I haven’t posted for three weeks. And if you’ve been wondering where I went — here’s the honest answer. Life just did that thing it does.
Some seasons just come at you. Not one thing. Not even two things. Just wave after wave after wave, until you’re standing at your front door trying to get your husband to work and the door won’t lock because of the heat, and you think — of course. Of course that’s happening as well.
You know you’ve hit a certain level of done when you walk to the shop and realise halfway there that you’re still in your slippers, look at the reflection in the window and see your hair looks like an alpaca’s because you haven’t brushed it. And instead of turning back, you just think — you know what, I genuinely do not care. The slippers are staying on and the hair can just stay alpaca style. I am getting my thing and I am going home. There’s something almost liberating about it, in a completely rock-bottom sort of way.
That’s what a long run of hard things does to you. It turns you into a version of yourself that just… keeps going. Not gracefully. Not with your hair done. Just going. One foot in front of the other, slippers and all.
I’m not someone who wants the biggest house. I genuinely don’t have enormous expectations. I just want to pay my way, live comfortably, and do what I’m called to do. That’s it. But right now, even that feels like it’s asking too much.
People let you down financially. Prices rise. Petrol goes up. Doors you thought were opening shut quietly in your face. Lodgers move out. The laptop breaks. The car breaks and then the front door! One thing rebounds off the next until you genuinely don’t know what’s left in you. Some days the wall just stares back.
And if that’s where you are right now — I want you to know you are not on your own.
That Voice
And then there’s that negative voice.
From a Christian perspective, there’s an enemy out to kill, steal and destroy. We call him Satan. Sometimes it’s him, sometimes it’s just our own inner critic with the volume turned up. But it comes in quiet, and it starts with two words. If not coming from that perspective, call that voice what you want but it’s still there. Gnawing at you with that question.
What if.
What if it doesn’t work out. What if the door never opens. What if this is just how it is now. What if, what if, what if — and each one leads to another until you’re so far down that road you can’t even see where you started.
The only time “what if” is ever useful is when it goes the other way. But what if it does work? What if the door opens tomorrow? What if what I can’t see yet is already in motion?
I don’t want to be better than anyone else. I’m not built for competition. I just want to be the best version of me — the one I believe God called me to be — and I want to crush my comfort zones getting there. That’s enough. That’s all I’m after.
But when everything is pressing in, the doubt gets louder. And into that quiet the voice says things like — you’ve failed. You’re irresponsible. You can’t do this. Who do you think you are? The promise was a lie.
And here’s what I’ve learned to say back:
How is investing in your future a failure? The only failure is never trying the thing you believe you were made to do. If I try and it doesn’t work — so be it. At least I tried. And if I somehow end up in a cardboard box — well. At least it’ll make a good blog post.
But seriously — you cannot take my mind. And if you can’t take my mind, you can’t take me.
But there’s also another level to go and we’ll go there with the word of truth from my favourite book.
Hope Deferred
There’s a verse that does something most Christian advice doesn’t — it tells the truth about waiting.
“Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.” Proverbs 13:12.
Not hope deferred makes you stronger. Not hope deferred is character building. Hope deferred makes the heart sick. And if you’ve been waiting for something — a door to open, a situation to turn, a promise to land — and it keeps not happening, you’ll know exactly what that sickness feels like.
It’s the wind going out of your sails. Your whole persona deflating. That gut-drop moment when another thing goes wrong and something in you just goes quiet and dark.
I know that feeling. I’ve been sitting in it.
And when you’re there — go and find someone else to encourage. I know that sounds counterintuitive. But when you encourage others, something shifts. You stop staring inward at the darkness and start looking outward. It forces you out of yourself. And sometimes that’s all it takes to get through the day.
Because you’re not the only one going through something. Not by a long way. Let me encourage you. There’s a second part of that verse which says: a longing fulfilled is a tree of life. So there is hope. We must always believe for that no matter what. It can come just at the 11th hour in a way we weren’t expecting. I’m speaking to myself here too.
The Word That Speaks Life
Have you noticed how much easier it is to default to the negative?
We are so good at it. The world is good at it. Bad news travels faster than good news, criticism lands harder than encouragement for most of us — and when things get genuinely rough — most of us have the potential to go down that road. The spiral is always there, waiting.
Which is exactly why the Word of God matters so much. Not as a rule book. Not as a list of things you should be doing better. But as something living — something that speaks life back into you when everything else is speaking death.
That’s why it needs to be drilled into our souls. Read it, know it, sit with it — so that when the moment comes and you have nothing left, the Holy Spirit can bring it back to you at exactly the right time. A word you read six months ago suddenly meaning everything right now. That’s not coincidence. That’s how it works.
I won’t pretend I always do this perfectly. I don’t. Some days I manage it well. Some days I fail spectacularly. But I keep coming back. Keep trying. Keep running my own lane, not anyone else’s.
Dangerous Songs
There’s a song — Oceans by Hillsong United — “Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders, and I’ll walk upon the waters, wherever you may call me.” And we sing it. We really sing it. Hands in the air, completely meaning it.
And then life delivers the answer to that prayer.
And you think — oh. Oh no. I didn’t mean it quite like THIS.
I don’t think the people who wrote it knew exactly what they were asking for either, if I’m honest. I think they sang something like it, got absolutely taken apart by life, came out the other side with their faith changed forever — and THEN wrote the song. Out of the fire. Not before it.
Because you don’t become a diamond by being comfortable. The diamond is made under pressure, under heat, with everything that isn’t the real thing burned away. All the dross, all the chaff, everything that was never going to last anyway.
Nobody enjoys that process. Nobody. But you can’t skip it and still get the diamond.
And the people who’ve been through it? You can tell. There’s something in them that wasn’t there before.
Saint Paul
I have a friend I call Saint Paul. That’s not his real name — he’s called Paul — but if you knew him, you’d understand why I call him that. He’s kind of like a spiritual Dad in a way.
He prays for what feels like a hundred people a day. Always remembering. He is the most genuinely grateful person I have ever known. Not because his life has been easy — it hasn’t, not by a long way. He’s had his trials. Real ones. But through all of it, there is this quality about him. A graciousness. A steadiness. A way of being grateful even when there’s every reason not to be.
He sets a standard, without even trying to. Just by being who he is. And I’ve learned more from watching him than from many sermons.
One of the things he’s taught me — and I’m still learning this — is that you can’t always trust your feelings. You might feel hopeless today and completely different tomorrow. Your emotions are real, but they’re not always telling you the truth. You have to just keep going.
I look at him and I think — he knows who his anchor is. That’s what it is. That’s the difference.
And then I look at my dog, Zeb. Who has absolutely no idea what’s going on, but looks at me with such complete and uncomplicated love that I think — okay. Tomorrow might be completely different. Let’s just get through today.
Then there’s my husband who has this way of bringing himself round from discouragement also. I’m grateful for him. See there is always something to be grateful for though sometimes it’s very hard to dig down.
Sometimes that’s enough.
Find Your Anchor
Maybe this is all a bit too biblical for where you are right now. Maybe Jesus isn’t part of your story yet — or hasn’t been. That’s okay. I’m not here to tell you what to believe.
But I will say this — find your anchor. Whatever holds you when everything else is pulling. If it’s your dog, your friend, a word of encouragement you stumbled across, a piece of music that reaches somewhere words can’t — hold onto it. Use it to get through today.
And if you’re ever ready to find the true anchor — the one that holds in every storm, not just this one — He’s not going anywhere.
The Promise Is Still There
And when the faith feels thin — and it will feel thin sometimes, I won’t lie to you — remember that Jesus said faith the size of a mustard seed is enough. You don’t need a mountain of it. Just enough to take the next step.
And if even that feels like too much, there’s a prayer in scripture that I think is one of the most honest things ever said to God:
“Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.”
Not I have it all together. Not I’m completely trusting you. Just — I believe. Help me where I don’t.
He can work with that.
The apostle Paul — the biblical one, not my friend 😄 — writes in Romans 8:18:
“Our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed.”
And this, from Jeremiah 29:11:
“I know the plans I have for you. Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you a hope and a future.”
In my darkest hours I’ve often been sarcastic with that verse and said “Yes, I know YOU know the plans you have for me but would you like to tell ME what they are?”
But if He did, that wouldn’t require faith would it? Because it says in Hebrews:
“Now faith is the assurance of what we hope for and the conviction of things not seen.” (Faith even as small as a mustard seed, remember.)
But think about it — the promise IS that He has plans.
Not maybe. Not if you get it right. Plans. Already made. Already in motion.
Hold on to that. Even on the wall-staring days. Even on the days you’ve got nothing left and the door won’t open and everything is conspiring against you.
Tomorrow is another day. And today has enough of its own troubles without borrowing it.
Until the race is won.
