This is such a better screen shot of my face this week. Thank you!

@DeAnna Morris oh dear. Stop

I believe God is Jehovah Jireh, but I would be dishonest if I said I haven’t struggled with what His provision looks like. Abraham was asked to surrender Isaac, but ultimately, God spared his son. I think about that often because I’ve prayed desperately for God to spare me from certain things, and He didn’t. I know God is faithful, but sometimes I struggle with the statement that He’s never late. When you’ve experienced devastating loss, it’s hard not to wonder why He didn’t intervene sooner. I’m learning that surrender isn’t necessarily accepting that everything that happened was God’s desire. Sometimes it’s releasing my demand for answers I may never receive. I still believe God provides. I’m just learning to recognize His provision when it looks nothing like what I begged Him for. And perhaps that’s where my faith is right now: not doubting God’s ability to provide, but wrestling with His decisions about when and how He does. I wonder, have you ever experienced a season when God’s provision looked so different from what you prayed for that you struggled to recognize it?

@DeAnna Morris I think one of the hardest parts of loving someone is accepting that we cannot love them into making different choices. We can pray, encourage, speak truth, and extend grace, but we cannot make those decisions for them. I also think patience and boundaries can coexist. Trusting God doesn’t mean watching helplessly or enabling destructive choices. I know how exhausting it is to desperately want God to intervene and not understand why things continue as they are. I won’t offer you an easy answer about trusting Him because I know firsthand how difficult that can be. I’m praying for your son, but also for you as a mother. That God gives you wisdom to know when to speak, when to be still, and how to love him without losing yourself in the process.

@Dani Purvis, I’m catching up on these reflections, so I know some time has passed. I think there’s something beautiful about recognizing where we fell short and being willing to examine our hearts. I also think we sometimes hold ourselves to a standard of perfection that God never asked of us.I know I struggle with reacting from a place of exhaustion, frustration, or simply being overwhelmed. Sometimes I don’t recognize it until afterward. But I wonder if spiritual maturity isn’t necessarily responding perfectly every time, but being humble enough to acknowledge when we haven’t. Grace has to extend to ourselves, too. I hope you’ve been able to give yourself that same grace.

Deanna, I appreciated your acknowledgment that anxiety isn’t necessarily a failure of faith. I think that’s something the church needs to talk about more. For me, anxiety isn’t always just worrying about what might happen. Sometimes it’s my body remembering what already has. After everything I’ve experienced, my nervous system often feels like it’s waiting for the next tragedy. I pray, I read Scripture, I seek counseling, and I remind myself of God’s promises. But sometimes none of those things immediately quiet the fear. I think what I struggle with most is that I trusted God before, too. I prayed for protection, and devastating things still happened. So learning to trust again isn’t as simple as reminding myself that God is in control. I believe He is. But I’m still wrestling with what that means when He doesn’t intervene the way we desperately need Him to. I’m learning that peace may not always feel peaceful. Sometimes it looks like crying out to God while trembling, choosing to seek Him even when I don’t understand Him. I love Jesus deeply. I’m just being honest that some days, trusting Him feels harder than others. ❤️

I have spent so long in survival mode that being still almost feels unsafe. I stay busy because when I stop, the grief, trauma, loneliness, and exhaustion catch up with me. I think I often confuse holding everything together with being faithful. As a widowed mother, I feel like if I stop carrying everything, it will all fall apart. I know God is trustworthy, but I struggle to understand why He has allowed so much suffering. And sometimes I’m afraid to trust Him with more because I’ve already lost so much. I wish I could say I’m resting peacefully in His promises, but I’m not. Some days I’m barely holding on. I’m still praying, still seeking Him, and still choosing to believe, even when I don’t feel safe or at peace. Maybe right now, my quietness and trust simply look like admitting to God that I’m exhausted and afraid, rather than pretending I have unwavering faith. I believe He is good. I’m just still learning how to feel safe in His goodness.