There are seasons when the plan you made for your life still makes perfect sense. And then there are seasons when you look at that same plan and think...
Yeah. I don't think that's where I'm going anymore.
Maybe nothing significant happened. You didn't blow up your life or make some huge decision. The thing you were working toward just doesn't fit quite the way it used to.
A job you thought you wanted.
A business you were building.
A version of success you spent years chasing.
A routine that used to work.
Even a picture you had in your head of what this season of your life was supposed to look like.
Something shifted.
You know the old plan doesn’t fit anymore. But what replaces it?
That’s the part that makes me squirm. I mean, sure. I can handle changing the plan — it happens.
What I struggle with is not having another one ready to go.
I want to know where we're going here. Preferably with steps. Maybe a timeline. A few reassuring signs that I have correctly interpreted what God is doing would also be appreciated.
Instead, sometimes all I know is:
This isn't it anymore.
That's a strange place to stand.
When the old answer doesn't fit anymore
I used to think uncertainty meant I needed to figure something out.
Like now.
If I didn't know what came next, clearly I needed to think harder. Research more. Make another list. Talk through every possible option until one of them finally felt certain enough to move toward.
Basically, solve the not-knowing.
And sometimes that's exactly what we need to do. There are decisions that require information, conversations, prayer and actual planning.
But I've also had seasons where all that thinking wasn't creating clarity.
I was just trying to make the uncertainty go away.
And there's a difference.
One is looking for information. The other is looking for relief.
And boy, have I confused those two.
Because a plan—even a plan I'm not completely sure about—can feel better than an empty space.
At least now I'm moving.
At least now I have something to work toward.
At least now when someone asks, “So what are you going to do?” I have an answer.
Maybe that's part of what makes uncertainty so uncomfortable.
It isn't only that we don't know.
Sometimes other people know we don't know either.
There's no neat answer yet.
No polished explanation.
No five-step plan for what happens next.
You're just somewhere in between what made sense before and whatever is going to make sense next.
I've wanted to rush through that space more times than I can count.
But I'm starting to wonder if rushing is part of why I miss what the space is trying to show me.
Maybe clarity doesn't have to come first
I think I used to imagine trust as something that happened once I had enough evidence.
Show me where this is going, and then I'll trust the process.
Give me the next three steps, and then I'll move.
Let me know this is going to work out, and then I'll loosen my grip.
Which, now that I say it that way, isn't really trust.
It's certainty.
And those aren't the same thing.
Faith has challenged me here because so much of it asks me to move without having the entire map.
Sometimes I know the next step. Sometimes I don't even have that yet. Sometimes the faithful thing seems to be waiting long enough to stop forcing an answer simply because having no answer makes me uncomfortable.
I don't love that.
But I have learned that not every uncertain season is a problem I need to solve immediately.
Some things become clear because I gather more information. Some become clear because circumstances change. Some because I finally admit what I've known for a while.
And some only become clear after I've lived long enough without the answer to see things I couldn't see while I was frantically trying to create one.
That's very different from doing nothing.
I can still show up for my life while I don't know exactly where it's going. I can take care of what belongs to me today. I can keep the habits that ground me. I can have conversations.
Try something.
Change my mind.
Pray.
Pay attention.
I can take the next step when I see it without requiring that step to explain the next ten.
Maybe that's what trusting the process looks like for me now.
Less I know this is all going to happen exactly the way I hope.
More I don't know yet, and I don't have to panic because I don't.
There are still days I would strongly prefer the map.
Just saying.
But I'm becoming a little less afraid of the blank spaces.
Maybe you're standing in one right now.
Something that used to make sense doesn't anymore, and you keep trying to force yourself to decide what replaces it.
Maybe there is a decision you need to make.
But maybe you don't need to manufacture certainty simply because uncertainty feels uncomfortable.
You can let what no longer fits be true before you know exactly what comes next.
You can pay attention to what this season is showing you.
You can take the step that's actually in front of you without demanding that it promise where you'll end up.
And maybe that's enough for right now.
Not a new five-year plan.
Not an answer to every question.
Just enough trust to leave a little room for what you don't know yet.
Want to keep going with this conversation?
🎧 Listen to Episode 24: How the RISE Framework Builds Strength When Life Feels Uncertain →