A year!
Three hundred and sixty-five ordinary days.
It doesn’t sound like much until you look back and realize you’re no longer the person who stood at the beginning of it. A year ago, if someone had asked me what my life would look like today, I would have answered with confidence. Not because I knew. But because I thought I did.
Isn’t that how we all live?
We sketch timelines. We create five-year plans. We pray specific prayers and quietly expect God to answer them in the order we’ve arranged them. We call it wisdom. Sometimes, it’s simply the illusion of control.
Last year, I was asking questions I couldn’t answer. I had plans that weren’t unfolding, prayers that seemed suspended in silence, and dreams I couldn’t see taking shape. I thought I knew what needed to happen and when.
I didn’t. Then life happened. Doors closed. People left. Dreams delayed. Prayers seemed to echo back in silence. And somewhere between disappointment and waiting, I began wondering whether God was still writing my story or whether I had somehow been forgotten.
Looking back now, I realize something that could only have been learned in hindsight: God was never absent. He was simply working where I couldn’t see.
And that’s the beautiful thing about God. His wisdom begins where ours ends. We spend so much of life trying to connect the dots while God is busy creating a picture we could never have imagined. We write schedules; He writes stories. We make plans; He orchestrates purpose.
We want God to explain Himself while He’s asking us to trust Him. We want details – He gives direction.
We want certainty – He gives His presence.
We want the destination – He teaches us to walk.
I’ve learned that heaven is never in a hurry, even when our hearts are. God has never been intimidated by my deadlines. He has never looked at my calendar and thought, “I need to catch up.” Because He isn’t operating within my understanding of time. He exists beyond it!
Somehow, in His perfect wisdom, He knows exactly when to withhold, when to prepare, when to prune, and when to finally place something beautiful into our hands. Not because He’s trying to test our patience. But because He loves us too much to give us something before we’ve become the person who can carry it well. Sometimes He allows us to sit in seasons that feel empty, not because He has forgotten us, but because He is preparing us for something we could never prepare ourselves for.
Looking back, I realize something profound: God knows exactly how to wipe tears. Not by pretending they never existed. Not by rushing our healing. But by redeeming the very places that once held our deepest pain. He doesn’t waste heartbreak. He doesn’t discard seasons of waiting.
He gathers every unanswered prayer, every lonely night, every disappointment, and somehow weaves them into a story that makes you whisper,
“Now I understand why You asked me to wait.”
Maybe not every question receives an answer. But somehow, His faithfulness answers enough. I’ve also learned that God has a way of building in front of the same audience that watched you break. Not to prove a point. Not to embarrass anyone. Not because He’s interested in proving your worth. But because He’s interested in revealing His glory. The rebuilding isn’t about revenge.
It’s about redemption. The same God who allowed the breaking is the One who lovingly rebuilds. And when He restores, He doesn’t simply replace what was lost, He creates something deeper, stronger, wiser, and far more beautiful than what you imagined. He never wastes what He permits.
One year can teach you that So Much Can Happen in One Year
One year can introduce people you never expected to meet.
One year can heal wounds you thought would stay open forever.
One year can soften places in your heart that bitterness almost claimed.
One year can completely change the way you see God.
If this past year has taught me anything, it’s this: We spend so much energy asking God to reveal the entire blueprint, while He simply asks us to trust the Architect. Our plans are limited by what we know. His plans are shaped by what He knows. And there is an immeasurable difference between the two.
The older I grow, the less interested I become in asking God to fit inside my plans. Instead, I find myself praying,
“Lord, give me the grace to fit inside Yours.”
Because His wisdom truly begins where mine ends. His perspective reaches generations while mine barely reaches tomorrow. While we’re calculating timelines, He is aligning purpose.
While we’re grieving closed doors, He is preparing doors we don’t even know exist.
While we’re wondering whether He’s listening, He’s already answering in ways we’ll only understand later. His “not yet” has protected me more times than I’ll probably ever know.
So today, I’m simply grateful. Not because life has been perfect. Not because every prayer has been answered. But because I’ve seen enough of God’s character to trust Him with the prayers that remain.
I think one of the greatest lessons in life is this: Don’t judge God’s work by the chapter you’re currently reading.
Sometimes everything changes before you even realize a new chapter has begun. If you’re in a season where nothing seems to be happening, don’t rush it.
Don’t mistake silence for absence. Seeds spend a long time hidden before anyone calls them a harvest. Trust the hidden work. Trust the waiting. Trust the God who has never once confused delay with denial.
One day, you’ll look back and realize that while you were counting the days, God was writing a story that could only have been written by Him.
And you’ll smile.
Because you’ll finally understand…
So much can happen in one year.
Beautiful Scars 