When Faith Looks Worn

Each morning, I try to begin the day in quiet- reading a devotional, going through my prayer list, and taking a few moments to sit in stillness and gratitude. Some mornings, it all falls into place; other days, my thoughts scatter before I finish the first page. Still, I try.

Yesterday, as I reached for my worn copy of Sarah Young’s Jesus Listens, the cover came loose in my hands. The pages were tattered, creased, and softened by time. I smiled, realizing it looked exactly as faith so often feels- weathered, handled daily, and held through every season.

I bought that book not long after the first year of the pandemic, when the world felt unsteady and I was still deep in the ICU as a nurse liaison for a ventilator hospital. It was a time that marked me forever, both negatively and positively. It was what I like to call a swan song in my patient-care journey before life carried me down unfamiliar professional roads.

As I looked at the torn edges of my devotional, I saw a reflection of the past few years: years that stretched and reshaped me, where faith wasn’t just an accessory but a crucial lifeline.

Here are just a few of the lessons tucked between those pages:

· Leaving what was safe. Stepping away from a career that had become heavy with burnout, and into the unknown. It’s been a winding road, but somehow, peace continues to eventually meet me at the end of every turn, no matter how scary.

· Losing and finding people. Friendships that drifted or broke apart left deep cracks, but through them came new, steadfast souls who lifted me up when I couldn’t do it myself. And in the midst of that reshuffling, the old friends and family who stayed-the ones who showed up quietly, without needing to be asked, became an even greater blessing. They all reminded me that real love doesn’t flinch when life gets messy; it pulls up a chair, pours a cup of coffee, and listens…just like Jesus.

· Carrying others’ pain. Standing beside people I love as they face loss, a terrifying diagnosis, addiction, abuse, or guttural heartbreak is actually an honor and a privilege. Their struggles remind me to pray more, listen more, and hold tighter to gratitude.

· Facing disappointment. The sting of losing my first publishing contract nearly silenced my voice, but grace arrived in the form of an angel on Earth- a literary agent who believed in me when I was filled with imposter syndrome the size of a mountain.

· Grieving for my community. The Nashville school shooting brought terror that every parent hopes to never know. The horrific event and loss reminded me to be a more present and grateful mother, to notice the holiness of ordinary or mundane days.

· Learning discernment. Believing promises that weren’t kept and discovering that unanswered prayers were often protection in disguise.

· Redirection disguised as loss. The home I thought I wanted slipped away, only to make room for something more hopeful and aligned with peace and where I truly need to be.

Let me just say, none of this has been neat. I am far from perfect and struggle on the daily. There have been mistakes and poor choices I wish I could undo, and mornings I couldn’t even muster the strength to pray or simply get out of bed. But even in those moments, God met me right where I was.

Life is an uneven weave of joy and sorrow, faith and doubt. The beauty, I think, is that none of us have to walk it alone. My devotional may be falling apart, but that wear tells a better story than any pristine cover ever could. It’s proof that through every high and low, every prayer whispered through tears, God has listened.

Even after the brightest days and highest of highs, my wish is for all our books to end up this tattered- signs of a faith used daily, tested deeply, and loved well.

I am grateful for any and all readers who have taken the time to get here. Now, how can I pray for you during my morning quiet time?