We proclaim our belief that God works all things for our good and his glory (Rom. 8:28). We affirm that the Lord will fulfill his purpose for us (Ps. 138:8) and that he’s mapped out every detail of our lives (139:16). So when hardship comes, why do we struggle? Why do we drown in our confusion? Why does it feel as though the joy within us has been drained, day after day? Why do we wrestle with anger, sadness, and a wavering confidence in the truth that the Lord was already at work long before we became aware of our troubles?

In 2019, my wife and I were certain of God’s call for me to serve as a pastor. Our family, friends, pastors, and local church all affirmed this calling. In faith, we uprooted our lives in Wisconsin and moved 12 hours away to Kansas City so I could attend seminary. We sacrificed time, energy, and stability to pursue God’s call, and as the years went by, more voices affirmed what was originally recognized by those back home.

After graduation, we took another step of faith—I accepted a pastoral position in Kentucky, hundreds of miles removed from the comfort of our Wisconsin roots. It wasn’t long before that church felt like home. We were blessed with a congregation that loved us deeply, a pastoral team that offered unwavering encouragement, and dear friends so supportive I could scarcely imagine stepping away. Their affirmation, their kindness, and even the church’s act of ordaining me to the ministry solidified what we knew in our hearts: God had called me to serve as a pastor.

Then, unexpectedly, the Lord led us in a different direction. Due to my wife’s health challenges—challenges beyond our control—I had to step away from pastoral ministry. It was devastating. Not just for us but for our church family as well. Despite every effort, the circumstances proved insurmountable. So we left the church we cherished. The heartbreak, the confusion—it was profound, especially for my wife. Where can we turn when circumstances bring such a dramatic change?

Truths That Hold Me Fast

I don’t have all the answers. The questions I posed above are the ones I still wrestle with. I don’t have full clarity, nor do I completely understand what God is doing in my life. If I’m honest, I’m writing this not for you but for myself.

Yet amid the raw emotions and unclear circumstances, I’m returning to truths I know about God. Three in particular have carried me through this season. If you’re in a time of uncertainty, I pray they encourage you too.

1. Darkness is part of the journey.

“The days of darkness will be many” (Eccl. 11:8). Jason DeRouchie once said, “Glimpses of God’s goodness in this age are God’s gifts to help us endure, for they remind us of his worth and beauty and give us confidence that he will deliver again.”

Dark days should never catch us off guard. God graciously forewarns us in Ecclesiastes that days of darkness will be many. My wife and I have wondered why God provided so much affirmation before leading us into hardship. Why did he answer specific prayers, remove obstacles, and confirm his calling, only to bring us to where we are now?

Though I have no clear answers, I’m learning we must expect suffering. God has woven grief, sorrow, and confusion into the fabric of our lives—not as punishment but as part of his good plan.

2. Even in the dark, God’s goodness shines.

Even as darkness stretches before us, we can remember that “light is sweet” (Eccl. 11:7). God assures us he has revealed and will continue to reveal his faithfulness. For those in Christ, darkness never has the final word. Instead, God uses trials to ground our joy in him.

God has woven grief, sorrow, and confusion into the fabric of our lives—not as punishment but as part of his good plan.

In times of doubt, memorializing God’s faithfulness has been essential for my wife and me. As Mark Vroegop puts it, “Mapping out God’s faithfulness” helps us trust him even when we don’t understand our circumstances. Journaling those moments—those undeniable proofs of his goodness—has reminded us his love isn’t distant. He’s near.

Singing, too, has been a powerful anchor. Certain songs and hymns have become a battle cry for us, helping us declare truth over our hearts even when emotions pull us elsewhere. One song that has deeply ministered to us is “Jesus, Strong and Kind” by CityAlight:

Jesus said if I am lost
He will come to me
And he showed me on that cross
He will come to me

Another that has become a prayer for us is “Christ Our Wisdom” by Sovereign Grace:

Christ our wisdom, we are humbled
When you hide Your ways from us
You have purposes unnumbered
Each one good and glorious

Help us trust when we grow weary
Free us from our anxious thoughts
Give us grace to see more clearly
You are God and we are not

3. God is already at work.

John Piper writes, “As soon as we discover we have a problem, God has already been working on it, and the solution is on the way.”

We hold to this truth—not merely because we’ve seen his kindness in our lives but because of what he has accomplished on the cross. Though I don’t know God’s immediate plans for us, I know this: We don’t grieve without hope (1 Thess. 4:13). Because of Christ’s victory, darkness will dissipate. God will carry us into a new day.

Because of Christ’s victory, darkness will dissipate. God will carry us into a new day.

As our current church studies Philippians, I’ve been reminded of Paul’s many seasons of suffering—prison, opposition, physical trials—through which his mission remained unchanged. Though our circumstances have drastically shifted, though confusion still lingers, our call to live out the gospel is the same.

Though I no longer carry the title of pastor . . . though we’re no longer part of that church family we’d loved dearly . . . though uncertainty clouds our understanding of God’s plans . . . the mission to seek his kingdom remains unchanged.

This life is a pilgrimage toward the Celestial City—it’s not our own. And while this valley of pain and confusion is difficult, I trust the Lord is using it to grow us in faith, hope, and love for him.

We remain committed to his church, to shining his light through our lives, and to trusting that even in confusion and loss, he’s making something glorious from our pain—for our good and his glory.