What do we do when we don’t know what to say? When there is so much dust swirling in our heads that we can’t think straight to see straight to step straight? What do we do when the words won’t come? 

You, yes, you, with your host of questions. You, yes you, waiting with bated breath for the reasonable position in your mess. You, yes, you stirring with angst for clarity. If your words fall short, if your breathless in the chaos, if you’re feeling paralyzed by uncertainty, or if you’re unsure why or how—can we trust there is beauty in the I don’t know because we know enough?

If the deceit of “needing” to put all these pieces in their rightful place has taken you for a ride, let us try a better way. We do not have to know the exact good God is accomplishing to extend Him our trust that He is, in fact, accomplishing good. He is sovereign over our chaos, and He is perfect in His sovereignty. (See e.g., Psalm 145:17.)  Here are three ways God works in our tailspin: 

1. There is a beauty in uncertainty.

Feeling exposed? This is not the worst thing. There is no need to hide or rush ahead and guess at a conclusion. I know you want your plan ready. I know you want to tie this up. But what if the witness of Christ’s endurance in you is worth more than all the knowledge in the world? 

Change and uncertainty are incredible opportunities to live the sort of faith we sing about. No power of hell. No scheme of man. Can ever pluck me from His hand. Not knowing the next step, or rushing to solve the mysteries of God’s plan, is a beautiful opportunity to let our frailness show. In Christ alone? Yes, always. But in Christ alone is glaring in our finitude. Do you despise your limits? Shift your gaze. Christ, who voluntarily signed up for our weakness, stands ready to be our strength for us. 

In a society that has all the answers awaiting us on the rectangle in our pocket, there really is a beauty in the uncomfortable I don’t know how this thing ends on our way to I know Who ends this thing and that it ends well. Perhaps the immediate beauty looks like submission to God amid our gaps. Perhaps it’s our gaps that precipitate that submission to God. Perhaps it sounds like I am scared, but I trust You, Jesus. I don’t know, but that You know is enough, Lord. I can’t control this, Lord, but You are always in control, and You are kind in all Your works. 

2. The bond in lament.

What if something we regularly do stunts an opportunity to bond with God? For driven individuals, admitting disappointment or sorrow may feel like complaining. What if our bend toward resolute optimism hampers learning of God? This can-do, strong-arm, it-is-what-it-is attitude can mask complicated emotions, that when expressed, open us to seeing God in a truer way. 

Our plans are frustrated. We are disappointed. We express our angst to God. Over and over again. This is evidence of where our trust lies. The temptation to avoid engaging God with unruly emotions hints at who we think God is. Is he a small god that sounds like I got this? Is he a god who expected me to get there before I approach him? Or is He a God who knows I am weak and gets me there? 

Lord, help me get over myself. Lord, help me relinquish the angst to be independent of You. Lord, help me turn from the lie that this is too small for You to care. Lord, help me to stop rushing to a palatable outcome instead of beholding Your goodness without more. 

3. The unmatched sustenance of the Word. 

When Jesus said that man shall not live on bread alone, but every word that comes from the mouth of God, He was smack dab in the middle of emptiness. (See Matthew 4:4.) In wilderness times of uncertainty, we learn how anchoring God’s word is. 

During one of my saddest seasons, a single Psalm sustained me each day. I had no words to sum up my sorrow and no position to take about a situation. It wasn’t my idea. It wasn’t my plan. I didn’t get a say. Some days, throughout the day, I would return to that same Psalm, chewing on it, praying it, clinging to it. It’s during these times that we learn how sturdy God’s Word is because it reflects His sturdy character. 

The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup; you hold my lot…I have set the Lord always before me; because he is at my right hand, I shall not be shaken.” (Psalm 16:5, 7-9, 10 ESV.)

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When we zoom out, we know how this ends for those trusting Christ. For His glory, for our good. (Romans 8:28.) Big things. Small things. All things. That we are Hope-filled does not dismiss the discomfort uncertainty brings. Quite the opposite—it’s our hope that gives us space to grieve the discomforts on our way to the city without end. 

Our very personal God does not chastise us for our disappointment; He knows we are dust. (See Psalm 103:14.) Neither is God dismissive; His word commands us to cast our anxieties on Him because He cares for us. (1 Peter 5:7.)  Before a word is on our tongue, He knows it completely. (See Psalm 139.) We can say Your kingdom come, Your will be done because we know He gives us our daily bread. But if we don’t pray the other painfully beautiful parts of scripture, we have stunted a wonderfully complex aspect of knowing God.  

He is a good Father that knows what’s best and does what’s best. But He is also a good Father because He knows we can’t see it like He can, and He comforts us in between. 

Will you let Him? 

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Whatcha reading? I’m currently in the middle of…well, yes, a few books. Shush that I haven’t finished some that are taking me MONTHS TO READ. 

Here is a current devotional I’m reading: Wisdom for Fighting Sin: A Five-Week Devotional Study by Amy DiMarcangelo. 

If this sounds heavy, it actually has had the opposite effect. We all battle sin and the tension we feel is the mercy of Christ. DiMarcangelo’s devotional asks heart-checking questions but encourages us away from despair by reminding us Christ is our sympathetic and sinless High Priest. He knows we are frail and yet, He has already proven His ability to live our weaknesses and not sin. 

And friend, if you are battling sin that feels like it won’t let go, please know Christ’s heart remains gentle, kind, and ready to shepherd us. He is perfect in love—more loving and forgiving than we can possibly imagine. Lord, be near and help us believe right about You. 

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Over the last few weeks, I’ve continued trading edits for my book proposal. I’m encouraged that it will be ready to pull out of the oven soon. As much as I like the prospect of closure, on the other side of that closure may be…you guessed it…more baking. As I type this, our oldest is chipping away at his homework, including practicing his newly acquired trombone. Bless me. 😉

Thanks for reading,  

Paige