cruelly. His warnings came from love.

Is hell a literal place or just a symbol?

Christians have different views on how literal the Bible’s descriptions of hell are. Scripture uses images like fire, darkness, weeping, and separation. Whether those are literal descriptions or symbolic pictures, they all point to the same truth: hell is real, serious, and not somewhere anyone should want to be.

How can a loving God send people to hell?

God’s love does not cancel out His justice. If God ignored evil, He would not be good. The Bible teaches that God is perfectly loving, perfectly holy, and perfectly just. Hell reminds us that evil matters, sin matters, and our response to God matters.

Does God want people to go to hell?

No. Scripture says God is patient and does not desire that anyone should perish, but that all should come to repentance. Jesus came to save sinners, not because God is eager to condemn, but because God is eager to rescue.

What is the hope for people who are afraid of hell?

The hope is Jesus. The message of Christianity is not simply that hell is real. The message is that Jesus died and rose again so that sinners could be forgiven, rescued, and given eternal life. Every warning about judgment is also an invitation to come to Him.

What should I do if I’m worried about someone I love?

Bring your grief and questions honestly to God. Trust that He is more loving, just, patient, and merciful than we are. And let that concern move you toward prayer, compassion, and faithful conversations about Jesus.

What is the most important question to ask?

The most important question is not only, “Is hell real?” The better question is, “What will I do with Jesus?” He invites people to come to Him, trust Him, and receive life.

I’ve watched people sit in church parking lots for ten or fifteen minutes before ever opening the car door. They wanted to go in. They missed worship. They missed being part of a church family.

But something inside kept whispering, “What if it happens again?” Sometimes they walked through the doors. Sometimes they started the car and drove home. None of them expected their story to end up here.

Most people don’t notice the moment it begins.

You don’t wake up one morning and decide to become cynical. It happens a little at a time. Someone lies to you. Someone betrays your trust. Someone uses their position to wound instead of protect.

After enough disappointments, your heart quietly starts making promises.

I’ll never trust another leader. I’ll never serve again. I’ll never let anyone get that close.

At first, those promises feel like wisdom. Eventually, they become prison walls. I’ve watched this happen more times than I can count.

The saddest part isn’t that people stop trusting churches. It’s that they slowly stop expecting goodness from anyone.

Church hurt rarely stays inside church walls. It follows people home. Into marriages. Friendships. Workplaces. Even into their relationship with God.

When your heart stays in survival mode long enough, everything starts looking like a threat.

Church hurt doesn’t just make Sunday mornings difficult. It changes the way you read the Bible. You wonder if every sermon has an agenda. You second guess every invitation to serve because you remember how exhausted you became the last time.

When someone says, “We’re family here,” part of you wants to believe them. Another part quietly whispers, That’s what they said last time.

You don’t even realize how guarded you’ve become until someone genuinely cares about you and your first instinct is to wonder what they want.

One of the hardest things about betrayal is that it changes more than your circumstances. It changes your instincts. You begin questioning people’s motives before they’ve even spoken. Compliments feel suspicious. Kindness feels temporary. You start preparing for disappointment before anyone has the chance to disappoint you.

The wound becomes a filter. I’ve met people who still love Jesus with all their hearts. But they can’t receive love from anyone else. Not because they don’t want to. Because pain taught them that every open door eventually closes.

That isn’t weakness. It’s what hurt often does if it doesn’t heal. Healing rarely happens because enough time passes. It happens because we slowly invite Jesus into the places we'd rather keep hidden.

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The Lie That Keeps People Away

I can still hear his voice.

I was twelve years old, helping at my church when my uncle came to pick me up. Before we left, I asked if he’d like to come to church sometime.

I still remember his response. “I’m not good enough for church.”

At twelve years old, I didn’t know how to answer him. I just remember how deeply those words settled into my heart. I’ve wondered about that conversation many times over the years.

I don’t know if he ever walked back into another church.

But after more than twenty years in ministry, I’ve realized he wasn’t the only person who believed that lie. I’ve met people who thought they weren’t good enough for church. I’ve met others who believed church wasn’t good enough for them anymore.

Different stories. The same distance.

Church hurt has a way of convincing us that the safest place is somewhere outside the church. Sometimes it’s because we feel unworthy. Sometimes it’s because we’ve been wounded. Either way, the result is often the same.

We quietly convince ourselves that staying away hurts less than hoping again.

Over the years, I’ve noticed something. People rarely stop following Jesus because of one painful conversation. They leave after hundreds of little disappointments convince them they’re safer alone.

They stop expecting anyone to notice when they’re gone. Eventually they stop expecting God to notice too. That’s why church hurt can become so dangerous. It doesn’t just convince us people aren’t trustworthy. It quietly tries to convince us that God is distant too.

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David Had Every Reason to Become Bitter

David’s story usually gets remembered because he defeated Goliath. But Goliath wasn’t the greatest enemy David ever faced. Saul was.

David served Saul faithfully. He fought for him. Played music for him. Risked his life for Israel. And Saul responded by trying to kill him. Not once. Over and over again.

Imagine what that would do to a person. Every time David entered another cave. Every time he heard another army was searching for him. Every time he had to sleep wondering whether tomorrow would be his last.

It would have been easy to believe everyone in authority was dangerous.

It would have been easy to become like Saul.

I wonder how many nights David lay awake replaying every conversation with Saul. Wondering what he had done wrong. Wondering whether serving faithfully had been worth it. Wondering why God’s promise now felt farther away than ever.

It’s hard to keep a soft heart when your reward for obedience seems to be another cave.

David wasn’t hiding because he had failed. He was hiding because someone else had.

He was living with consequences he didn’t create.

That’s one of the hardest parts of church hurt. Sometimes you’re carrying wounds that belong to someone else’s sin.

But something remarkable happens in David’s story.

Twice, David had the opportunity to kill the man who had spent years hunting him. Twice. He walked away.

Not because Saul deserved mercy.

Because David refused to let Saul decide who David would become.

“Do not destroy him, for who can put out his hand against the Lord’s anointed and be guiltless?” (1 Samuel 26:9, ESV)

David understood something that many of us forget. Bitterness doesn’t just punish the person who hurt us. It reshapes us.

One of the greatest victories in David’s life wasn’t defeating Goliath. It was refusing to become another Saul.

Years later, when Saul finally died, David didn’t celebrate. He mourned. The man who had stolen years of David’s life was gone, yet David wrote a lament instead of throwing a party.

That’s what a soft heart looks like.

Not pretending evil wasn’t evil, but refusing to let evil decide who you become.

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Bitterness Pretends to Protect You

Bitterness is convincing because it sounds responsible. It promises peace. It delivers isolation.

It tells you,

• “Don’t get hurt again.”

• “Don’t trust people.”

• “Keep your expectations low.”

The problem is that bitterness never builds fences around pain. It builds fences around joy too. The same walls that keep people out eventually keep love out.

Eventually, they can even keep God at a distance, not because He stopped pursuing you, but because you've stopped believing it's safe to open the door.

And somewhere along the way, protecting your heart becomes imprisoning it.

Staying Soft Doesn’t Mean Staying Vulnerable

Sometimes Christians hear the words “guard your heart” and think it means building taller walls. That’s not what Scripture teaches.

Healthy boundaries are not bitterness. Forgiveness is not pretending nothing happened. Trust is not automatically restored because someone apologized.

Some Christians have been taught that forgiveness means immediately trusting someone again. Scripture never says that.

Forgiveness releases revenge. Wisdom rebuilds trust slowly.

You can forgive someone today while recognizing they haven’t earned yesterday’s level of trust. That’s not unforgiveness. That’s discernment.

Jesus forgave people.

He also walked away from people who wanted to manipulate Him.

You can forgive someone and still recognize they are no longer safe. Those aren’t contradictions. They’re wisdom.

Soft hearts can still have strong boundaries.

After more than twenty years in ministry, I’ve noticed something.

The people who heal the best aren’t the ones who pretend they aren’t hurting. They’re the ones who refuse to let pain become their identity.

I’ve watched people who were deeply wounded become some of the safest people to be around. Not because life became easy. Because they kept bringing their hurt to Jesus instead of handing it to everyone else.

I’ve also watched people who experienced far less pain become incredibly hard. The difference usually isn’t what happened to them. It’s what they did with it.

Pain is unavoidable. Bitterness is a choice we often make one small decision at a time.

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You Might Be Healing If...

• You no longer assume everyone has hidden motives. You still ask wise questions, but you no longer expect every conversation to end in disappointment.

• You can pray for the person who hurt you without pretending what happened was okay. Forgiveness doesn’t rewrite history. It simply refuses to let history control your future.

• You stop comparing every Pastor to the one who wounded you. Healing doesn’t mean you’ll never be cautious. It means every new leader no longer has to pay for someone else’s failure.

• You begin believing there are still healthy churches and healthy leaders. Pain convinced you they didn’t exist. Healing reminds you they do.

• You find yourself hoping again. Hope is often one of the first signs that God is quietly restoring your heart.

The Hardest Person to Forgive

One of the hardest people to forgive after church hurt is sometimes yourself. You replay conversations. You wonder why you didn’t see the warning signs. You ask yourself how you trusted someone who eventually betrayed you.

Maybe you’ve even wondered if you’re too naïve to trust anyone again.

But trusting people wasn’t your failure. Misusing that trust was theirs.

How Do You Stay Soft?

It probably doesn’t happen all at once. It happens one decision at a time.

One honest prayer.

One act of forgiveness.

One Sunday where you choose to walk back into church even though part of you wants to stay home.

Start by telling God the truth.

You don’t have to protect Him from your disappointment. David certainly didn’t.

Read through the Psalms and you’ll find prayers filled with confusion, grief, anger, and questions.

God can handle your honesty. Tell Him what’s really going on.

Healing begins when you are honest with God and stop pretending you’re okay.

Then give yourself permission to grieve.

Church hurt isn’t just the loss of a relationship. Sometimes it’s the loss of a ministry you loved. Friendships you thought would last forever. Years you can never get back. The church you thought would always feel like home.

You can’t heal what you refuse to mourn.

Forgiveness is often a decision. Healing is almost always a process. You may choose forgiveness today and still find yourself wrestling with bitterness next Tuesday. That doesn’t mean you’ve failed.

Healing usually happens one surrendered place at a time.

As you heal, stay close to people who consistently reflect the character of Jesus. One unhealthy church doesn’t prove healthy churches don’t exist.

One abusive leader doesn’t erase faithful shepherds. Don’t let one person’s failure become the standard by which you judge everyone else.

I’ve met Pastors whose quiet faithfulness will never make headlines.

People who love well. Lead humbly. Serve faithfully. God is still raising up shepherds after His own heart. Don't let Judas convince you there are no more Johns.

Build healthy boundaries without building walls.

There is a difference. A boundary says, “I won’t put myself in that situation again.” A wall says, “I’ll never trust anyone again.”

Boundaries protect your heart. Walls imprison it. The safest heart isn’t the one hidden behind the tallest walls. It’s the one resting in the hands of Jesus.

Most importantly, keep looking at Jesus.

The people who hurt you are not the clearest picture of God.

Jesus is.

If you ever wonder what God is like, don’t look first at the people who failed you. Look at the Savior who never will.

The night before the cross, Jesus was betrayed by one of His closest friends. Denied by another. Abandoned by almost everyone else. If anyone had reason to become cynical, it was Him.

Yet after the resurrection, He didn’t begin Peter’s restoration with a lecture.

He began with breakfast.

Peter had denied Jesus three times. Jesus could have begun with shame. Instead, He started with a meal. That’s what grace looks like.

That’s the kind of Savior He is. He doesn’t ignore wounded hearts. He feeds them. He restores them. Then He sends them back into the world capable of loving again.

The cross didn’t harden Jesus. It revealed the depth of His love.

That's the miracle Jesus is still doing today. Not making us people who are never hurt. Making us people whose wounds don’t have the final word.

Because the world has enough hard hearts already. What it desperately needs are people whose hearts have been broken and healed by Jesus.

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Practical Steps

• Ask God to reveal where hurt has quietly become cynicism. Sometimes bitterness disguises itself as wisdom. Invite God to show you where your heart has become guarded in ways He never intended.

• Read 1 Samuel 24-26 and pay attention to David's heart more than Saul's actions. Notice how David refused to let another man's sin decide the kind of man he would become.

• Ask yourself whether you've built a healthy boundary or an emotional wall. One protects healing. The other prevents it.

• Forgiveness doesn't always erase pain overnight. Ask God for the courage to take the next step, even if the journey isn't finished yet.

• The people who hurt you should not get the final vote on the person you become. Let Jesus write the next chapter instead.

Sometimes the strongest heart isn’t the one that never breaks. It’s the one that still chooses love after it does.

Frequently Asked Questions

Does staying soft mean I should trust everyone again?

No. Scripture encourages both forgiveness and wisdom. You can forgive someone while recognizing they are no longer trustworthy.

How do I know if I’ve become bitter?

Bitterness often shows up as expecting the worst from everyone, assuming hidden motives, or finding it difficult to celebrate someone else’s success or trust genuine kindness.

Can God really heal church hurt?

Yes. Healing often takes time, but God specializes in restoring wounded hearts. Many people discover that He becomes more real during healing than He was before the hurt.

I’ll never forget a conversation I had after a Sunday service. A man waited until almost everyone had left. He looked around to make sure no one else could hear us before quietly asking, “Pastor Chris... can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

He lowered his voice even more.

“I keep asking God to forgive me for the same sin. I honestly hate it. I’ve prayed. I’ve cried. I’ve promised God I’d never do it again.”

Then he looked at the floor.

“Am I even saved?”

I’ve heard versions of that question more times than I can count over the last twenty years in ministry.

Maybe your struggle looks different than his.

Maybe it’s anger that keeps showing up.

• Lust

• Pride

• Gossip

• Fear

• Drunkenness

• Jealousy

An addiction you thought was finally behind you.

You confess it. You repent. You experience victory for a while. Then one day you find yourself right back where you started.

Eventually you begin wondering if something is fundamentally wrong with you.

If you’ve ever felt that way, you’re not alone.

And you’re certainly not the first follower of Jesus to ask the question.

The Question Beneath the Question

When people ask, “Why do I still struggle with the same sin?” they’re usually asking something much deeper.

They’re asking,

“If Jesus really changed me... why don’t I feel more changed?”

That’s an honest question.

It’s also one the Bible answers.

Even Paul Had a Battle

One of the most comforting passages in Scripture comes from the Apostle Paul.

Yes, that Paul.

The missionary.

The church planter.

The man who wrote much of the New Testament.

In Romans 7:19 he writes,

“For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing.” (ESV)

Have you ever read that and thought, Wait... Paul struggled too?

Apparently so.

Paul wasn’t celebrating his sin.

He wasn’t excusing it.

He hated it.

There was a battle happening inside him.

The same battle every believer experiences.

Our old sinful nature has been defeated through Christ, but until Jesus returns, we’re still living in fallen bodies in a fallen world.

Salvation happens in a moment.

Sanctification happens over a lifetime.

The Difference Between Conviction and Condemnation

This is where many Christians get stuck.

They confuse conviction with condemnation.

Those are not the same thing.

Condemnation says,

• “You’re hopeless.”

• “You’re a failure.”

• “God is tired of you.”

• “You’ll never change.”

That voice never leads you toward Jesus.

It pushes you away from Him.

Romans 8:1 reminds us,

“There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” (ESV)

Conviction sounds different.

The Holy Spirit lovingly says,

• “This isn’t who I’ve called you to be.”

• “Come back.”

• “Let’s deal with this together.”

Conviction produces repentance.

Condemnation produces shame.

One moves you toward the Father.

The other convinces you to hide.

Ever since Adam and Eve sinned in the Garden of Eden, shame has been telling people to run from God.

Grace keeps inviting us back.

Repentance Is More Than Saying Sorry

I think many of us accidentally reduce repentance to apologizing.

We sin.

We feel guilty.

We ask God to forgive us.

Then we wait until the next time.

Biblical repentance goes much deeper.

The word literally means to change your mind, resulting in a change of direction.

It’s turning around.

It’s asking questions like,

• “What keeps leading me here?”

• “What temptation am I refusing to deal with?”

• “What lie am I believing?”

• “What practical boundaries do I need?”

Real repentance isn’t just about regretting sin.

It’s about learning to wage war against it.

Jesus didn’t simply die to forgive our sins.

He died to free us from being enslaved to them.

Growth Is Usually Slower Than We Want

One of the hardest parts of following Jesus is accepting that spiritual growth rarely happens overnight.

We love instant results.

God often chooses gradual transformation.

Think about how Jesus described spiritual growth.

Seeds.

Vines.

Fruit.

None of those happen overnight.

Fruit grows quietly.

Almost invisibly.

Yet over time the evidence becomes undeniable.

Sometimes you’re growing more than you realize.

The sins that once controlled your life may now simply tempt you.

The time between falling may be getting longer.

Your repentance may be happening faster.

Your desire for holiness may be stronger than it used to be.

Those are signs that God is still at work.

Don’t Fight Sin Alone

One of Satan’s favorite lies is convincing us that our struggle is unique.

• “If anyone knew...”

• “They’d never understand.”

• “I’ll deal with this myself.”

Scripture paints a different picture.

James 5:16 says,

“Therefore, confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed.” (ESV)

Notice it doesn’t say forgiveness comes from another person.

Forgiveness comes from Christ.

But healing often happens in community.

Sin grows best in secrecy.

It begins losing its grip when it’s brought into the light.

That doesn’t mean telling everyone.

It means finding mature believers you trust enough to be honest with.

What Has Helped Me Most

After more than twenty years in ministry, I’ve noticed something.

The Christians who continue growing aren’t the ones who never stumble.

They’re the ones who keep getting back up.

Proverbs 24:16 says,

“For the righteous falls seven times and rises again...” (ESV)

Notice what makes the righteous different.

Not that they never fall.

That they keep getting up.

I’ve had seasons where I thought I should have been farther along spiritually than I was.

I’ve become frustrated with how slowly God seemed to be changing certain parts of my heart.

Looking back, I can see that God wasn’t just interested in changing my behavior.

He was transforming my heart.

That’s slower work.

But it’s deeper work.

Before You Go

I’m Pastor Chris, and I write Faith Unplugged for people who want a deeper relationship with God without all the performance and religious noise.

If you’ve been carrying shame because you keep fighting the same battle, I want you to hear this clearly.

Your struggle does not surprise God.

Your failures have not exhausted His grace.

If you belong to Christ, He hasn’t given up on you.

Don’t give up on Him.

Keep confessing.

Keep repenting.

Keep walking.

The God who began a good work in you has promised to finish it.

Frequently Asked Questions

Why do I keep committing the same sin?

Because spiritual growth is a lifelong process. Christians are forgiven immediately, but God continues transforming us throughout our lives. Repeated temptation doesn’t mean God has abandoned you.

Does struggling with sin mean I’m not saved?

Not necessarily. In fact, the grief you feel over your sin is often evidence that the Holy Spirit is working in your life. Unbelievers typically aren’t concerned about honoring God. Believers are.

What’s the difference between conviction and condemnation?

Conviction comes from the Holy Spirit and leads you back to Jesus through repentance. Condemnation fills you with shame and tells you to hide from God. Romans 8:1 reminds believers there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ.

Will I ever stop struggling with sin?

Some sins lose their grip dramatically. Others become lifelong battles. While we won’t experience complete freedom from sin until we’re with Christ, God promises to keep transforming us day by day.

How can I overcome recurring sin?

Stay close to Jesus through prayer and Scripture. Confess your sin quickly. Identify patterns that lead to temptation. Invite trusted believers to hold you accountable. Depend on God’s grace instead of your own willpower.

Is God tired of forgiving me?

No. If you’ve genuinely placed your faith in Christ, God’s forgiveness isn’t based on your perfect performance. His mercy is rooted in the finished work of Jesus on the cross.

The Next Step

If you’re exhausted from fighting the same battle, don’t let shame have the final word.

Run to Jesus again. Not because you’ve earned another chance.

Because that’s exactly what the cross was for.

God isn’t asking you to pretend you’ve never failed. He’s inviting you to trust that His grace is greater than your greatest struggle.

Keep following Him.

One faithful step at a time.

There are a few things more confusing than being wounded by someone who helped build your faith. It usually doesn’t happen all at once. Maybe it starts with a conversation that leaves you unsettled. A decision you can’t understand. A rumor you hope isn’t true. Or maybe your phone lights up with a text from a friend. “Have you heard?”

Your stomach sinks before you even open it. Another Pastor. Another ministry leader. Another apology. Another chuch trying to explain the unexplainable. Sometimes it’s someone you’ve never met.

Other times…

It’s the person who dedicated your baby. The mentor who prayed with you when your marriage was struggling. The Youth Pastor who helped you believe God has a purpose for your life. The leader who taught you how to read your Bible.

Suddenly, you’re not just grieving what they did. You’re grieving what they represented. You start replaying conversations. You wonder if you missed warning signs. You question your own judgment.

Then a deeper question quietly slips into your heart.

If I was wrong about them… what else have I been wrong about?

For some people, that’s the beginning of walking away from church. For others, it’s the beginning of walking away from God.

Maybe that’s where you are today. If so, I’m really glad you’re here. Because the Bible doesn’t pretend God’s people always get leadership right. In fact, some of scripture’s greatest stories are about faithful people trying to follow God under deeply disappointing leaders.

We don’t just lose trust in people

We lose confidence in ourselves. That’s one of the hardest parts. When a spiritual leader disappoints you, you’re not simply asking whether they failed. You’re wondering whether you can trust your own discernment again.

“How did I not see it?”

“Why did I ignore all the warning signs?”

“Was any of it real?”

Those questions can become exhausting. I’ve watched people wrestle with them for years. As a Pastor, I’ve sat across the table from people who still loved Jesus but couldn’t imagine walking into another church. Not because they hated God. Because every sanctuary reminded them of someone who had betrayed their trust.

Sometimes the hurt came from moral failure. Other times it was quieter. A leader who abused their authority. A mentor who became controlling. A Pastor who dismissed their pain. A church that protected its reputation instead of protecting people. Different stories. Same ache.

The disappointment reaches beyong the person. It beings coloring everything connected to them. That’s why it hurts so deeply. Spiritual leadership was never supposed to make it harder to see Jesus. It was supposed to make Him easier to see.

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David knew this feeling

When people think about David, they usually picture a shepherd facing a giant. But Goliath wasn’t the greatest challenge David faced. Saul was. When David first met Saul, there was every reason to believe this relationship would flourish.

Saul was Israel’s king. God had chosen him. David admired him. When Saul’s troubled mind stole his peace, David would quietly sit nearby and play his harp until the king found relief.

Imagine that scene.

The room is silent except for the music. David isn’t trying to gain influence. He isn’t building a platform. He’s simply serving. Then David defeats Goliath. The nation celebrates. Women pour into the streets singing,

“Saul has struck down his thousands, and David his ten thousands.” (1 Samuel 18:7)

It’s just a victory song. But something breaks inside Saul. The applause that should have filled him with gratitude instead awakens jealousy. The leader God had appointed begins seeing David as a threat instead of a blessing. Not long afterward, David is doing what he’s always done. Playing music. Serving the king. Trying to bring peace into a troubled room.

Then...

A spear flies across the room. David barely escapes. Can you imagine the confusion? One moment you’re serving someone you deeply respect. The next moment they’re trying to kill you.

That’s the thing about disappointment. It rarely announces itself. It catches you by surprise.

What do you do when the person God used becomes the person who hurts you?

I think that’s the question underneath so many conversations about church hurt. Because here’s what’s complicated. God really had used Saul. He wasn’t a fake king. He wasn’t pretending. God genuinely appointed him. David wasn’t wrong for respecting him.

Likewise, many of the leaders who disappoint us really did point us toward Jesus. Maybe they baptized you. Maybe they taught you scripture. Maybe they encouraged you during one of the darkest seasons of your life.

God really used them. That doesn’t make their later failures any less painful. In some ways, it makes them more painful. Because now you’re left wondering which parts were real.

David could have asked those same questions.

“If Saul is like this...did I misunderstand God’s calling?”

“Did I put my trust in the wrong person?”

Instead, David discovered something that would carry him through years of heartbreak.

God’s faithfulness wasn’t dependent on Saul’s.

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A lesson I’ve had to learn myself

Can I tell you something that’s uncomfortable to admit? As I was writing this article, I realized I’m not just someone who’s been disappointed by leaders. I’m also a leader. Which means there’s another side to this story.

I’ve probably disappointed people too. There have been phone calls I should have returned sooner. People I genuinely cared about but unintentionally overlooked. Moments I wish I could replay because I know I could have handled them with more wisdom and more grace.

I’ve never set out to hurt anyone. But I know I’m capable of it. Not because I don’t love Jesus. Because I’m still learning to become like Him. That realization has changed how I view the leaders who’ve disappointed me.

It doesn’t excuse abuse. It doesn’t minimize sin. It certainly doesn’t remove accountability. Some leaders should never remain in leadership. Some situations require firm boundaries, reporting abuse, and protecting vulnerable people. Scripture never calls us to ignore evil in the name of grace.

But it has helped me recognize something else.

Not every disappointment belongs in the same category. Sometimes we’ve been wounded by wolves. Other times we’ve simply been wounded by sheep who were carrying responsibilities too heavy for imperfect shoulders.

Wisdom learns the difference. And that difference matters.

The mistake we make without realizing it

I think one of the greatest dangers in the Christian life is also one of the quietest. We slowly begin expecting people to do what only Jesus can do. We would probably never say it out loud. But our expectations reveal it.

We expect our Pastor to always know the right answer. We expect our mentor to never struggle. We expect church leaders to be spiritually mature in every situation, emotionally healthy all the time, and available whenever we need them.

Then one day, they disappoint us. And it shakes far more than our opinion of them. It shakes our faith.

Why?

Because somewhere along the way, they became more than a guide. They became part of the foundation. But leaders were never meant to carry that weight. Only Jesus can. The healthiest leaders understand this. They don’t want followers. They want disciples of Jesus. They aren’t trying to build dependence on themselves. They’re trying to help people become dependent on Christ.

That’s why the Apostle Paul could confidently tell believers, “Follow my example, as I follow the example of Christ” (1 Corinthians 11:1).

Did you catch the order? Paul wasn’t asking people to follow him no matter what. He was inviting them to follow him only as he followed Jesus. Christ was always the standard. Never Paul. That’s an important reminder for all of us.

Every pastor. Every elder. Every ministry leader. Every Christian author. Every worship leader. Every mentor. At our very best, we’re signposts. Not destinations.

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David refused to let Saul redefine God

David had every reason to become bitter. Years passed. He lived in caves. He ran through deserts. He slept with one eye open because the king who should have been protecting him was hunting him instead. There had to be nights when he wondered if life would ever feel normal again.

Then one day, everything changed.

Saul unknowingly walked into the very cave where David and his men were hiding. His soldiers could hardly believe it. “This is it,” they whispered. “This is the day the Lord told you about.” From a human perspective, they weren’t being unreasonable. Saul had tried to kill David multiple times. Surely this was justice. Surely God had finally opened a door. David quietly crept toward Saul. He had the opportunity to end years of suffering with a single swing of his sword.

Instead...

He cut off a corner of Saul’s robe. Then something remarkable happened. The Bible says David’s conscience was troubled because he had even done that.

He told his men,

“The Lord forbid that I should do such a thing to my master, the Lord’s anointed.” (1 Samuel 24:6)

I’ve always found that fascinating. David wasn’t denying Saul’s sin. He wasn’t pretending everything was okay. He wasn’t returning to the palace. He wasn’t removing the boundaries that had kept him alive. He simply refused to become the kind of man Saul had become. There is a difference between protecting your heart and allowing your heart to become hard. David chose protection without bitterness.

That’s much harder.

Grace and boundaries can exist together

For years, I thought forgiveness meant pretending I wasn’t hurt. That if I really forgave someone, I should trust them again immediately. Scripture paints a much wiser picture. David forgave Saul. But he didn’t move back into the palace. He honored Saul’s position. But he didn’t ignore Saul’s behavior.

He showed grace. And he maintained boundaries. Those things are not opposites. In fact, healthy boundaries often create the space where genuine forgiveness can grow.

If you’ve been hurt by a leader, hear me carefully. You do not have to pretend it didn’t happen. You don’t have to excuse sinful behavior. You don’t have to place yourself back into an unhealthy situation just to prove you’re a forgiving Christian.

Forgiveness releases your desire for revenge. Trust is rebuilt through repentance, humility, and consistent faithfulness. Those are different things. Sometimes trust can be restored. Sometimes it can’t. Both realities exist in scripture.

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Don’t let one broken leader write the rest of your story

One of the saddest things I’ve seen in ministry isn’t when a leader falls. It’s when someone quietly decides that because one leader failed, every church will fail them too. I’ve watched people who once loved serving Jesus slowly pull away from Christian community. Not all at once. Just little by little. They stop serving. Then they stop attending regularly.

Then they stop opening their Bible because it reminds them of the person who hurt them. Eventually they conclude they’re done with church altogether. I understand why that happens. I’ve sat with enough hurting people to know those decisions rarely come from rebellion. Most of the time, they come from exhaustion.

But I’ve also learned something else.

The enemy doesn’t have to convince you to stop believing in Jesus if he can convince you to isolate yourself from the people who help you follow Him. That’s exactly what he wants. Not healing. Isolation. Not wisdom. Cynicism. Not discernment. Distrust of everyone.

Please don’t misunderstand me.

There are churches you should leave. There are leaders you should never follow again. There are situations where the healthiest thing you can do is walk away. But don’t confuse leaving an unhealthy leader with leaving Jesus.

Those are not the same thing.

Keep your eyes on the Shepherd

One of my favorite descriptions of Jesus is found in John 10. He calls Himself the Good Shepherd. Not simply a shepherd. The Good Shepherd. Why? Because every earthly shepherd eventually falls short.

Some fail quietly. Some fail publicly. Some simply grow tired. But Jesus never abandons His sheep. He never manipulates them. He never uses them for His own gain. He never grows impatient with those who come to Him honestly. The more I Pastor, the more comforting that truth becomes.

Because I know I can’t be everything people need. No pastor can. No ministry leader can. And we were never supposed to. Only Jesus can carry that weight.

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One final picture

When Saul eventually died in battle, David finally had the freedom he’d been waiting for. The man who had chased him through the wilderness was gone. The threat was over. If anyone had a reason to celebrate, it was David. But he didn’t.

Instead, he wept. He wrote a song of lament. He honored the man who had spent years trying to kill him. That has always stopped me in my tracks.

David refused to let someone else’s sin determine the kind of man he would become. I think that’s the invitation for us too.

You may have been disappointed by a leader. You may have been wounded by someone you deeply admired. Your hurt is real. Your questions are understandable. Your grief matters. But don’t let another person’s failure become the foundation of your future.

Build your life on the One who has never failed you. Pastors will disappoint you. Mentors will disappoint you. Authors. Teachers. Friends. Eventually, every one of us will fall short.

Jesus never will.

That’s why our hope has never been in the undershepherds. It’s always been in the Shepherd.

And He’s still leading His people today.

Frequently Asked Questions

What should I do if my pastor disappoints me?

Start by taking your hurt to God honestly. Then evaluate what happened carefully. Not every disappointment is abuse, but not every failure is minor either. If there has been sin or harmful leadership, seek wise counsel and don’t be afraid to establish healthy boundaries. Above all, don’t let one person’s failure pull you away from Jesus.

Is it wrong to leave a church because of leadership?

Not necessarily.

There are times when staying in an unhealthy environment causes more damage than leaving. If leaders refuse accountability, tolerate abuse, or consistently lead people away from biblical truth, it may be wise to find a healthy church where you can continue growing.

Leaving an unhealthy church isn’t the same as leaving Christ.

Can God still use leaders who fail?

Yes.

The Bible is filled with imperfect people whom God used in remarkable ways. Moses lost his temper. Peter denied Jesus. Mark abandoned Paul on a missionary journey before later becoming a trusted ministry partner.

God’s ability to work through imperfect people doesn’t excuse sin, but it does remind us that His power has never depended on human perfection.

How do I know whether I should forgive a leader?

As followers of Jesus, forgiveness is always the goal.

That doesn’t mean pretending nothing happened or immediately restoring trust. Forgiveness releases your desire for revenge. Reconciliation requires repentance, humility, and rebuilt trust. Sometimes those things happen. Sometimes they don’t.

Why does God allow spiritual leaders to fail?

That’s one of the hardest questions believers wrestle with.

While Scripture doesn’t answer every “why,” it consistently reminds us that every human leader is imperfect. God alone is flawless. Sometimes He allows disappointment to redirect our confidence away from people and back toward Christ, the only Leader who will never fail.

Can I trust church leaders again?

Yes, but trust should be given wisely.

Healthy churches welcome accountability. Healthy leaders invite questions. Healthy pastors point people toward Jesus instead of building their ministries around themselves.

Don’t stop trusting everyone because one person betrayed your trust. Ask God to give you discernment as you look for leaders whose lives reflect the humility and character of Christ.

A few years ago, someone asked me a question I’ll never forget. They didn’t ask it from a church pew. They asked it from a hospital waiting room. With tears in their eyes they said, “Pastor Chris... how am I supposed to trust God after this?”

Maybe you’ve asked a similar question. Not in a hospital. Maybe after a divorce. A phone call. A funeral. A diagnosis. A job you never expected to lose. A child who walked away from the faith. A prayer that wasn’t answered the way you hoped.

Life has a way of unraveling without asking for permission.

One day everything feels secure. The next day you’re trying to figure out how the ground disappeared beneath your feet. In those moments, trusting God doesn’t feel inspiring. It feels impossible.

If you’ve ever been there, you’re in good company. The Bible is filled with people whose lives fell apart before they ever saw God put the pieces back together.

The Real Question Most People Are Asking

When people ask, “How can I trust God when life falls apart?” they’re usually asking something deeper. They’re asking, “Can God still be trusted when I don’t understand what He’s doing?”

That’s a different question.

It’s one thing to trust God when life is going according to plan. It’s another thing to trust Him when the plan disappears. Faith isn’t tested on the mountaintop.

It’s revealed in the valley.

Job Didn’t Get an Explanation

If you’ve ever felt like life stopped making sense, read the book of Job. In a matter of days, Job lost his wealth. His children. His health. His reputation. Even the people closest to him struggled to understand what was happening.

Throughout the book, Job asks difficult questions. He grieves. He wrestles. He pours out his heart to God. What amazes me most is that God doesn’t rebuke Job for asking honest questions. But neither does He explain every detail.

When God finally speaks, He doesn’t hand Job the answer key. He reminds Job of who He is. Sometimes that’s exactly what we need. We don’t always receive an explanation.

We receive God’s presence.

Trust Is Built on God’s Character

Proverbs 3:5-6 says,

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding.” (ESV)

I’ve noticed something about that verse. It doesn’t tell us to ignore our circumstances. It tells us not to lean on our own understanding. There’s a difference. Our understanding is limited. God’s isn’t. Trust doesn’t mean pretending life isn’t painful. It means believing God’s character hasn’t changed even when our circumstances have.

The cross is proof of that. The darkest day in history became the greatest victory God ever accomplished.

If God could bring resurrection out of a crucifixion, He can bring purpose from the pain you’re walking through today.

God Is Still Working When You Can’t See It

One of my favorite stories in scripture is Joseph’s. If you only looked at the middle of his story, it would seem like God had abandoned him. His brothers sold him into slavery. He was falsely accused. Forgotten in prison. Year after year, nothing made sense. Imagine asking Joseph while he sat in that prison, “Do you think God has a plan?”

I wonder how he would have answered. Years later, after God raised him to lead Egypt, Joseph looked back and said,

“As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good...” (Genesis 50:20, ESV)

Notice something important. Joseph didn’t see the purpose while he was suffering. He saw it looking back.

Sometimes God’s faithfulness becomes clearest in the rearview mirror.

The Mistake Many Christians Make

I think one of the biggest mistakes we make is believing trust means never struggling.

That’s simply not what scripture teaches. David trusted God. He also wrote psalms filled with tears. Elijah trusted God. Then he asked God to let him die. Even Jesus cried out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Faith isn’t the absence of questions. Faith is choosing to keep bringing those questions to God. You don’t have to hide your grief from Him.

He already knows.

What Has Helped Me Most

Looking back over my own life, I’ve noticed something. The seasons that strengthened my faith weren’t the easy ones. They were the ones I never would have chosen. There were prayers God answered differently than I hoped. Doors I desperately wanted to open stayed closed. People I thought would always be part of my life weren’t.

At the time, I couldn’t understand why. Now I can see that God wasn’t abandoning me. He was shaping me. I still don’t understand everything He’s allowed. I probably never will.

But I’ve learned that my confidence isn’t built on having every answer. It’s built on knowing the one who holds them.

Frequently Asked Questions

Why does God allow suffering?

The Bible doesn’t answer every “why,” but it consistently shows that God can redeem suffering for His purposes and our good. He never wastes the pain we entrust to Him.

Does trusting God mean I won’t feel afraid?

No. Trust isn’t the absence of fear. It’s choosing to rely on God’s character even while fear is present.

Is it wrong to question God?

No. Scripture is full of faithful people who asked honest questions. God invites us to bring our doubts and grief to Him rather than hiding them.

How do I trust God when my prayers aren’t answered?

Keep bringing your heart to Him. His silence or a different answer doesn’t mean His absence. Sometimes His greatest work is happening in ways we can’t yet see.

Will I ever understand why this happened?

Maybe. Maybe not. Some answers come in this life. Others won’t be clear until eternity. Our hope rests in God’s faithfulness, not in having every explanation.

What should I do when my faith feels weak?

Stay close to Jesus. Read His Word, pray honestly, lean on mature believers, and remember that even faith the size of a mustard seed is enough for God to work with.

The Next Step

If your world feels like it’s falling apart today, don’t measure God’s love by your circumstances.

Measure it by the cross.

The same savior who walked through death and came out victorious has promised never to leave you or forsake you.

You may not understand what He’s doing today.

But you can trust the one who is walking with you through it.

A man once sat in my office with his arms crossed and one sentence he couldn’t stop repeating. “They don’t deserve forgiveness.” If I’m honest, I understood exactly what he meant. He wasn’t talking about a small misunderstanding. He’d been betrayed. Lied to. Deeply wounded by someone he trusted.

Maybe you’ve been there too.

Someone said something they can never take back. A spouse walked away. A friend betrayed your confidence. A parent failed you. A church leader abused your trust.

When the hurt runs that deep, forgiveness can feel impossible. It almost feels wrong. After all, if we forgive them, aren’t we letting them off the hook? Aren’t we pretending nothing happened?

Those are honest questions.

And I think they’re some of the biggest reasons so many people struggle with forgiveness. The good news is that biblical forgiveness is very different from what most people imagine.

The Real Question Most People Are Asking

When people ask, “How do I forgive someone who hurt me?” they usually aren’t asking how. They’re asking why. Why should I forgive someone who never apologized? Why should I forgive someone who doesn’t deserve it? Why should I carry the burden when they caused the pain?

I’ve wrestled with those questions too.

Forgiveness isn’t difficult because we don’t understand it. It’s difficult because we’ve been wounded. Jesus never minimized that reality.

Neither should we.

Forgiveness Is Not Saying What Happened Was Okay

This is where many people get stuck. They hear the word “forgive” and immediately think it means pretending the offense wasn’t serious.

That’s not forgiveness.

God never asks us to call evil good. If someone abused you, it was wrong. If someone lied to you, it was wrong. If someone betrayed your trust, it was wrong.

Forgiveness doesn’t erase the truth.

It acknowledges the truth while refusing to let bitterness become your master.

Jesus Knows What Betrayal Feels Like

One of the reasons I love reading the Gospels is because Jesus never asks us to do something He hasn’t already done Himself. He was betrayed by Judas. Denied by Peter. Abandoned by His closest friends. Mocked. Beaten. Crucified.

Yet while hanging on the cross, Jesus prayed,

“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” (Luke 23:34, ESV)

That may be one of the most incredible prayers in all of scripture.

Jesus didn’t wait until His enemies apologized. He chose forgiveness while they were still mocking Him. That doesn’t make forgiveness easy.

It shows us what’s possible when our hearts are surrendered to the Father.

Forgiveness Doesn’t Always Mean Reconciliation

This is an important distinction.

Forgiveness takes one person. Reconciliation takes two. You can forgive someone who never admits they were wrong. You can forgive someone who never changes. You can forgive someone you never speak to again.

Trust can be rebuilt. Sometimes it can’t. Healthy boundaries are not a lack of forgiveness. They’re often an expression of wisdom.

Jesus forgave people freely. He didn’t entrust Himself to everyone.

Who Benefits From Forgiveness?

For years I thought forgiveness was mostly for the other person. I’ve come to believe it’s just as much for us.

Bitterness has a way of chaining us to the people who hurt us. We replay conversations. We rehearse arguments. We carry wounds that grow heavier with every passing year. Forgiveness doesn’t erase the memory.

But it breaks bitterness’ grip on your heart.

It allows God to begin healing what someone else broke.

The Mistake Many Christians Make

Sometimes we think forgiveness is a feeling.

We tell ourselves, “I’ll forgive them when I don’t feel angry anymore.” The problem is that feelings rarely lead. Choices do. Forgiveness is first an act of obedience. The emotions often follow later. Sometimes much later.

You may need to forgive the same offense more than once as the memories return. That doesn’t mean you failed. It means healing is a process.

What Has Helped Me Most

Over the years I’ve noticed something.

The people who are quickest to forgive usually aren’t the ones who have been hurt the least. They’re the ones who never forgot how much they’ve been forgiven. Jesus told a parable about two debtors. One owed an impossible amount. The other owed very little. The one who had been forgiven much loved much.

The same is true today.

When I remember the mercy God has shown me, it becomes much harder to withhold mercy from someone else. Not because they deserve it.

Because neither did I.

Frequently Asked Questions

Does forgiving someone mean what they did was okay?

No. Forgiveness acknowledges the wrong while choosing not to seek personal revenge. It doesn’t excuse sin or minimize the hurt.

Do I have to trust someone after I forgive them?

No. Forgiveness and trust are different. Trust is rebuilt over time through repentance and consistent change.

What if they never apologize?

Forgiveness is not dependent on another person’s response. You can release bitterness even if they never admit they were wrong.

Can I forgive someone and still have boundaries?

Absolutely. Healthy boundaries are wise and biblical. Forgiveness doesn’t require you to continue in an unhealthy or abusive relationship.

What if I still feel angry?

Healing often takes time. Forgiveness is usually a choice you continue making while asking God to transform your heart.

How many times should I forgive?

Jesus told Peter to forgive “seventy-seven times” (Matthew 18:22), emphasizing that forgiveness should become a lifestyle rather than a limit.

The Next Step

Is there someone you’ve been carrying for far too long? Maybe today isn’t the day every wound disappears. Maybe today is simply the day you begin placing that hurt into God’s hands.

Ask Him for the strength to forgive. Not because the other person deserves it. But because Jesus has already shown you that kind of grace. And that kind of freedom is worth pursuing.

A conversation from years ago still comes to mind whenever this topic comes up. Someone sat across from me with tears in their eyes and said, “Pastor Chris... I just don’t want to miss God’s will.” Maybe you’ve prayed something similar. You’re trying to decide whether to take a new job.

Whether to move. Whether to start dating someone. Whether to leave a difficult situation. Whether to serve in a new ministry. You genuinely want to honor God. You’re just afraid of choosing the wrong path. What if you make a mistake? What if God wanted something different? What if one bad decision ruins His plan for your life? Those are honest fears.

I’ve wrestled with them too. The good news is that the Bible paints a much different picture of God than many of us imagine. He’s not waiting for us to fail a spiritual test.

He’s inviting us to walk with Him.

The Question Behind the Question

When people ask, “How do I know God’s will for my life?” they’re usually asking something deeper. They’re asking, “Can I trust God to lead me?” That’s a very different question.

Sometimes we picture God’s will like a tiny target hidden somewhere in the distance. Miss it by an inch, and you’ll spend the rest of your life on “Plan B.”

I don’t think that’s how God works.

The Bible consistently presents God as a Father who walks with His children, not a puzzle maker hiding the correct answer. Yes, there are moments when God gives very specific direction. But much of the Christian life isn’t about waiting for a supernatural blueprint.

It’s about faithfully following Jesus with the wisdom He’s already given us.

Look at David

One of my favorite examples is David. Before he was king, David spent years running from Saul. He didn’t know when the waiting would end. He didn’t know how God would fulfill His promise. More than once, David had the opportunity to force God’s plan into existence by killing Saul.

From a human perspective, it probably made sense. Saul was trying to kill him. God had already promised David the throne. Wouldn’t this be the perfect opportunity? But David refused. He trusted God’s timing more than his own strategy.

Instead of asking, “How do I become king?” David asked a better question. “How can I honor God today?” That changed everything.

Sometimes we’re so focused on discovering God’s future that we forget to obey Him in the present.

God’s Will Starts With What He’s Already Revealed

Before we worry about God’s hidden will, we should pay attention to His revealed will. The Bible already tells us a great deal about what God desires for our lives. He wants us to love Him with all our heart. To love our neighbor. To forgive. To pursue holiness. To be generous. To tell others about Christ. To walk in humility. To seek justice. To serve others.

We often ask God questions He’s already answered. Meanwhile, the things He has clearly spoken sit unopened on our nightstands.

Psalm 119:105 says,

“Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.” (ESV)

Notice what the psalmist doesn’t say. God’s Word isn’t described as a stadium spotlight showing the next twenty years. It’s a lamp. It gives enough light for the next step.

That’s usually how God works.

God Is More Interested in Who You’re Becoming Than Where You’re Going

This has been one of the hardest lessons for me to learn. For years, I wanted answers. God kept working on my character. I wanted Him to tell me exactly what came next. He wanted to teach me trust. It’s easy to believe that God’s primary concern is where we’ll live, what career we’ll choose, or which opportunities we’ll accept.

Those things matter. But throughout Scripture, God consistently places greater emphasis on the kind of people we’re becoming. Romans 8:29 says that God’s purpose is to conform us to the image of His Son. That means God’s will isn’t simply about arriving at the right destination.

It’s about becoming more like Jesus along the journey.

God Gives Wisdom, Not Just Instructions

James writes,

“If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach...” (James 1:5, ESV)

Notice that James doesn’t say to ask God for a detailed itinerary. He says to ask for wisdom. Wisdom is the ability to make godly decisions with the information you have. Sometimes we keep praying because we’re hoping God will make the decision for us. Meanwhile, He’s already given us biblical principles, wise counsel, and a renewed mind.

Many decisions aren’t about finding one mystical answer. They’re about making the wisest choice available while trusting God with the outcome.

God Often Leads One Step at a Time

If you’ve ever wished God would hand you a five-year plan, you’re not alone. I certainly have. But when you read Scripture, that’s rarely how God works. Think about Abraham. God told him to leave his homeland. He didn’t hand him a map. Think about Peter stepping out of the boat. Jesus didn’t explain everything that would happen.

He simply said, “Come.”

Faith often begins with one obedient step. Then another. Then another. God’s direction usually becomes clearer as we walk with Him, not while we’re standing still waiting for absolute certainty.

The Biggest Mistake We Make

I think one of the greatest mistakes Christians make is believing there’s only one acceptable choice for every decision.

Should I take this job? Should I move? Should I go to this college? Should I buy this house? Sometimes there really is a clear biblical answer. If one option requires sin and the other doesn’t, the decision is easy.

But many decisions involve choosing between two good opportunities. In those moments, we don’t need to panic. We need wisdom. We need prayer. We need trusted believers who know us well. And then we need the courage to move forward. God isn’t wringing His hands in heaven hoping you guess correctly.

He’s walking with you.

What Has Helped Me Most

Looking back over my own life, I can see God’s faithfulness much more clearly than I could in the moment. There were seasons when I desperately wanted certainty. Instead, God taught me dependence. There were opportunities I thought I had to have that never happened.

Looking back now, I’m grateful they didn’t. There were doors that closed. At the time, they felt like disappointment. Now I see they were protection.

I’ve learned that discovering God’s will is usually less about decoding hidden messages and more about staying close to Jesus.

The closer I’ve walked with Him, the more confident I’ve become that He is fully capable of leading someone who genuinely wants to follow Him.

Frequently Asked Questions

Does God have one perfect plan for my life?

God has a purpose for your life, but Scripture emphasizes faithful obedience more than discovering one hidden path. As you seek Him, He is able to guide your steps.

How can I know if a decision is God’s will?

Ask whether it aligns with Scripture, reflects godly wisdom, honors Christ, and has been prayed over. Wise counsel from mature believers is also invaluable.

What if I make the wrong decision?

God is bigger than your mistakes. While sin has consequences, Scripture presents God as a loving Father who is able to redeem, redirect, and lead His children even when they fail.

Should I wait until I have complete peace?

Peace can be a helpful gift from God, but it isn’t the only indicator. Sometimes following Jesus requires stepping out in faith before every fear disappears.

Does God speak through circumstances?

Yes, God can use open and closed doors, but circumstances should never outweigh what Scripture clearly teaches.

Why doesn’t God tell me the whole plan?

Because faith grows through dependence. If we knew every detail of the future, we wouldn’t need to trust Him day by day.

The Next Step

If you’re trying to discover God’s will, don’t become so consumed with tomorrow that you neglect today.

Open your Bible. Spend time in prayer. Seek wise counsel. Obey what God has already made clear.

Then take the next faithful step. You may not know where every road leads.

But you can trust the one who does.