Raspberry Iced M

The Good. The Bad. The Raspy.

  • Farsighted Raspberry

    There are seasons where the things God is doing can be seen clearly.

    Doors open. Things fall into place. Answers come. The path is clear.

    And then there are other seasons when I can’t see a thing.

    Right now, nothing looks like it’s changing. The situation I am has stayed the same for 8 months. My prayers haven’t been answered yet, and the outcome is unclear.

    And the human part of me has so many questions. Is anything happening? Can He hear me? Is He moving at all?

    But the truth is that some of the most significant moments in the Bible happened quietly.

    And slowly.

    Joseph sat in prison for 13 years before he was elevated.
    David lived in obscurity for years before he became king.
    The Israelites spent 40 years wandering around a desert.
    The birth of Jesus was announced way before He was actually born.

    There were long stretches where nothing visible was happening…

    …but that didn’t mean nothing was happening.

    Just because I can’t see movement doesn’t mean there isn’t progress.

    I can only see things through a human lens. But God may be working in places I cannot access. In people. In timing. In circumstances that haven’t been pieced together yet.

    But also…in me. Shifting my perspective. Strengthening my patience. Refining my character. Internally preparing me for the prayers He is going to answer…when I’m ready.

    That doesn’t fix the part of me that wants answers right now. I want resolution. A timeline. A miracle.

    Trust God without visible proof, or progress I can measure, or reassurance I can point to is not easy. But I am choosing to believe that He’s still working, even when I cannot see how. His work isn’t always obvious to the human eye. And it doesn’t always happen on my timeline or immediately upon my request. And it doesn’t always look the way I anticipate.

    But that doesn’t mean it isn’t happening.

    Things have unfolded in the last several months that I do not understand. And even though I don’t have clarity, I’m choosing to believe that He is working, even in the parts of my life that look like they may never change.

  • Integrous Raspberry

    Lately I’ve been working on ways to track the internal work I’ve been doing.

    When trying to lose weight, for example, it can be difficult to notice changes in your body, especially if they’re not directly related to the number on the scale. Statistics say it usually takes about 12 weeks to recognize differences in our body.

    That’s 12 weeks of consistent effort without seeing whether or not that effort is actually going to pay off.

    And after 12 weeks, doesn’t your salad taste like you’d rather be fat?

    What I am doing, though, has no deadline, and there is no finish line. Which is pretty awful for the “immediate gratification” compartment that still exists in my brain.

    To that end, and as a reminder that the decision I’ve made to do the next right thing is worth my best effort, I have started noting the good choices I’ve made. This helps me focus on the positive, for one thing, and it serves as a tangible diagram by which to track my progress.

    Nothing I’ve done has been overly dramatic or noteworthy. But it’s just enough to affix my eyes on the right priorities. Nothing for applause. Nothing for congratulations or recognition or rewards. Just something for me. And since this blog is also for me, below is what I have recorded in the past week.

    1. On Sunday, I received a Snap from a grown woman who called me names by which I have never been called (to my face). And instead of defending myself or explaining myself, I handled her attack with grace that only the Holy Spirit could’ve given me in that moment.
    2. If I saw something overly filled with ugly language or inappropriate in some way, I scrolled and/or clicked off.
    3. I gave someone I do not even really “like” a compliment.
    4. I allowed my son to drive my vehicle to attend a gathering I didn’t necessarily agree with. Nothing harmful. In fact, he asked to go to the church he attends with his dad. And even though it was my custody, and even though I could’ve asked him to please go to our church instead, I ate it. He’s not property, and my way is not the only right way.
    5. I made a decision with regard to the kids’ health insurance that was the right thing to do. It has cost me. Money. Control. And any chance of sooner-rather-than-later reconciliation with my daughter. But it was the right thing – not the easy thing, not the most convenient thing, and not even the “best” thing for any involved party. But it was the integrous thing.
    6. Several times this past week, I’ve prayed before my thoughts overtook me. Not every time. But enough times that it will hopefully become a habit.
    7. I shared something very private in our small group at Bible study last night, thereby challenging my own introversion.
    8. My husband and I had a pretty terrible experience at a restaurant last night. More him than me. Our server dumped several ramekins of honey mustard on my husband’s lap. And in his work scrubs, he was actually late getting to work because he had to come home and change after dinner. On top of that, he ordered a side item he never received. But we paid for our meal anyway – without complaining. We gave grace. Because we recognize how often we need grace.
    9. When a $640.00 prescription sunglasses online order hadn’t arrived on time, I inquired, but did not complain.
    10. I’ve been reading my Bible to understand it, and not just to “get it done.” My relationship with Jesus is not a chore. He is not a box to check off. He’s my friend. And really…the only one I’ve got.

    I’m never going to get it right all the time. But – perhaps – the next right things – small ones – add up to a sum of change.

    Here’s to consistency…

  • Raspberry the Wrong Way

    If I am honest, I can trace most of my bad decisions back to one thing.

    Not recklessness, even though that is how it all ended.
    Not even rebellion, even though it looked like it.

    I was trying to satisfy a need I thought I had.

    I wanted to be chosen.

    Not just liked. Not just accepted. Not just allowed to tag along.

    Chosen. Prioritized. Wanted. Picked clearly, intentionally, and without hesitation.

    That need drove more of my behavior than I realized, especially while I was making those decisions.

    And the problem wasn’t the desire itself. Wanting to be chosen is human nature.

    The problem lied in how I tried to meet that need.

    I looked for it in the wrong places. I accepted it in forms that were not healthy. I pursued it in ways that were dishonest and in ways that compromised who I believe I am at my core. And sometimes I made decisions that created temporary feelings of being chosen at the cost of long-term stability, trust, and integrity.

    And I didn’t understand that while I was doing it. I knew I wasn’t being honest with myself (and others), but the conviction I felt did not outweigh the euphoria that came with *finally* being seen and valued.

    When something fills a need that deep – even temporarily – it’s easy to ignore how expensive your choices will eventually become.

    Looking back, I can see the pattern more clearly. Hindsight is always 20/20. If something made me feel chosen, I moved toward it. Even if it was complicated. Even if it wasn’t right. Even if it required me to overlook things I shouldn’t have or change certain aspects of my own personality.

    That’s where the mistakes came from.
    Not from not knowing better.
    But from wanting something so badly that I justified the wrong way of getting it.

    And over time, those decisions added up. The bill arrived, past due, and trust was broken. Relationships were damaged. And I was at that point a version of myself I no longer fully recognized. And eventually, the very thing I was chasing – being chosen – felt further away than ever.

    Wanting to be chosen didn’t make me wrong.
    My methods did.
    And no amount of explanation changes the impact of those methods.

    I am learning that being chosen – the right way – looks different than I thought. It doesn’t come from chasing or proving or compromising. It comes from alignment. From being someone who lives with integrity. From making decisions I can stand behind. And from building a life that doesn’t require self-abandonment to feel wanted.

    So the discomfort I sit in now is the realization that I may never be “chosen” in full by other people. The incorrect methods I used to achieve that goal had the opposite effect, and I am lonelier than I’ve ever been.

    Phone’s dry.
    Lunch and coffee outings are non-existent.
    It’s just me…well…and the dog I got…who doesn’t understand a word I say, but at least I’m not talking to “myself.”

    But I still firmly believe that the Lord works all things out for good. I believe He takes our stupidity into consideration when designing His plan for our lives. The Bible says so.

    So instead of disappearing into that discomfort, or wallowing in that loneliness, I’m enduring it under the hope and assumption that it is what He thinks is best right now.

    Not having friends has almost completely eliminated my desire to be chosen by other people.

    Now I choose honesty. Restraint. And a version of me that isn’t driven by the urgency to present myself as someone completely different from who I am called to be.

    I am choosing myself. I am choosing God’s affirmations. Because He knows I’m not perfect. And He chooses me anyway. Intentionally. I am not an afterthought or a tag-along. He doesn’t tell me I need to change in order to be accepted. And He has never – and will never – leave, no matter how many times I’ve broken His heart.

    He’s not just my Father.

    He’s my Friend.

  • Raspberry Warfare

    Every Wednesday for the past couple of months, I have attended a small group Bible study called “Freedom.”

    And it is changing my life.

    There have been times in the last year or so when everything hard in my life felt like spiritual attacks.

    Every struggle.
    Every consequence.
    Every uncomfortable situation.

    “The enemy is attacking.”

    And sometimes that is true.

    But not everything is a demon. Some things are just decisions. The natural result of choices I’ve made.

    Broken trust.
    Damaged relationships.
    Patterns that caught up with me.

    And for a long time, it was easier to frame those things are warfare than it was to call them what they are – consequences.

    Not punishment.
    Not condemnation.
    Just reality.

    This distinction matters because mislabeling everything as “spiritual warfare” cuts off opportunities to grow. I start fighting the wrong battle. I resist instead of reflect, rebuke instead of take responsibility, and I pray for removal instead of doing the work required to change.

    And that has kept me stuck in this loop of victimhood that I do not believe the Lord has intended for me. Or anyone else.

    At the same time, not everything is just consequence. There is an internal battle that happens beneath the surface of circumstances.

    That voice that says I’ll never change, that I’m still the same person, and “this” is who I am.

    The pull back toward old patterns.
    The temptation to escape instead of endure.
    The urge to globally identify with the worst version of myself.

    That part is not just consequence.
    That’s a fight.

    And I’m starting to recognize that the real battlefield isn’t my circumstances. It’s my mind. What I believe. What I come into agreement with. What I act upon.

    And so I used to think of prayer as just having a conversation with God, asking for help, seeking peace, praising Him for His many blessings, and worshipping Him because He really is who He says He is.

    But it’s so much more than that. It’s confrontation with my demons, too.

    It’s saying, “God, You are still good,” to confront the lie that He’s not.
    It’s, “I don’t have to return to who I used to be,” to challenge the lie that I’m stuck.
    It’s, “I will choose differently,” to resist the pull to repeat old patterns.

    The art of fighting demons isn’t about reacting to everything. It’s about discernment.

    Knowing when to take responsibility, when to sit in consequences, and when to do internal work while also resisting lies, rejecting temptation, and standing in truth.

    While some things need to be owned, other things need to be rebuked. And the devil is very crafty. Because the voice in my head that reminds me that I’m not good enough, that I’m fundamentally broken, that I don’t deserve grace or forgiveness or confidence or redemption? It doesn’t sound like the devil. It sounds like me.

    I’m learning that real strength looks like both things – sitting in what I’ve caused and standing against what tries to pull me backwards.

    Sometimes it’s not about fighting something outside of me. It’s about choosing what I agree with inside of me.

    And every time I choose truth and responsibility…every time I do the next right thing…every time I choose to stay instead of run…

    I’m fighting. Not loudly, but effectively.

    And that kind of fight changes everything.

  • Defensive Raspberry

    There was a time when I felt the need to explain everything.

    My choices.
    My intentions.
    My side of the story.

    If someone misunderstood me, I wanted to correct it.
    If someone judged me, I wanted to challenge it.
    If someone formed an opinion about me, I wanted to change it.

    Prove. Argue. Defend. Because I needed to be understood.

    Some of that came from fear.

    Fear of being misrepresented.
    Fear of being reduced to my worst moments.
    Fear of been seen in a negative way, despite the good qualities I do possess.

    And if I’m being honest, some of it also came from guilt. When you know you’ve made mistakes, you want to explain them.

    Not excuse them. But add context. To say, “That’s not all of who I am.”

    But I found out that defending myself didn’t usually change anything.

    Understanding is never guaranteed.
    Erasing the past is impossible.
    And shifting people’s perspectives is a goal too difficult to achieve, because I spent all of my time explaining myself instead of actually changing what needed to be changed, so that I drained myself, but had nothing to show for it.

    I was more focused on what other people thought than how I was actually living.

    But gradually, something is shifting.

    Now I resist the urge to respond to every opinion.
    I don’t believe every misunderstanding needs to be corrected.
    And I don’t think I need to explain myself in order to justify my progress.

    The truth is that real changed doesn’t need to be argued. It shows up overtime.

    So instead, I focus these days on being consistent.

    The next. Right. Thing.
    Quietly. No audience. No validation.

    I still care. I feel it in my core when someone misunderstands me. I notice when others see me through an old lens.

    But I don’t chase it anymore.
    I don’t try to fix it in real time.

    Because no one in this world needs to “understand” in order for me to live correctly.

    And that means that I have had to accept that most people will always hold onto their own, old version of me. Opinions won’t change. Conclusions are permanent. Some bridges are forever burned.

    And I have to wake up every day and make the choice to be okay despite the grief that comes with consequences.

    I am not perfect. I will never be perfect.

    But I am consistent. And over time, I am hoping that will speak louder than anything I could say.

  • Middle of the Raspberry

    I know God is the God of the beginning.

    The fresh start.
    The moment something new begins.
    Alpha.

    And I know He’s the God of the end.

    The breakthrough.
    The resolution.
    The place where everything finally makes sense.
    Omega.

    But He’s the God of the middle, too.

    It’s not as easy to define, because it’s bigger. It takes up more space. It varies.

    It’s not exciting or chaotic like the beginning and it’s not satisfying like the end.

    It’s the in-between. Where things are still unfolding. Where answers haven’t come yet. When you’re still carrying what you’ve been praying about.

    It’s where most of us live.

    In the beginning, faith feels hopeful. And at the end, that faith is confirmed.

    But in the middle, our faith is quieter. Less certain. More stretched. Sometimes even tired. The kind of faith that requires that we believe in results we cannot see yet.

    The Israelites wandering in the wilderness.
    David running before he ever wore the crown.
    Joseph in prison before the promise was fulfilled.

    Pivotal moments…even years…in all of these stories. Long, uncertain seasons.

    And He was there the entire time. Not just when things started. And not just when they resolved.

    But in the waiting.

    Right now my “middle” feels like praying the same prayer again. Waking up to the same situation. Trying to stay steady when nothing seems to be moving. Trusting God without seeing progress.

    And if I’m honest…that’s the hardest kind of trust.

    The middle doesn’t always look productive, but it is. It’s where patience is built, character is shaped, dependence on the Lord deepens, and we are refined. It’s waking up every day and handing over the same pile of issues, asking for God’s grace and mercy and intervention. It’s, “I still trust you,” even when I don’t understand, even when I don’t see change, and even when I don’t like where I am.

    His presence isn’t limited to the moments that make sense. He doesn’t disappear in the middle. He doesn’t step back while I figure it out. He stays.

    In the repetition.
    In the waiting.
    In the uncertainty.

    God is the God of the beginning.

    God is the God of the end.

    But maybe the place I’ve experienced most deeply…

    …has been in the middle.

    Where I have to choose trust over proof.

    And even there – especially there – He is still God.

  • Divinely Delayed Raspberry

    There is a kind of faith that feels strong when prayers are answered quickly.

    Doors open.
    Situations change.
    Clarity comes.

    It’s easy to recognize that God is good when we can see what He’s doing.

    But there’s another kind of faith…the kind that is required when nothing changes.

    I have prayed the same prayer for 8 months. Every day. I’ve meant it deeply. I’ve waited on its answer.

    And it hasn’t come. And in fact, it does not appear that it’s going to be answered anytime soon (based on a conversation I had today).

    There is no clear answer.
    No visible, forward movement.
    No relief.
    Just misunderstandings, rejection, blame, labels, and silence.

    And it doesn’t feel spiritual. It hurts. On my most peaceful days, it’s uncomfortable, and on more emotional days, I wonder if God hears me at all. I cry myself to sleep wondering how long this has to hurt. I over-analyze. I feel shame. I accept what others say about me as truth. And internalize others’ reactions.

    Today is one of those days.

    Things feel “in between.”
    I don’t know what to do next, because it seems that being lonely, and keeping to myself still doesn’t solve the issue.
    It seems like practicing integrity and doing the right thing still causes me trouble, because doing what is right costs people – who once counted on my dishonesty when it was convenient for them – certain allowances.
    And today I am reminded that no matter how closed off I’ve become, and how out-of-the-way I’ve tried to be – there are still people who need for me to be the villain. The problem. The “me” that used to exist.

    It feels like carrying something longer than I thought I’d have to.

    And it has raised a lot of questions.

    Is God listening?
    Do I need to do something different?
    What do I need to button up to ensure change?

    This concept isn’t new.

    Hannah prayed for a child for years. Abraham waited decades for a promise to be fulfilled. David was appointed king before he ever became one. Joseph sat in prison for 13 years.

    And in the New Testament, Paul asked God three times to remove his struggle.

    So what was God’s answer? “My grace is sufficient for you.”

    Not a removal. Instead, a sustaining.

    There is a part of me that believes that the answer I seek will not come, because what I am praying for is just relief of the consequences of my own actions.

    But I know that’s just religion talking.

    Because the Lord said He works all things out for good.

    So I don’t think God is delaying out of indifference. I think He’s working on something deeper than the situation itself.

    He’s working on me.

    My impulse to equate feelings to truth.
    My patience.
    My trust.
    My dependence on Him.

    In a refining way.

    And I continue to pray, every day, even still. The same prayer. I pray for change. I pray for grace. I pray for softened hearts. I pray that the Lord changes my heart.

    And in my walk, I continue to do the next right thing. I read the Word every day. I attend classes, and therapy, and I’m part of a church, and all of those things have provided outlets and challenges and feedback. I’ve swallowed my pride. I’ve taken every high road. I’ve stopped defending myself. I’ve left people alone. I vent to no one except the Lord (and my therapist).

    I recite that verse in Galations in my mind – “Who are you living for, other people…or me?” I let go of every bit of control.

    …and still no answer…

    …not even a clue that He has heard me…

    If you’re in a similar situation, I offer a little advice below. And listen – I know how hard it is to take advice when you’re drowning in unanswered prayers. So take it all for what it is worth.

    1. Keep showing up. It is hard. I know. When it feels repetitive. When you don’t “feel” anything. But consistency matters more than emotion.
    2. Pray honestly. My prayers aren’t polished anymore. They’re not perfect. They’re real. He knows I’m hurting. He knows I’m angry. He knows I’m impatient and that I’m tired of waiting for the needle to move. And He can handle all of it.
    3. Focus on what you can control. And to be fair, it’s not much. Today, I controlled a response. I read a message from someone, and it ripped my heart out. I answered this person’s message against my own impulses. I ate it. I took a high road – one another version of me would’ve never taken. No defenses. No blame. No gloves. I just took it. Because even if the situation never changes, it has changed me.
    4. Don’t rush to create your own solution. Sometimes the hardest part of waiting is not forcing the outcome. Not stepping in to “fix” what feels delayed – but instead – trusting that premature solutions often come with their own consequences.
    5. Identify what is changing. Even when a situation stays the same, something else shifts. I see how much I’ve grown in 8 months. And it’s not growth that proves anything to anybody. It’s a different kind of progress. Deeper. Heavier. More permanent. My faith is no longer fleeting. It is a fixture. I am more patient, more aware, and so much stronger.

    I am learning that God’s silence is not absence. Sometimes it is space.

    Space where I’m still being formed.
    Still being steadied.
    Still being shaped into someone who can carry what I’m asking for.

    Divine delay is not always denial. And it doesn’t mean God isn’t listening. It doesn’t even mean your prayer didn’t matter.

    Sometimes the story just isn’t finished yet.

    And trusting the Lord in that space – when nothing changes, when no answers come, when I don’t like it – that might be one of the deepest forms of faith I’ve got.

  • Raspberry Projects

    (Nobody else probably will find this interesting, but I’ve had my meds today, and I’m feeling good. So here goes…)

    A few months ago, I did a deep dive into the genealogy of Jesus. I wanted to know – from a historical perspective – how Adam became a baby in a manger.

    On first read, the long lists of names are impossible to pronounce – and they’re even harder to focus on. I wondered why they mattered.

    So we have Adam – the first man. The beginning of humanity.

    Then sin. Shame. Separation.

    But instead of scrapping the whole thing and starting over, God begins a thread. A lineage. A promise that progresses generation by generation, even as humanity stumbles throughout history.

    From Adam comes Seth.

    From Seth comes Enosh.

    And the line continues through people we know almost nothing about, other than their names.

    Nevertheless, these people weren’t small. Every name carried the promise in a forward motion.

    Through Noah, the world is preserved.

    Through Abraham, the promise is spoken.

    Through Isaac and Jacob, it is passed down.

    Through Judah, it takes shape.

    Through David, it becomes royal.

    And God still wasn’t finished.

    So, now, when people talk about how God never planned for divorce, or blended families, or dysfunction, I laugh internally. Because that’s not what the Bible says. If this lineage were about perfection, it would be a very short list. Instead, Jesus’ ancestors include people who doubted, people who lied, people who made devastating choices, outsiders, and women whose stories were unconventional. There’s no such thing as a polished family tree…which, in my mind, makes God’s initial plan even more remarkable…because it means that the story of redemption was never dependent on perfect people – only on a faithful God.

    In the New Testament, two genealogies are recorded. One traces the legal line, through kings and authority, and the other traces the biological line, through ordinary generations.

    Two different paths. One destination. Both leading to the same child.

    And after waiting and hoping and carrying the promise forward, Jesus is born. Not in a palace. Not into power. But into a family line that had been carefully, intentionally preserved from the very beginning.

    From Adam to Abraham. And from Abraham to David. And from David to a carpenter and teenaged girl in a small town.

    Nothing rushed. But nothing accidental either.

    It’s easy to look at our own lives and feel like things are random. Disconnected. Like days blur together without much meaning.

    But the genealogy of Jesus tells me a different story. It reminds me that God works across generations, not just in moments. I’m reminded that faithfulness matters, even when it’s small. It means that ordinary lives fill an extraordinary purpose. And it means that our inability to see the plan does not eliminate the plan altogether.

    Every name mattered. Every life contributed. Every step brought the story closer to fulfillment.

    So what started for me as a history project (under the duress of A.D.D.) ended as a reminder that God has always been writing a story that spans far beyond what we can see.

    And if He was intentional then, He is no less intentional now.

    My life feels so ordinary. Messy. Like I’m just another name in a long line of days.

    But so were theirs.

    And look what God did with that.

  • Independent Raspberry

    “I’ll just do it myself.”

    I don’t always say it out loud. But I think it. Often.

    It sounds efficient. Practical – on the surface. Faster. Simpler. Less complicated.

    No waiting. No explaining. No depending on anyone else.

    Just handle it and move on.

    But it’s not just about getting things done. If I’m being honest, it’s sometimes about control.

    If I do it myself, I know how it’s going to turn out.
    I know I’ll get it done.
    I know I won’t be disappointed.

    There’s comfort and safety in that.

    It hasn’t come out of nowhere. It’s built over time.

    From moments where I felt let down.
    From times when things didn’t go the way I’d hoped.
    From experiences that taught me it might be easier to rely on myself.

    So I adapted.

    I became more independent.
    More self-sufficient.
    More…controlled.

    But that phrase carries a lot of weight. Doing everything myself means carrying everything myself.

    The responsibility.
    The pressure.
    The mental load.

    Strong on the outside. But heavy on the inside.

    There’s a cost that comes with defaulting to “I’ll just do it myself.”

    It limits connection.
    Creates distance.
    And resentment.
    It delivers itself as “I don’t need you,” when that is not entirely true.

    And sometimes, it keeps me from experiencing support that might actually be there – if I let it.

    I don’t think independence is a bad thing. It’s helped me in a lot of ways. But I’m starting to see that there is a difference between being capable and being closed off…between being responsible and being unwilling to let someone else in.

    So I’m trying something different. Not all at once and certainly not perfectly.

    I am letting go.
    I’m handling what I can and leaving others to do what is their responsibility.

    That is uncomfortable for me.
    But so is carrying everything alone.

    “I’ll just do it myself” used to feel like strength. And in some ways, it still is.

    But strength now looks a little different. Sometimes the real strength these days lies in trusting that not everything has to rest on my shoulders.

  • Trusting Raspberry

    There’s a version of trust that feels easy.

    When things are going well.
    When prayers are being answered.
    When life makes sense.

    And it’s not hard to trust the Lord in those moments.

    But there is another version of trust that shows up for when we don’t like the situations we’re in.

    And that kind is more difficult.

    Sometimes trusting God doesn’t feel calm. It feels uncomfortable.

    Like sitting in something I didn’t choose.
    Like waiting longer than you expected.
    Like carrying questions to which I do not have answers yet.

    In those moments, trust doesn’t feel like confidence. It feels like restraint.

    There are times when everything in me wants to fix the situation. Take control and change it, escape it, and force an outcome. And during those times, trusting God means staying where I am. Not because I’m stuck, but because I’m choosing not to run ahead of things I don’t always understand.

    I like clarity. I like knowing what’s happening and why. But there are situations where answers don’t come right away. If at all. And trusting Him means accepting that I don’t need to understand everything to move forward. Even when I want to.

    Sometimes I wish that trust felt stronger. More confident. More certain. But often, it looks like doing the right thing even when I don’t feel aligned with it emotionally. Showing up, making steady decisions, and choosing integrity, even when it doesn’t feel great.

    I don’t pretend everything is fine. I talk to Jesus in frustration, confusion, even sometimes anger. But it is the truth. “God, I don’t like this, I don’t understand this, and this is harder than I thought it would be.” But talking to Him is a choice to stay connected. And that is always the right decision.

    It looks like letting go of the need for control. Making the daily decision to get out of bed and hand it over. And that might be the hardest part. Letting go once isn’t the challenge, but letting go repeatedly is harder. Every time my mind tries to take control back, every time I start to manage outcomes, every time I want to force things into place, but releasing it anyway.

    And it looks quiet. In difficult seasons, trust isn’t loud. It’s not always bold declaration. It looks like continuing, enduring, and choosing not to give up, even when nothing around me has changed.

    Trusting the Lord when I don’t like the situation isn’t about pretending said situation is good. It’s about believing He is good, despite the circumstances. And even though that trust doesn’t feel strong in the moment, it’s real. And it matters.