I was thinking the other day about the sheer unfairness of it all. You see it everywhere, don’t you? There is always someone claiming every benefit under the sun, living in a brand-new house, even though you know for a fact they’re working cash-in-hand and gaming the system.

Or that person at work who is always ‘off sick’ with a mystery ailment, yet they’re the one landing the pay rise and the promotion because they’ve befriended the boss. Then there are those who cheat, lie, and break every rule in the book, yet they always seem to land on their feet while the rest of us are left holding the bill.

It’s exhausting. Here ‘we’ are, playing by the rules, paying our way, never taking a sick day, and trying our level best to be honest. Don’t you ever just think, what’s the point? Why do good things always seem to happen to bad people?

A 3:00 AM Reality Check

The other night, while I was trying to get some sleep, I had one of those moments. I call it a ‘conversation’ with God, but it isn’t like a chat over the garden fence. It’s more like a massive file being downloaded into my brain in a nanosecond. In an instant, I was hit with a complete, finished thought that left me with more than enough to ponder.

He showed me that when I feel this way: Bitter, resentful, and focused on what others are ‘getting away with’. My thoughts and my mind are in completely the wrong place. By fixating on their ‘riches,’ I was actually devaluing the true riches I’ve been given. Worse than that, I was sitting in the judge’s seat, haughtily deciding who is ‘bad’ and assuming that I am ‘good.’

But Jesus has a way of leveling the playing field:

‘Why do you call me good?” Jesus asked. “Only God is truly good.’

Mark 10:18 (NLT)

I don’t think of myself as a villain, but I am acutely aware that I am a sinful person. I need the grace and mercy of God just to breathe. I believe completely and utterly in Jesus. And I don’t mean I believe in a historical figure who died a long time ago. I believe in the Son of God who loves me (present tense), right now, in the middle of my mess.

When He went to that cross, He didn’t just perform a religious ritual. He took the full, crushing weight of my sin, my shame, and my personal suffering onto His own body. He felt the weight of every mistake I’ve made (and will make) and every bit of pain I carry. I wholly believe that He died, and that on the third day He rose again. I believe He is coming back.

It’s easy to look at ‘bad’ people and feel superior, but the reality is that I am a bad person who has been given the ultimate good thing. The gift He keeps giving me is always greater and bigger than any sin I could ever commit.

The ‘S-Word’

The word ‘sin’ is a massive trigger for people. It has such negative connotations. You can tell someone they’ve done something ‘bad’ and they might feel a bit of shame, but if you say, “You’re a sinner,” they’ll get defensive immediately. (I don’t suggest trying that at the local pub, by the way).

But the truth is, we are all in that category. If we accept it or not, we are all ‘bad’ people in light of God’s perfection. Yet, here I am a man who still says hurtful things, who still fails, who still falls short and God has given me a good thing. I’m aware of the gift he keeps giving me: a grace that is always bigger than my mess. And for that, I am so glad that he has decided to give good things to bad people.

Temporary Wins vs. Eternal Peace

What about the other side of ‘bad’? The people who truly seem to mock God and get away with it? Recently, while journeying through the Gospel of Matthew, I’ve realised that the things we consider ‘good’ the money, the easy life, the shortcuts, are temporary. They are for this world only.

I woke up from that conversation with God and saw the ‘Verse of the Day’ on my phone. It felt like a direct answer:

‘I have told you all this so that you may have peace in me. Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart, because I have overcome the world.’

John 16:33 (NLT)

Even in Genesis, my favourite book, we see this pattern. When Adam and Eve blew everything up and were being exiled from Eden, God didn’t just kick them out.

‘And the Lord God made clothing from animal skins for Adam and his wife.’

Genesis 3:21 (NLT)

They had failed spectacularly, yet he clothed them. He did a good thing for ‘bad’ people.

Changing the Prayer

My thought process has started to shift. Instead of praying that those ‘bad’ people see the error of their ways (which is usually just me wanting to be proved right), I’ve started praying that they come to God. I want them to have the good things I’ve been given. I want them to know love. Why? Because Jesus did the same for tax collectors, thieves, liars, and me.

This Lent has been different for me. Instead of giving things up, I’ve been trying to ‘pick things up.’ I’ve been intentionally praying for my family, for my relationship to flourish, and for my amazing partner to be healed and protected. I’ve been asking for a heart more like Jesus. And as I look back on these 40 days, I’ve felt a peace and a joy in my soul like never before. It reminds me of the song Reckless Love, the lyrics make me tear up almost every time because they remind me how far God will go to find us.

The View from Holy Saturday

I’m finishing this on Holy Saturday. Yesterday, we sat in the reflection of the cross and what Jesus endured on Good Friday. We have the luxury of knowing the outcome, but for those who were there, it must have been the darkest, most ‘unfair’ day in history.

It doesn’t matter what happens with those we consider ‘bad.’ It only matters where your heart, mind, and soul are focused. I had a revelation at the end of Proverbs the other day:

‘Who but God goes up to heaven and comes back down? Who holds the wind in his fists? Who wraps up the oceans in his cloak? Who has created the whole wide world? What is his name—and his son’s name? Tell me if you know!’

Proverbs 30:4 (NLT)

I know his name. His name is Yahweh—I AM. And his son’s name is Yeshua—Salvation. And who is he saving us from? Our greatest enemy of all: ourselves.

As I reflect on my own walk, I hope this stirs something in you. If you believe, I hope you realise what a massive gift you’re holding. And if you’re not sure, just know that Jesus loves you too. He has this gift for you as well. Perhaps it’s time to hold out your hands and say, “Jesus, I accept this.”

A Simple Prayer

Lord, forgive me for the times I judge others while forgetting my own need for Your grace. Thank You that You are a God who gives good things to undeserving people. Help me to fix my eyes on You and the eternal peace You promise, rather than the temporary things of this world. Amen.

Happy Easter everybody. Spoiler, the tomb is empty and he has risen!.

I’ve never been much of a gardener. My better half will tell you that my primary contribution to our outdoor space is “enthusiastic but misguided mowing.” I tend to approach the lawn with a level of intensity that suggests I’m clearing a path through a jungle rather than tidying up a semi-detached plot in the UK.

But even my lack of a green thumb couldn’t shield me from the sheer, damp misery of the last few months. It has been, by all accounts, the wettest season in recorded history—or at least it feels that way when you’re scrubbing dried mud off a Cockapoo for the fourth time in a single afternoon. My dog, Buckley, has reached a stage of permanent dampness where he’s developed a scent I can only describe as “ancient bog.” He looks less like a boutique designer dog and more like a very small, very soggy mop that has lost its will to live.

It was against this backdrop of grey skies and soggy paws that I found myself helping out with our church’s Alpha Course. If you’re not familiar with Alpha, it’s essentially a low-pressure, “no-stupid-questions” look at the Christian faith. Whether you’re a lifelong believer or a “hard-as-nails” atheist, it’s a space to eat some decent cake and talk about the big stuff without anyone getting preachy. You can check it out at the Alpha website.

Last weekend was our “Alpha Away Day,” a time focused entirely on the Holy Spirit. During one of the video sessions, the speaker mentioned the book of Joel. Now, I’ll be honest: I couldn’t tell you the last time I read Joel. I’m not even sure I could have found it in the Bible without the index. But during the quiet reflection time, I felt that unmistakable nudge (that quiet, internal “Why don’t you have a look?”) and I opened my Bible to the Minor Prophets.

I got so lost in the text that I actually missed the start of lunch. For those who know me, missing a meal is a sign of either a genuine spiritual crisis or a massive revelation.

This was a revelation.

The Swarm: When Life Feels Like One Disaster After Another

To understand why Joel’s words felt so heavy, you have to understand the context. Joel was writing to the people of Judah during a time of absolute, unmitigated catastrophe. A locust plague had swept through the land. And we aren’t talking about a few bugs in the vegetable patch; we’re talking about a biological carpet that stripped every leaf, every bit of bark, and every shred of hope for a harvest.

The backstory is bleak. Scholars aren’t entirely sure of the exact date, but the message is timeless: the nation was in a state of spiritual and physical drought. The economy was gone, the food was gone, and even the “joy of the people” had withered away.

As I read through Joel 1, I was struck by the sheer scale of the loss:

‘What the cutting locusts left, the swarming locusts have eaten; what the swarming locusts left, the hopping locusts have eaten; and what the hopping locusts left, the stripping locusts have eaten.’ Joel 1:4

Does your life ever feel like that? It’s rarely just one thing, is it? It’s the car breaking down, followed by a stressful week at work, followed by a health scare, followed by the realisation that you’re just... empty. Wave after wave of “locusts” eating away at your peace, your finances, or your relationships.

Joel describes the priests wailing because they have nothing to offer the Lord. There’s no grain for the grain offering, no wine for the drink offering. I felt that deeply. How often do we feel we have nothing to bring to God? We feel so inadequate, so “eaten away” by our own failures or anxieties, that we think, “I can’t go to church like this. I can’t pray when I’m this much of a mess.” We feel we have nothing of value to offer, so we consider walking away because we’re embarrassed by our own emptiness.

The Pivot: Not a Show, But a Heart

By the time I got to Joel 2, the imagery shifted. It describes a Day of Judgement that feels like a thick darkness. It’s frightening. It’s that moment where you realise the chaos around you might actually be a reflection of the chaos within. It’s the painful realisation that we are reaping what we’ve sown.

But then comes the pivot. And it is beautiful.

In the ancient world, when people wanted to show they were sorry, they would tear their clothes (a public, dramatic display of grief). But God, speaking through Joel, says something different:

‘“That is why the Lord says, “Turn to me now, while there is time. Give me your hearts with fasting, weeping, and mourning. Don’t tear your clothing in your grief, but tear your hearts instead.” Return to the Lord your God, for he is merciful and compassionate, slow to get angry and filled with unfailing love. He is eager to relent and not punish.’ Joel 2:12-13

God isn’t interested in the religious jargon we speak or the polished version of ourselves we try to present on a Sunday morning. He doesn’t want the public display; He wants the messy, broken, locust-eaten heart.

The description of God here is the anchor. He is slow to anger. He is filled with unfailing love. He actually wants to relent. He’s not waiting for a reason to punish us; He’s looking for any reason to bless us. He is deep in mercy, and He is waiting for us to just turn around.

The Restoration: The Rain and the Spirit

As I sat there, ignoring the distant sound of the lunch bell (aka my stomach), I reached the promises of restoration.

After three months of British rain, the verse about God sending the “early and late rains” made me chuckle. We’ve had enough rain to last us until 2029, thanks. But in Joel’s world, rain was the ultimate sign of God’s faithfulness. It was the only thing that could undo the damage the locusts had done. It was the promise of life returning to a dead place.

Then came the promise:

‘The Lord says, “I will give you back what you lost to the swarming locusts, the hopping locusts, the stripping locusts, and the cutting locusts. It was I who sent this great destroying army against you.”’ Joel 2:25

He restores what was lost.

Not just a little bit. Not just “making the best of a bad situation.” He gives back what the years of anxiety, the years of poor choices, or the years of simple “bad luck” have stolen. He promises that His people will no longer be mocked, and that the world will no longer be able to ask sneeringly, “Where is your God?”

And then, the cherry on the cake (I did end up eating a bakewell tart with a cherry on top):

‘Then, after doing all those things, I will pour out my Spirit upon all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy. Your old men will dream dreams, and your young men will see visions.’ Joel 2:28

This was the very verse Peter quoted on the day of Pentecost. This is the promise that the Holy Spirit isn’t just for the “super-Christians” or the ancient prophets. He is for all people. The broken, the damp, the tired, and the ones who missed lunch because they were busy being overwhelmed by a Minor Prophet.

The Takeaway: Calling on the Name

The book of Joel ends with a powerful assurance:

‘But everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.’ Joel 2:32

Maybe you feel like the locusts are winning today. Maybe you feel like you have nothing left to offer. If that’s you, remember that the restoration doesn’t depend on your strength, but on God’s faithfulness. He is the one who sends the rain. He is the one who pours out the Spirit.

Even if you’ve been waiting a long, long time—and I know how hard it is when prayers seem to go unanswered or when you can’t see the shift on the horizon—God’s promises are the one thing we can lean into. We don’t need to know when the drought will end to know the One who holds the clouds.

Our job isn’t to fix the crops or find the solution to the plague; our job is simply to turn our hearts toward Him.

I eventually made it to lunch. Others had tucked in already, the room was a cacophony of clattering forks and chatter, but I didn’t mind. I’d found something better than a meal; I’d found the reminder that even in the mud and the rain, and even when we can’t yet see the harvest, God is busy restoring the years the locusts have eaten.

A Prayer for the Restored Heart

Lord, for every person reading this who feels overrun by life’s “locusts,” I ask for your rain. We bring you our hearts—not a polished performance, but the messy reality of who we are. Thank you that you are slow to anger and rich in love. Restore what has been lost, and pour out your Spirit on us today. Amen.

I recently discovered that Lent is a bit like a British motorway: the signs say one thing, the sat-nav says another, and there are mysterious gaps that no one quite explains until you’re halfway through the journey.

We are currently ten days into Lent. At least, that’s what the lent calendar tells me. However, if you’ve been counting the days on your fingers and coming up with a different number, don’t panic. I’ve learned that Sundays don’t actually “count” toward the forty days. They are little “mini-Easters”(legal loopholes for the soul). It’s a very civilised arrangement, isn’t it? It’s as if the Church figured we’d all be vibrating with caffeine withdrawal or chocolate cravings by day six and decided to give us a tactical ceasefire.

This year, I decided to shift my perspective. Instead of the traditional “giving something up”, I decided to pick something up. My goal was simple: get closer to God by reading the Gospel of Matthew every day through February.

Now, full disclosure: I didn’t hit every day. Life, Buckley (my dog), and the general chaos of a household have a way of intervening. But I did manage to catch up, and by the 28th, I’d turned the final page.

It hasn’t been a comfortable stroll. In fact, it’s been a bit of a wrestling match.

The “Good Christian” CV

Reading through Matthew as a man with a “messy” history is an exercise in vulnerability. There are parts of Jesus’ teaching (specifically on divorce) that are incredibly hard to digest when you’re sitting there with one (or two) on your “Am I a Good Christian?” CV.

You read those words and you feel the weight of them. You wonder if there’s a place for someone with a fractured past in the middle of such high standards.

But that’s the thing about the “messy middle” of faith; it’s exactly where Jesus tends to do His best work. He didn’t speak to perfect people; He spoke to people like us. The tired, the divorced, the worried, and the ones who can’t quite get their act together.

While I was navigating these chapters, my church started a series on “Transformation.” We talked about simplicity, storing up treasures in heaven, and not worrying about worldly things.

‘Don’t store up treasures here on earth, where moths eat them and rust destroys them, and where thieves break in and steal. Store your treasures in heaven, where moths and rust cannot destroy, and thieves do not break in and steal.’

- Matthew 6:19-20

It sounds lovely in principle, doesn’t it? But then you look at your bank balance or the damp patch on the ceiling, and the “worry” Jesus mentions feels less like a choice and more like a reflex.

The Hunger Strike or a Response?

Then we hit the topic of fasting. To be honest, I’ve always been a sceptic. I never “got” it. To me, fasting felt like a spiritual hunger strike, a way of trying to twist God’s arm into doing what I wanted. “Look, Lord, I haven’t had a bacon roll in six hours, so if You could just fix my problems, that’d be great.”

I am fairly certain the Bible has something to say about not testing the Lord.

‘Jesus responded, “The Scriptures also say, ‘You must not test the Lord your God.”’

- Matthew 4:7

But ten days into Lent, and I’ve already fasted twice. (And no, that isn’t a boast—Matthew 6:16-18 is very clear about not looking miserable so people know you’re fasting, so imagine I’m saying this with a very cheerful, well-fed expression).

‘And when you fast, don’t make it obvious, as the hypocrites do, for they try to look miserable and dishevelled so people will admire them for their fasting. I tell you the truth, that is the only reward they will ever get. But when you fast, comb your hair and wash your face. Then no one will notice that you are fasting, except your Father, who knows what you do in private. And your Father, who sees everything, will reward you.’

- Matthew 6:16-18

The turning point was a conversation in our small group. We watched a video that reframed fasting perfectly: It isn’t a demand; it’s a response. When someone is ill, when life is falling apart, or when you’re desperate to hear from God, fasting is a way of saying, “This situation matters more to me than my own sustenance.” It’s a physical way of leaning into God. Jesus denied Himself for me; the least I can do is skip lunch to focus on Him.

‘Though he was God, he did not think of equality with God as something to cling to. Instead, he gave up his divine privileges; he took the humble position of a slave and was born as a human being. When he appeared in human form, he humbled himself in obedience to God and died a criminal’s death on a cross.’

- Philippians 2:6-8

Right, caught me—that last one wasn’t Matthew, but the point stands

The result? A peace I can’t quite put into words. It’s an intangible joy. I still get sad, I still get stressed, and Buckley still barks at the postman at 7:00 AM, but there is something tangible sitting deep within me now. A quiet steadying of the soul.

Leaving the Safety of the Shore

This past Sunday, we had a guest speaker, Simon Guillebaud, at our “Going Deeper” service. A couple of the things he said really stayed with me.

First: “You won’t get stories if you stay safe.”

That challenged me. Do I trust Jesus enough to actually do the work He’s called me to, or am I content to stay in my “safe” home, avoiding the risks of real faith? It reminded me of the parable of the talents in Matthew 25. The servant who stayed “safe” and buried his treasure out of fear was the only one who missed the mark.

Second: “We are immortal until God calls us home.”

It’s an interesting perspective, especially as someone who has spent a fair amount of time worrying about the “what ifs” of life. We often talk about eternal life as something that starts later, but if we take Jesus at His word, that life is already happening. It’s a bit of a shift in mindset; realizing that our souls are held in a way that the world can’t touch.

‘And don’t be afraid of those who want to kill your body; they cannot touch your soul. Fear only God, who can destroy both soul and body in hell.’

- Matthew 10:28

The Quiet Routine

I’ve been making a more conscious effort to pray lately, usually by carving out a bit of time during my lunch break to read and write. It’s nothing fancy, and I’m certainly not winning any awards for it, but these last ten days have honestly felt a bit different.

This isn’t a “look at me” post; it’s a “look at Him” post. By being intentional, by picking up a Bible, a prayer, or a period of fasting. I’ve started to notice something shifting. It’s a peace and a joy that is hard to pin down. It’s tangible in how it steadies me, yet intangible in the way I can’t quite explain it to anyone else. It’s just... there. It’s that rest Jesus promised for the weary.

“peace that passes understanding.”

- Matthew 11:28-30

‘Then Jesus said, “Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy to bear, and the burden I give you is light.”’

- Matthew 11:28-30

A Moment of Reflection

As you navigate your own “messy middle” this week, I want to encourage you: Be intentional. It doesn’t have to be a grand gesture. It might just be five minutes of silence before the kids wake up, or reading one verse over your morning coffee. Just say, “Jesus, I want to get closer to You. I want this peace. Help me be intentional today.”

He meets us in the effort, not just the achievement.

A Closing Prayer

Lord, thank You that You don’t ask us to be perfect before you. You invite us to walk with You. For those of us feeling the weight of our past or the anxiety of our future, grant us that “intangible joy” today. Help us to pick up something, a prayer, a moment of kindness, a verse that will draw us closer to Your heart. Amen.

The Final Word

‘Jesus came and told his disciples, “I have been given all authority in heaven and on earth. Therefore, go and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Teach these new disciples to obey all the commands I have given you. And be sure of this: I am with you always, even to the end of the age.”’

- Matthew 28:18-20

How on earth is it February already? I feel like I blinked somewhere around Boxing Day and woke up to find the January mortgage payment had already left my account.

January in the UK is always a bit of a slog, isn’t it? It’s dark, it’s perpetually damp, and everyone is collectively nursing a financial and emotional hangover from Christmas. For me, it was a month of “nuts” work schedules and family life firing on all cylinders. I’ve spent the last four weeks making “mental notes” of things I wanted to write about, which is really just a polite way of saying I’ve been thinking about things in the shower and then immediately forgetting them the moment I try to find a matching pair of socks.

I love this process—sitting down with a brew, letting the thoughts spiral, and seeing what the Holy Spirit might be trying to nudge into place. Usually, it starts as a “splurge” on the screen and, with a bit of luck and a lot of editing, turns into something that resembles a logical thought.

But this year, January had an extra layer of “slog” for me. I turned 47, and as a bit of a birthday challenge to myself, I decided to raise money for Cancer Research UK by doing 100 pushups every single day.

The 3,100 Rep Revelation

By the end of the month, I’d hit 3,100 reps. My arms currently have the structural integrity of overcooked spaghetti, but I’m chuffed to say we raised a good bit of money for a brilliant cause.

Now, I’m a 47-year-old man; I cannot do 100 pushups in one go. If I tried, I’d likely end up needing a structural engineer to hoist me off the carpet. So, I did them in “reps.” Ten here, twenty there, thirty while waiting for the kettle to boil. By the final week, I actually managed a set of fifty in one go. There was visible progress—not just in the numbers, but in the fact that I could actually move my limbs without groaning like a rusty garden gate.

It became a habit. My better half, Julia, suggested I keep it up—partly for my health, and partly, I suspect, because she quite likes the idea of me not completely falling apart as I hurtle toward fifty.

But about three-quarters of the way through the month, I felt a familiar tap on my shoulder. It wasn’t Julia, and it wasn’t Buckley the dog looking for a walk. It was that quiet, persistent prompt of the Holy Spirit.

“It’s great that you can find time for these pushups,” the voice seemed to say. “But how about you apply the same logic to Me?”

Ouch.

The Eye and the Lamp

I realised that in the midst of the “busy-ness,” I’d been treating my faith like a luxury item I couldn’t quite afford this month. I’d been praying, sure, and reading bits here and there, but my focus was scattered. My eyes were everywhere—on the bills, the work emails, the daily rep count—except on the One who holds it all together.

At church recently, we’ve been talking about “Simplification”—the idea of being devoted to, formed by, and sent by Jesus. We looked at a verse that hit me right between the eyes:

‘Your eye is like a lamp that provides light for your body. When your eye is healthy, your whole body is filled with light.’ Matthew 6:22 (NLT)

I had to ask myself: what am I looking at? If my “eye” is fixed on my to-do list, my whole body feels the weight of that stress. I needed to simplify. Not the “sell everything and live in a tent” kind of simplification, but a simplification of my focus. I needed to stop waiting for a “perfect, uninterrupted hour” of spiritual bliss that was never going to come, and start doing my spiritual reps.

Living Words and Marriage Frictions

When I finally carved out the time to sit and process, I landed in Ephesians 5. Now, Julia is almost certainly reading this (hello, love), and she’s probably bracing herself for what I’m about to say.

We’re a great team, truly. I couldn’t do life without her. But let’s be honest—when life gets busy and we’re both exhausted, little frictions creep in. You know the ones: the way a spoon is left in the sink, or a tone of voice used during the school run.

Reading Ephesians 5:21–33 with fresh eyes felt like God handing me a key I’d dropped in the tall grass. It challenged me to look at how I love, how I sacrifice, and how I lead in our relationship. I decided to actually listen to the advice and put it into practice.

And you know what? It’s been different. A really good different. It turns out the Bible isn’t just a book of ancient “shoulds” and “oughts”; it’s a living thing that actually works when you apply it to the messy reality of a Tuesday afternoon.

Start Your Own ‘February Reps’

My takeaway from this blurry January is simple: if I can find the time to drop and give the floor twenty pushups to change my physical health, I can find the time to drop my ego and give God my attention to change my spiritual health.

If you’re feeling like you’ve “failed” at your New Year’s resolutions already, or if the “messy middle” of life has left you feeling a bit disconnected from God, here’s a thought.

It is not too late to start. We are only a few days into February. There are 28 days this month, and there are exactly 28 chapters in the Gospel of Matthew.

Why not start a “Spiritual Pushup Challenge”?

One chapter a day. Don’t worry if you can’t do it all in one sitting. Do a few verses over breakfast, a few more on your lunch break, and the rest before bed. Do it in reps. Just get the Word into your system.

I think you’ll find, as I did, that as you fix your eye on the Light, the rest of your day starts to look a whole lot brighter.

Blessings,

Jonathan

A Prayer for the Busy Soul

Lord, life is loud and my calendar is full. I confess I’ve spent more time counting my struggles than counting Your mercies. Help me to simplify. Give me the strength to show up for the “small reps” of faith—the quiet prayers, the few verses, the moments of surrender. Light up my eyes so that my whole body might be full of Your peace. Amen.

New Year, hello to 2026.

I started writing this blog back at the end of August. My goal has always been simple: to encourage people to find faith, and to understand that it is okay to not be very good at it.

And speaking of not being very good at things, let’s talk about my first week back at work.

On Friday, I woke up with that heavy, post-Christmas feeling. You know the one—where the alarm clock feels like a personal insult. I hadn’t quite gotten back into the routine of actually getting out of bed rather than lying there, having a coffee and toast, and enjoying some lazy time with my better half.

Grumbling, I dragged myself downstairs, booted up the laptop, and logged into work. I stared at the screen, waiting for the emails to load, only to realise... silence. I checked my calendar.

I had booked the day off.

I sat there for a moment, torn between relief and feeling like an absolute muppet. But, as is often the way with these things, if I hadn’t made that mistake, I wouldn’t have been awake early enough to take Buckley on the specific walk that led to this thought.

The War of the Walk I was walking Buckley around the estate where we live. Because my brain was still half in “work mode” (despite the day off), I wanted a quick walk. I wanted efficiency.

Buckley, however, does not care about efficiency.

We have a number of grassy patches on the estate. Buckley likes to go from one to another, conducting a thorough investigation of each blade of grass. He can, annoyingly when you want to get a move on, dawdle. He sniffs. He stares. He refuses to move.

Usually, I give the lead a little tug. “Come on, let’s go.”

But on this walk, I decided to stop. I decided I wouldn’t move until he was ready. I patiently stood there, watching him sniff, waiting for him to decide he was good.

It was with this thought that I saw a similarity with life and walking with Jesus.

The Grassy Patch Metaphor Here is the reality: Buckley is representing me (and you).

The grass that he is so content to be on—sniffing around, happy as a clam—is a moment in our lives. It represents our circumstances, our comfort zones, or perhaps a state of mental awareness we have settled into.

Maybe it’s a grudge we are holding onto because it feels safer to be angry than to forgive. Maybe it’s a habit we know isn’t great, but it’s familiar. We stand there, sniffing the ground, thinking, “ This is fine. I like it here.”

God, meanwhile, is holding the lead.

He is waiting patiently for you to come along. Now, Buckley knows he is on a walk, but he has no concept of the destination. He thinks this patch of grass is the highlight of the trip.

I, however, know the route. I know that if he just trusts me and moves on, there is a massive field five minutes away where he can run off-lead safely. I know there are other dogs to chase, balls to fetch, and treats to be had.

But he doesn’t know what is ahead of him. He is just living in that moment, nose to the dirt.

The God Who Knows the Route I realised on this walk that I am exactly the same with God.

Sometimes, I want to stay in the space I am in. I don’t want to move on to the next grassy patch. I like to stay and sniff and (take a leak up a tree), not realising what is next. I resist the tug on the lead because change is scary.

“The Lord says, ‘I will guide you along the best pathway for your life. I will advise you and watch over you.”

Psalm 32:8 (NLT)

Other times, I am the opposite. I want to move on as quickly as possible. I see the next patch I want to go to, and I drag God along, not realising or enjoying the first moment I have.

We pull left. We pull right. We stop dead. We refuse to walk at His pace. But what joy it is when we finally fall into step with Him.

Finishing Well The other week, I was at our church small group where someone was sharing their testimony. In this, he mentioned that his life goal is simply to finish well.

He wants to get to the end of his life while still believing in Jesus.

That stuck out for me. It sounds simple, doesn’t it? But as he said, he has seen so many fall away because of obstacles. They hit a patch of prickly grass, or they get distracted by a squirrel, and they drop out of the walk.

I hope and pray I am like him in my faith—to the end, no matter the obstacles.

Looking at the times where God has been pulling me to leave the grassy patch I am on, it can be scary. Sometimes we don’t want to move because we can’t let go. We can’t ask for forgiveness, seek help, or deal with a wound. We like to stay where we are because although it isn’t always good, it’s safe because it’s known.

Or perhaps we are having the time of our lives and suddenly it’s time to shake it up and move on and do the most crazy thing ever—like move halfway across the world, sell everything, and live in a car for a month.

Change is scary. But the Walker beside you is safe.

A New Year, A New Walk So it is a new year. A new start. A new blog post. A new part of my (our) walk.

I don’t fear what 2026 will bring. I hope that it involves lots of laughter. I know it will likely include tears. But I am walking it. I have my shoes strapped on.

I am looking forward to where He leads me. I hope I can catch the nudges when it is time to stay and when it is time to move. But mostly, I want to walk without fear, knowing that even if I am just sniffing the grass right now, He knows where the green pastures are.

I hope this year, no matter where your faith is, that you continue to walk. Don’t stay in the areas of your life that stop you from progressing.

Fear not. And if you have to fear, then do it in spite of the fear, because God walks beside you always.

Blessings.

The Turkey, The Trap, and The True Light

I don’t know about you, but I am feeling incredibly reflective right now. It has been a season of, well, a lot. Complicated situations, exhausting weeks, and that general hum of busyness that seems to ramp up the closer we get to the 25th of December.

But, as I sit here writing this, staring down the barrel of a two-week Christmas break, I am finally starting to feel a sense of peace settling in. It’s not necessarily that all the problems have vanished, but I am feeling more at ease with it all. I am ready to clear the cache of my mind, shut down the tabs in my brain, and focus more on Jesus.

I say that with the best of intentions, but if I’m being honest—and that’s what we do here on The Unfinished Walk—my “focusing on Jesus” recently has been a bit… scattered.

You know how it goes. I start to pray. I sit down, close my eyes, and say, “Father...” and then, three seconds later, I’m wondering if I remembered to buy Brussels sprouts, or I’m replaying a conversation from three days ago, or I just don’t know what to say, so I say nothing.

However, this evening, I managed to push through the noise. I finished meditating with the Lectio 365 evening reflection (if you don’t use it, I highly recommend it). The scripture was 1 John 2:8b, and it hit me right between the eyes:

“For the darkness is disappearing, and the true light is already shining.”

1 John 2:8 (NLT)

I then went straight to Spotify to listen to some worship music, and the lyrics of “It Is Well” washed over me. Between that ancient scripture and those timeless lyrics, something shifted. Light, peace, and faith began to displace the bad dreams and the hard times. I was reminded that I have a God who delivers.

But getting to that point of peace? That has been a battle. And I think the enemy’s biggest weapon in that battle has been a very sticky, very subtle trap called guilt.

The Guilt Trap

I have been feeling a little “off” lately. Although I have sort of been praying, I certainly haven’t been reading my Bible as much as I should. I haven’t been seeking Jesus with the hunger I know I should have.

So, when I finally sat down to pray this evening, my opening gambit was an apology. “Lord, I am sorry I haven’t sought You more today. I’m sorry I put barriers in the way.”

Now, confession is good. But what often follows confession for me—and maybe for you, too—is a lingering sense of guilt that actually stops me from coming back sooner.

It’s a strange paradox. I feel bad that I haven’t spent time with God. That bad feeling makes me feel unworthy. Because I feel unworthy, I think, “Well, He won’t want to listen to me now. He won’t care. He might not even show up.”

I start to hear voices whispering familiar lies: “You’re not good enough.”“You don’t deserve God’s love.”“You don’t deserve His forgiveness, grace, or mercy.”“You call yourself a Christian, but you haven’t opened your Bible in three days?”

Here is the kicker: That voice is technically right.

I’m not good enough. I don’t deserve God’s love. I certainly don’t earn His mercy. If it were down to my performance, I’d be out in the cold.

But that is not who God is. And that is not how Grace works.

The Difference Between Conviction and Condemnation

I have come to a conclusion recently. When I feel that heavy, stomach-churning guilt that makes me want to hide from God, that is not God telling me off.

That is the Deceiver.

Think about it in terms of human relationships. Let’s say you have a disagreement with your significant other. You’ve done something to upset them. You have two ways of reacting:

1. The Shame Spiral: You feel guilty. You feel like a terrible partner. You think, “They must hate me.” So, you withdraw. You go into another room. You avoid eye contact. The distance between you grows not because they are pushing you away, but because your guilt is building a wall.

2. The Reconciliation: You feel a prick of conscience (conviction). You realise you messed up. You go straight to them and say, “I am so sorry, I got that wrong. I want to be close to you.”

God is not human, but the principle of relationship holds true. God does not use guilt to push you away. He uses conviction to draw you close.

Satan—the Accuser—wants to use your lack of prayer to keep you from praying. He wants to use your failure to read the Bible to keep the Bible closed. He wants you to feel so bad about your distance from God that you maintain the distance.

God, on the other hand, says this:

“So now there is no condemnation for those who belong to Christ Jesus.”

Romans 8:1 (NLT)

If you are hearing a voice that says, “You are rubbish, stay away,” tell it to shush. That is not the Shepherd’s voice. If you are feeling guilty, don’t let it fester.

1. Come straight to God. Don’t clean yourself up first. Just say, “I am sorry, I want to spend time with You now.”

2. Call out the lie. Remind yourself (and the enemy) that your standing with God is based on Jesus’ performance, not yours.

It is okay to know you want to spend time with God but haven’t managed it. It is okay to feel a bit sad about that. But do not let that sadness become a detractor. Do not let it be the thing that stops you from reconnecting.

The Turkey and The Truce

This brings me to Christmas.

I am genuinely looking forward to the next two weeks. I have time off work, and I am ready for some downtime. Of course, “family” is a loaded word at this time of year, isn’t it?

Family is important. Family is beautiful. But family is also… complicated.

For some, Christmas is a time of noise and chaos. For others, it’s a time where the silence is a little louder, and we are acutely aware of who isn’t at the table. We all have those little nuances, the history, the dynamics that play out over the roast potatoes.

But despite the complications—and sometimes the sadness—I am learning to find the joy in the moments we do have.

And then, of course, there is Buckley.

If there is one creature in our house who understands nothing of guilt and everything about opportunity, it is my dog. Buckley is going to enjoy the fuss of the family, soaking up the attention. But I also know, with 100% certainty, that he will be ignoring my commands even more than usual.

Why? Because of the lure of the turkey.

He knows that in the chaos of Christmas dinner, with family laughing and crackers pulling, there is a high probability of a “turkey cast-off.” A piece of meat dropping to the floor, or perhaps a sympathetic auntie slipping him a morsel under the table. Buckley doesn’t let the guilt of being a “bad dog” who ignores commands stop him from seeking the reward. He has his eyes on the prize.

Perhaps we could learn a little from him. We shouldn’t let our past disobedience stop us from coming to the Master’s table to be fed.

The Season of Reconciliation

I guess what I am trying to say, meandering through my thoughts on guilt and dogs, is this: Don’t let things detract you from the hope of reconnection.

Whether it is with loved ones, friends, family, or your God—don’t let pride or guilt keep you isolated this Christmas.

We celebrate Christmas because the Lord is the God of Reconciliation.

“For God was in Christ, reconciling the world to himself, no longer counting people’s sins against them. And he gave us this wonderful message of reconciliation.”

2 Corinthians 5:19 (NLT)

He didn’t wait for us to be “good enough.” He broke through the darkness with the True Light to reconcile us to Himself.

And because He did that, we can hold onto hope for our own relationships. Even the ones that feel broken beyond repair. Even the ones where we are waiting for the phone to ring. The story isn’t over yet.

A Prayer for the Reconnecting Heart

So, as we head into this break, I want to pray for you.

I want to pray for all those who need reconciliation this Christmas. Perhaps you need it with a family member where things have been frosty. Perhaps you need it with a friend. Or perhaps, like me this week, you need it with God—even if you aren’t quite sure yet if He is listening.

Maybe your heart has hardened a little. Sometimes our hearts harden not because we are angry, but because we feel guilty. We feel bad that our actions have caused distance, so we put up a shell to protect ourselves from the shame.

I want to pray that those shells are removed.

Let’s pray together:

Father God,

Thank You that the darkness is disappearing and the True Light is already shining.

Lord, for every person reading this who feels “off” or unworthy, I ask that You silence the voice of the Accuser. Remind them that there is no condemnation for those in Christ Jesus.

I pray for reconciliation. Where there are broken relationships in our families, bring healing. For those parents waiting for a child to come home, or children waiting for a parent, we ask for a miracle of softened hearts. Give us the strength to keep the door open and the lamp burning.

Where there is distance between us and You, bring us running back. Help us to enjoy this season, to hold our loved ones close, and to rest.

A final thought for the week: If you find yourself distracted in prayer this week, don’t beat yourself up. Just smile, say “Sorry Lord, I’m back,” and keep going. He’s just glad you’re there.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

If you have been refreshing this page over the last few weeks wondering where on earth I had got to, I owe you an apology. These past few weeks have been, to put it mildly, challenging. They have been complicated, exhausting, and frankly, a bit of a blur.

I sat down to write a dozen times, but the cursor just blinked at me, mocking my inability to form a coherent sentence. It has taken me a while to work out not just how to write, but what to write about when the storm clouds are thickest.

In the end, I realised there was only one subject that mattered. I am writing about hope.

The Danger of “Losing the Plot”

The realisation hit me the other day when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I decided it was high time to visit my barber for a pre-Christmas cut. This wasn’t just vanity; it was a preventative measure. I needed to get tidied up before those who love me (and random strangers walking down the street) started to whisper that I might be “losing the plot” and had given up on myself entirely.

I can confirm, for the record, that I have not given up. All is well. Or, at least, I am presentable again.

My barber is brilliant. Not only does he intuitively understand my hair and somehow manage to make me look amazing (a miracle in itself), but we also enjoy talking. It’s a safe space, that chair. You’re caped up, unable to move, and there’s something about the hum of the clippers that invites conversation.

We started with the usual pleasantries. “How’s it going?” he asked, scissors poised.

Now, usually, this is part of the British social contract where I am legally required to answer, “Yeah, not bad thanks, you?” regardless of whether my house is on fire or I’ve just won the lottery. But on this particular Thursday, I decided to break protocol. I decided to give him the lowdown. I told him exactly what these past few weeks have been like—the challenges, the exhaustion, the messy reality of it all.

He stopped cutting for a moment, met my eyes in the mirror, and asked a question that stopped me in my tracks.

“So,” he said, “how do you, as a man of faith, cope with all that?”

The Myth of the Perfect Life

It was a profound question. I think, deep down, there is a misconception that being a Christian acts as a sort of divine forcefield against trouble.

I looked at him and said simply, “By prayer, and by hope.”

I explained that nowhere in the Bible does it promise us a perfect, easy life. There is no “Get Out of Jail Free” card for suffering. In fact, Jesus was incredibly explicit about the opposite.

“I have told you all this so that you may have peace in me. Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart, because I have overcome the world.”

John 16:33 (NLT)

I told my barber that being a follower of Jesus guarantees that we will have trials. We will have storms. We will face times that make us want to pull the duvet over our heads and not come out. The Bible is painfully honest about the human experience. It doesn’t shy away from the valleys.

But—and this is the glorious “but”—the Bible also says that when we fall on these times, we are not left to navigate them by our own fragile compass. We are invited to seek the Lord. We are invited to petition Him, to bang on the door of Heaven and ask for His guidance, His wisdom, His peace, and His love. We can ask Him to work in the situation, even when it looks irretrievable.

Hope is Not Wishful Thinking

This is where the concept of “hope” gets a bit muddled in our modern world. When we say, “I hope it doesn’t rain,” or “I hope my team wins,” we are expressing a wish. It’s a desire with no guarantee.

Biblical hope is different. It is robust. It has weight.

I explained to my barber that my hope is anchored in the promises God has given me. It is based on what I know He has spoken. It is the absolute certainty that there is light at the end of the tunnel, not because I can see it yet, but because I know who built the tunnel.

I know He won’t leave me. Ever.

“For God has said, ‘I will never fail you. I will never abandon you.’”

Hebrews 13:5 (NLT)

My hope tells me that He is working things out for my good, even when the evidence in front of my eyes suggests chaos. It tells me that although I don’t feel Him or see Him right now, He is right there. He is always doing. He is always active. He is always loving.

I was able to say, without a shadow of a doubt, that God is with me in these situations. I don’t know the what, the why, the where, or the how of the outcome. But I do know the Who. And because I know Him, I can give the burden to Him, and in exchange, He gives me His peace.

A Follower of “The Way”

I guess that is what it truly means to be a “Christian.” Actually, I prefer the term “Follower of Jesus,” or better yet, like the early church in the book of Acts, a “Follower of The Way.”

“Christian” can sometimes feel like a label, a box you tick on a census. “The Way” implies movement. It implies a journey. It implies that we are walking a path that has already been trodden by our Saviour.

My faith has become abundant not in my ability to do or solve these things. Let’s be honest, my ability to solve complex life problems is often about as effective as a chocolate teapot. My faith is abundant in the fact that He is with me in all I do and all I go through.

“When you go through deep waters, I will be with you. When you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown. When you walk through the fire of oppression, you will not be burned up; the flames will not consume you.”

Isaiah 43:2 (NLT)

He is for me.

It may not get easier today. It may not even get easier tomorrow. Of course, I would love it to—I am not a masochist. But that’s not really the point. The point is about leaning on Him. It is about trusting in Him. It is about having my hope built on nothing more—and nothing less—than His promises, His character, and who He is.

Hope vs. The Odds

At our Sunday service today,. we were given questions to chat about with our neighbour. It’s a way of socialising and helping to get to know one another, though it can be terrifying if you’re naturally introverted!

A Note to You, The Reader

So, dear reader, if you have stumbled across these ramblings, know that it is not an accident.

A Reflection & Call to Action

Something to Ponder: Take a moment this week to look at where your “hope” is currently deposited. Is it in your job security? Your relationship status? Your own ability to control your environment? What happens if those things shake?

It amazes me how many people think Christians have everything together. We see it portrayed constantly on social media, in films, and on TV. The perfect Christian family with perfect, well-behaved children, a perfect home, a perfect job, and a serene, untroubled smile permanently fixed on their face. This curated image suggests that once you find faith, life’s struggles simply melt away, replaced by a life of uncomplicated bliss.

But for many of us, for most of us, this is not the picture we find ourselves in.

Welcome to the Messy Middle

And dear reader, this is what I have found to be the messy middle. It’s the part of life that is defined by the “now and the not yet.” It is the space we inhabit after we have met Jesus but before He returns to make all things new. We read and hear the promises of what is coming: a life with God, a life of no pain or suffering, a life with no hurt, depression, or illness. A life of pure love.

“He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever.”

Revelation 21:4 (NLT)

It is through these future-tense promises that we hold onto our faith and hope in HIM. He is the one Who is, Who was, and Who is to come.

“I am the Alpha and the Omega—the beginning and the end,’ says the Lord God. ‘I am the one who is, who always was, and who is still to come—the Almighty One.”

Revelation 1:8 (NLT)

That might be sounding overly dramatic, or perhaps you are unsure of what this all means. Well, if I’m honest, I am not really sure myself sometimes. I don’t have all the answers. But I do know this: God is Good, and His promises will become reality, either in this life or the next. I would bet everything I own and am on that one, unshakable fact.

The Autumn Parallel

So why have I started this post with such a heavy theme? Well, there is a lot going on in life right now. I mean, there is always a lot going on, but this season feels particularly weighted. It’s turned to autumn here in the UK. This means the days are shorter, the damp sets in, and the sky seems to settle into a permanent shade of grey. And, of course, it means the annual debate about the central heating.

I have tried to keep it off. I’ve held out, putting on a jumper and telling myself it’s “not that cold.” But the family looks at me like I am Scrooge, and as it’s not quite Christmas, I don’t feel I’ve earned that title yet. I have, inevitably, caved.

This autumnal shift—the creeping cold, the gathering clouds, the feeling of hunkering down for a long, dark season—serves as a perfect parallel for what is going on in my heart at the moment.

A Vision of Peace in the Chaos

I was laying in bed this morning, the house quiet in the early hours. I just wanted some peace. I craved ten minutes of stillness to rest and connect. I closed my eyes and whispered, “Lord, I am seeking you here in this moment. Speak to me.”

With that, a picture formed in my mind. I saw storm clouds rolling in, dark, bruised-purple, and angry. They were moving, circling, and swirling with a fierce, chaotic energy. Yet, behind this maelstrom, I sensed a strong light. I couldn’t see the light itself—the clouds were too thick—but I knew it was there. It was big, powerful, and unwavering.

In this vision, I found myself laying on the surface of the water below these raging clouds. By all logic, the sea should have been rough, churned up by the tempest above. But while the water had waves, they were small, manageable, almost gentle. And as I lay there, looking up at the chaos, I felt an inexplicable, profound calm.

This is the peace that the Bible talks about, the kind that defies all logic.

“Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.”

Philippians 4:7 (NLT)

My circumstances were stormy. The visual was stormy. But my spirit, held by Him, was calm.

Holding on to a Promise in the Storm

This vision immediately reminded me of a promise God made to me a couple of years ago. It was a simple, direct, and powerful promise concerning my daughter. He said to me, “Don’t worry, I have her.”

Why is this promise so important right now? At the moment, my daughter is going through a difficult time personally. As a father, watching your child struggle and navigate challenging situations is one of the hardest things in the world. You want to fix everything, but you find yourself in a position where you can’t control all the circumstances surrounding them.

This, as you can imagine, is quite a bit of a storm in my life. The feelings of worry, helplessness, and the deep desire for their well-being can be all-consuming.

So, these past couple of weeks, I have been trying to understand what’s been going on, why it’s going on, and the best way to approach things. My human instinct is to fix it, to control it, to figure it all out. But aside from trying to offer love and support, I have been left with only one viable path: to pray, to contemplate, and to constantly seek God to know that He is in this with me and with her.

The image I had this morning confirmed that. It was God’s direct answer to my seeking. Although the clouds of my circumstance are raging, I could see God’s light behind them, looking to battle and break through. Although the waters of my life look rough, I was in them, calm and safe, held afloat by Him.

He wasn’t promising to stop the storm. He was reminding me that He holds my daughter, and He was promising to be with me in it.

“When you go through deep waters, I will be with you. When you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown. When you walk through the fire of oppression, you will not be burned up; the flames will not consume you.”

Isaiah 43:2 (NLT)

The True Crux of Our Faith

And that, right there, is the crux of the matter. If you are following Jesus because you hope He will give you nice things, or because you think your life will become perfect and easy, you may be missing the point. If you think that everyone who follows Jesus has that perfect, social-media-ready life, you are being misled.

A Reflection for Your Messy Middle

We all live in the messy middle. We all have storms. We all have those grey, autumnal seasons of the soul where we just want to turn the heating on and hide. But the promise of our faith is not that the storms won’t come, but that we will never, ever face them alone.

• What “storm clouds” are swirling in your life right now?

• Are you, like me, trying to “understand” and fix it all on your own?

• Are you so focused on the wind and the waves that you’ve forgotten to look for the light behind the clouds?

• What promise from God do you need to hold onto in your own messy middle?

A Call to Action:

This week, I want to challenge you to do something practical. The next time you feel the wind pick up, the next time the anxiety or worry begins to rage, I want you to stop. Don’t fight the storm. Find 10 minutes. Lie down, close your eyes, and pray the simple prayer I did: “Lord, I am seeking you here in this moment. Show me where you are.”

Don’t demand that the storm stops. Instead, look for His light. Don’t listen for the wind. Listen for His promise. He is there. He has you. And He can be trusted.

The other week, I had the pleasure of attending a New Wine celebration at the Lantern Church in Merley. For those who haven’t been, it’s a wonderful evening that rotates between different local churches, including my own, Blandford Forum Parish Church. These gatherings are a highlight for me. They bring together churches from all across the area to worship in a different way. The atmosphere is refreshingly informal, freeing you from the structure of a Sunday service and allowing plenty of space for you to simply be and encounter Jesus.

As an added blessing, it was also a great opportunity to catch up with old friends and see people I hadn’t connected with in a long time. There was a real sense of community and shared purpose in the air.

As the worship music swelled, I found a quiet space to just internally praise and worship my loving heavenly Father. I closed my eyes and began to recite the Apostles’ Creed, a foundational anchor of my faith. My heart and mind aligned as I spoke the ancient words, “I believe in God the Father… I believe in his Son Jesus, that he died for me, rose again on the third day, and was then raised to sit at the right hand of God. And I believe in the Holy Spirit, that he is living in us and I am living in him…”

And then, in a moment I will never forget, I heard a voice. It wasn’t audible, but it was as clear as any sound, a voice I knew to be that of Jesus.

He said, “I believe in you too.”

The Moment It Became a Conversation

I was completely taken aback. My internal dialogue stammered. What? Sorry? I thought, my mind struggling to process the interruption.

And again, the gentle, firm, loving voice repeated, “I believe in you too.”

Instantly, a feeling of pure, unadulterated joy flooded my entire being. It was like the emotional equivalent of a kid who has just unwrapped the one present they desperately wanted but never believed they would actually get at Christmas. It was a release of love, a wave of warmth and affirmation that piled on me in that moment, overwhelming my senses.

I had never, in all my years as a Christian, given it much thought. I mean, of course, God knows I exist. He created me. But the idea that He believes in me? That was a concept so foreign it had never even entered my mind. My belief was something I did towards Him. It had never occurred to me that His belief was something He directed back at me.

It’s probably why it has taken me a week or so to get this down in writing. This wasn’t a fleeting emotional high. It was a deep, theological truth that I needed to internalise, to let it sink from my head down into the deepest, most wounded parts of my heart. I needed to sit with it and truly understand what He was saying.

What It Means When God Believes in You

This wasn’t Jesus just saying, “I acknowledge your existence.” It was so much more than that. He was saying He believes in me.

He believes in my identity. He believes in who He created me to be. He believes in the person I am right now, and the person I am becoming.

It was just like a loving parent would say to their child to give them encouragement before a big exam, a football match, or a music recital. It was a statement of pure, unconditional support. In those four words, God was saying that although I may lack self-confidence—though I carry deep wounds from trauma and abandonment issues that still scream at me—He believes that I will overcome them. He believes it because I am His son. He believes it because He is right here, and He will be with me every single step of the way to help me through all of it.

This is the God who knows us inside and out, sees our every flaw, and still, He believes in us.

“O Lord, you have examined my heart and know everything about me. You know when I sit down or stand up. You know my thoughts even when I’m far away. You see me when I travel and when I rest at home. You know everything I do.”

Psalm 139:1-3 (NLT)

He knows our every thought, our every failure, our every fear. And His response isn’t to turn away in disappointment. His response is to look us square in the eye and say, “I know all of it. And I believe in you.”

I truly don’t think I can adequately convey in words how this has made me feel, or the profound healing impact it has had on me over these past few weeks. It has been a quiet revolution in my soul. It changes everything.

The Power of the “Believe” Sign

As I’ve been thinking about this, I was reminded of the TV show Ted Lasso. In the AFC Richmond changing room, Ted hangs a simple, hand-painted sign that just says “BELIEVE.” It’s a message for the team, a call for them to believe in themselves, in the team, and in the process.

For my entire life, I’ve been trying to believe in the sign. I’ve been striving to believe in God, in the team, in the process. What I learned in that moment of worship is that the sign also believes in me. The coach, the creator, the one who designed the entire game, has his arm around my shoulder, pointing at me and saying, “I believe in that one.”

All of a sudden, it’s like having the entire stadium, the great cloud of witnesses, cheering you on. But the loudest voice, the only one that truly matters, is the Lord of Heaven’s Armies. He is the one helping you back up when you get tackled. He is the one giving you the strength, the resolve, and the belief to make those changes you know you need to make, to pull away from that area of sin you know you need to let go of, to reach that goal you set for yourself.

We were never meant to do this on our own. We were never meant to run this race fuelled only by our own fragile self-belief. We were designed to run it fuelled by His unshakeable belief in us. He doesn’t just tolerate us. He champions us.

“For the Lord your God is living among you. He is a mighty saviour. He will take delight in you with gladness. With his love, he will calm all your fears. He will rejoice over you with joyful songs.”

Zephaniah 3:17 (NLT)

He rejoices over us! That is what it means for God to believe in you. He doesn’t just believe we can get through life; He cheers for us.

He Believes in His Own Masterpiece

Perhaps the most logical part of this, the part I can’t believe I missed, is why He believes in us. He believes in us because He made us. He believes in His own handiwork.

“For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.”

Ephesians 2:10 (NLT)

You are not a cosmic accident. You are not a disappointment. You are God’s masterpiece. When an artist creates a masterpiece, they believe in it. They know its value. They know what it was designed for. God looks at you, His masterpiece, and He believes in the good things He planned for you to do.

More than that, He doesn’t just create us and then leave us to fend for ourselves. He is actively involved in the process of our lives, guaranteeing our completion.

“And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns.”

Philippians 1:6 (NLT)

God’s belief in you is not wishful thinking. It is a divine certainty. He is certain that the good work He started in you will be finished. He believes in His own ability to carry you through. When you are filled with doubt, you can rest in His certainty.

A Message for You, Dear Reader

This profound, healing truth is not just for me. It is for you. As you sit here reading this, I need you to know and understand that

A Reflection for You

This encounter has changed the way I pray and the way I see myself. I want that for you, too. As you reflect on this, I invite you to sit quietly for a moment and consider these questions:

• When you think about your relationship with God, is it a one-way street? Do you spend all your time telling Him you believe in Him, without ever stopping to let Him tell you He believes in you?

• What lies do you believe about yourself (that you’re not good enough, you’re a failure, you’re unlovable, you’re defined by your trauma) that are directly contradicted by the truth that “God believes in you”?

• What one thing in your life might change if you started acting like God truly believed in you and was cheering you on?

A Heartfelt Action:

If you, like me, struggle with self-doubt or a lack of self-belief, then may I ask you to join me in a simple challenge? For the next month, I invite you to pray this simple prayer, just a little each day. Write it down, put it by your bed, set a reminder on your phone. Let this be the start of re-wiring your heart to accept His truth.

It’s been a busy couple of weeks. We have lived in our home for a year and a half now, and like many, we have a room that serves as the heart of our home yet somehow lacks a soul. For us, that room is the lounge. It’s where we spend most of our time, where we connect after a long day, and where we indulge in the simple joy of cosying up on the sofa to watch a bit of trash TV (and let’s be clear, this is a no-judgment zone). Despite its importance, the room itself has never felt quite right. The sofas were awkwardly placed, and the plain white walls didn’t so much say ‘welcome’ as they did ‘we haven’t got around to it yet’. The room gasped for a bit of personality.

Then, I woke up the other Wednesday with a sudden, unshakeable conviction: it was time to do something about it.

Thus began the familiar modern ritual of home renovation. I started by looking for ideas, even using AI to help visualise what the space could become. Julia and I worked together, scrolling through styles and designs, trying to land on a shared vision. Honestly, AI has its uses in these moments; being able to see what a certain rug, shelf, or TV unit might look like in your actual room before you commit your hard-earned money is a stroke of brilliance. It helps you avoid that gut-wrenching moment of realisation when the delivery arrives and it’s just… not right.

After choosing all the bits we needed—paint, brushes, rollers, furniture, and a seemingly never-ending list of ancillaries—it was time for me to get DIY-ing.

The DIYer’s Creed: YouTube, Hubris, and a Test of Patience

Now, I don’t mind a bit of DIY. I quite like the challenge of it, the process of learning a new skill and seeing a tangible result. My phone, sensing my intentions, suddenly filled my social media feeds with Reels of decorating gurus making perfect cut-in lines with a single, effortless brushstroke, no tape required. YouTube became my trusted mentor. I felt equipped and ready.

However, I will also be the first to admit that DIY is not my natural go-to. But, I am the man of the house, and with that comes a certain, perhaps primal, urge to get stuck in, to provide, to fix, to build. And this, I believe, is precisely where God decided to intervene. He saw my intentions, my pride, and my schedule, and identified the perfect opportunity to help me work on my patience. He’s good like that, isn’t He? He chooses those perfect, pressure-cooker moments in life to gently—or sometimes, not so gently—mould you into the person He knows you really are: patient, loving, kind… and ideally, someone who doesn’t swear at inanimate objects.

Setback Number One: The Telly and the Treacherous Screw

The plan was simple. We’d chosen a beautiful, deep colour, a cross between a teal and a dark blue, for a single feature wall, with the other walls remaining a crisp white. I’d also ordered a new TV unit. Our television was currently mounted on the wall, but we liked the idea of standing it on the unit to free up wall space for pictures and art that would bring more of our personality into the room.

The first job, therefore, was to take the TV off the wall and fill in the holes. That part was easy. I’m quite good at filling and smoothing things out—others may have a different opinion, but in my own mind, I’m a master. First job done. Tick.

Next, I needed to re-attach the original stand to the TV. Now, I have had this Sony TV for the best part of 11 years. It’s not a fancy, wafer-thin smart TV, but it’s a brilliant telly that has served us faithfully. It was at this precise moment I discovered I was, in fact, about to be in the market for a new TV. I had taken one of the screws for the stand and begun to secure it. As I twisted the screwdriver, it just kept going. It never seemed to tighten. A small, warning voice in my head thought, hmmm, this is going in quite far. My thought was immediately followed by the sickening sight of the front TV panel popping out a fair bit from the frame.

“Oh, bother” springs to mind, though the sentiment at the time was perhaps a little stronger. The TV still turned on, but the viewing experience was now permanently marred by an ironically white-shaped cross at the bottom of the screen.

In the aftermath, Julia was wonderfully complimentary, remarking how impressed she was that I didn’t a) get really angry, or b) say a single swear word. I mentally added a little star to my good behaviour chart, blissfully unaware that my patience was only just beginning its workout.

Setback Number Two: The Perils of Paint and Peeling Tape

On to the painting. Full of confidence from the YouTube tutorials, I attempted my first bit of cutting in. The videos made it look so simple, so elegant. My attempt was neither. Instead of a single, perfect line, I now had nice blue blobs, marks, and streaks on the very white walls I was trying to avoid repainting. Frustration is a mild word for the mood I was in at this point.

So, out came the masking tape. I meticulously taped everything up and got to work. The result was much better. The lines were crisp, the coverage was good. I felt a sense of accomplishment returning.

That is, of course, until I went to peel the tape off. In my eagerness, I had made the classic mistake of leaving it on for too long. As I pulled the tape away, it brought with it several patches of the beautiful new blue paint. My heart sank. To top it all off, I had used the very last of the paint. I stood there, looking at the patchy, ruined wall, and I said nothing. I just thought, oh well, pulled out my phone, ordered a new tin, and resolved to wait for its arrival.

Of course, as my planned two-day project stretched into a week and then some, our lounge and, by extension, our entire house, began to fill up with boxes, dust sheets, and decorating debris. It was feeling a little stressful, if I am honest. I am not a fan of mess, and we were living right in the middle of it.

Eventually, the paint arrived. I finished the feature wall. I ordered a new TV (thank you, Amazon Prime deals). I repainted the white walls—in one instance, five times—to cover up my earlier mistakes. I built the new furniture, laid the rug, and finally, last night, a whole week and a half after I started, the project was complete. The room is transformed. It’s brilliant.

The Unseen Presence in the Chaos

But this story isn’t just about decorating. It’s about a question that sits at the heart of my faith. Where was God in all of this? Where was He when I broke the TV, splashed paint on the wrong wall, had to redo work I’d already done, and had to spend money I didn’t intend to?

Well, I can honestly say He was right here with me, in the midst of it all. I know this because, during this entire episode, through every setback and frustration, I felt the most amazing and inexplicable peace within me. It was a quiet, steadying presence that helped me to slow down, to take my time, to not get stressed or upset. It was a profound sense of being able to lean into Him and trust Him, even in these seemingly trivial, testing situations.

This was not just a fleeting feeling. The Thursday after all the painting was finally done, I took Buckley for his walk. It was, without exaggeration, one of the easiest and calmest walks I have had with him for a very long time. It was as if this peace—a peace I could not explain or understand—was not just resting on me, but flowing out of me into the world around me.

“Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.”

Philippians 4:6-7 (NLT)

That verse has never felt more real to me. The peace wasn’t logical. It exceeded understanding. In the face of mounting frustration, I should have been stressed. Instead, I was calm. That is the work of God.

What an awesome God we have. He cares and wants to be with us in the little things. He is not a distant deity, reserved only for life’s biggest crises. He is the God of our decorating disasters, our broken appliances, and our peeling paint. He is always with us. Perhaps, sometimes, we take that for granted. We look for Him in the grand and the spectacular, and we miss Him in the mundane.

“And the very hairs on your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are more valuable to God than a whole flock of sparrows.”

Luke 12:7 (NLT)

If God is interested in something as minute as the number of hairs on our heads, He is undoubtedly interested in the state of our hearts as we navigate the everyday frustrations of life. He sees these moments as opportunities.

“Dear brothers and sisters, when troubles of any kind come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be perfect and complete, needing nothing.”

James 1:2-4 (NLT)

My DIY project was a trouble that tested me. It tested my patience, my skill, and my temper. And in that testing, God gave my endurance a chance to grow, all while blanketing me in His peace.

A Reflection for You

It’s important to take a step back and seek God in our current situations. Of course, sometimes we can’t see what He is doing until long after the trial has passed, but this week was a reminder to me that He is always there, working for our good.

• Where is the “messy lounge” in your life right now? It might be a frustrating project, a difficult relationship, a stressful work situation, or a personal habit you’re trying to break.

• In those moments of frustration, when things go wrong, what is your first reaction? Is it anger, despair, or anxiety?

• Are you looking for God only in the “big things”—the major life events and crises? Or are you actively seeking His presence and His peace in the small, everyday struggles?

A Call to Action:

This week, I encourage you to try something simple. Pick one small, mundane, or potentially frustrating task that you need to do—washing the dishes, filling out some paperwork, sitting in traffic, or even just tidying a room. Before you begin, take a single, deep breath. Close your eyes for just a moment and say, “Lord, be with me in this. Help me to feel your peace.” Then, go about your task. Don’t look for a lightning bolt or a dramatic revelation. Just remain open to the possibility of a quiet, steadying calm in your soul. Invite God into the little things, and you might be amazed at the profound peace you find there.

This past week has felt like a rollercoaster. I mean that both figuratively and, as it turns out, quite literally, as we found ourselves strapped into various contraptions at Thorpe Park on Friday. It was a week of dizzying highs and stomach-lurching drops, a week of challenges sought and challenges faced, both on the running trail and in the much more complex terrain of the human heart.

It all started with a visit to family in Essex for our niece’s birthday. My brother-in-law, knowing my love for running, casually mentioned that the local Hockley Woods parkrun was reputed to be the eighth hardest in the UK. The challenge was laid down, and I felt compelled to pick it up. The run was brutal, the hills were relentless, but I crossed the finish line in just over 31 minutes, breathless but happy. I had faced a physical fear—the fear of failure, of the pain—and come out the other side.

This act of willingly facing a challenge felt significant because, being brutally honest here, it’s been a hard month. I’ve been feeling decidedly flat. The joy has felt distant, my energy sapped, and a general feeling of dread has been a near-constant companion. The physical test of the parkrun was a welcome distraction, but it was also a foreshadowing of the real battle I was being called to fight.

When God Gives You More Than You Can Handle

I’ve mentioned in previous posts here on The Unfinished Walk that I carry the heavy burden of abandonment issues. It’s a deep-seated wound from my past that has, for years, influenced my reactions, my relationships, and my perception of the world. A few months ago, I felt the Lord whisper clearly to my spirit that it was time to finally deal with these issues. And let me be clear, this wasn’t an invitation I could politely accept or decline. It was a divine notification, and my honest reaction was gut-wrenching fear. I was actually very worried and didn’t want to deal with it, knowing the immense pain that bringing these old wounds to the surface always causes. But God’s message was unequivocal: “We ARE going to deal with this.” I had no idea at the time just what that process would truly entail.

Well, He’s certainly holding me to it. The fear of losing my family has been raging with an intensity that has shaken me to my core. As I’ve said before, I don’t believe the situation is anywhere near that critical point in reality, but my fear doesn’t listen to logic. This consuming anxiety has been sapping my soul, my strength, my personality, and my life. It’s a thief that has been stealing my joy and causing a strain that only perpetuates the cycle of fear.

There have been moments in the dead of night when I’ve cried out to God, feeling like this is all too much. It has felt like I am breaking under the weight of a burden He has asked me to carry. It has challenged my understanding of that well-known piece of scripture, making me question if He truly keeps his promise.

“The temptations in your life are no different from what others experience. And God is faithful. He will not allow the temptation to be more than you can stand. When you are tempted, he will show you a way out so that you can endure.”

1 Corinthians 10:13 (NLT)

In my moments of doubt, this verse has felt like a distant comfort. I felt like I was at my breaking point, and the way out was shrouded in fog. I needed a word from Him, a sign that He was still with me in the thick of it. And, as always, He provided.

A Timely Word from a Mighty Hero

On Sunday, we visited Holy Trinity Church in Rayleigh, Essex. They were holding their monthly Café Worship, an all-family service that is always a bit chaotic but filled with a wonderful, vibrant sense of community. If you’re ever in the area, I highly recommend a visit.

Amidst the joyful noise of children and the smell of coffee, the talk began. It was on the story of Gideon, from Judges chapter 6. The speaker read through the passage, and one particular verse seemed to leap off the page and grab me by the heart.

“The angel of the Lord appeared to him and said, “Mighty hero, the Lord is with you!”

Judges 6:12 (NLT)

This resonated with me profoundly, for two key reasons. Firstly, it brought to mind powerful visions I have experienced in the past during times of intense prayer. In these visions, I see myself on a spiritual battlefield, battered, bruised, and on the verge of total defeat. My armour is broken, my sword is lost, and I am moments from being overwhelmed. And in that moment of utter desperation, Jesus comes and stands beside me. He helps me to my feet, and together, we fight and win the battle. The angel’s greeting to Gideon felt like a personal reminder from God: “I see you as a warrior, even when you feel defeated.”

Secondly, the talk posed a question: in today’s world, who are our Midianites? In the story, Gideon was hiding from the Midianites in a winepress, trying to thresh wheat in secret, living in constant fear of his oppressors. The speaker suggested that for many of us, our Midianites are not external enemies. They are the internal issues we are hiding from. And in that moment, I knew with absolute certainty what my Midianite was. It was me. It was my refusal to fully engage with the healing God wants for me. The enemy was the unresolved fear of abandonment that was keeping me hiding in a winepress, preventing me from enjoying the abundant life He has for me.

The Slow Work of Surrender

So, what have I done about this revelation? You might think the answer should be a list of dramatic actions, but the truth is, not much. And yet, everything has changed. My response has not been one of frantic activity, but of quiet surrender. I have prayed. I have read a little scripture. But most importantly, I have made a conscious decision: I will not let this destroy me. I give it to God.

This week, whenever the anxious thoughts have started to creep in, whenever the fear has begun to rise, I have gone straight to Him in prayer. I haven’t waited. I haven’t let it fester. I’ve simply handed it over, again and again. And it has helped. The anxiety hasn’t vanished entirely, but it has subsided. It has not been crippling. It has not caused conflict. And that has allowed me to feel more at ease, to breathe a little deeper.

God never promises that life will be easy, but He does promise to be with us in it. He asks us to hand over our lives to Him so that He can do His good work in us. This process is often not one of comfort, but of refinement. It reminds me of the words of Jesus about pruning.

“I am the true grapevine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch of mine that doesn’t produce fruit, and he prunes the branches that do bear fruit so they will produce even more.”

John 15:1-2 (NLT)

Right now, God is certainly taking those sharp gardening shears to my life. It is a painful process, cutting away the diseased parts of my soul that are rooted in fear. But I know, with a certainty that goes beyond my feelings, that it is for my ultimate good. It is so I can live a life free of this fear and truly enjoy the incredible gifts He has already given me.

Facing Fears, Big and Small

And I guess that’s what this week has truly been about: facing your fears with God. Whether it’s the fear of a brutal parkrun, the fear of the UK’s tallest and fastest rollercoaster, or the deep, existential fear of being abandoned, the principle is the same. It requires a choice to step out and trust.

I wish God would just remove it. I wish He would click His fingers and the anxiety would be gone forever. But God is not a magic genie here to do my will. He is a loving Father who wants me to live a life abundant. A life of character, strength, and deep reliance on Him.

If He simply did everything for me, how would that help me grow? How often do our own kids ask for something, and we know that just giving it to them isn’t the best thing for them? If we can teach them to work for that new pair of shoes by doing chores, doesn’t the reward mean more? Don’t they grow in the process? And how much more will they love and respect us for helping them on their journey?

God’s process of walking with me through this fear is what will ultimately help me know who I really am: a mighty hero. It is what will forge in me a love, respect, and reliance on Him that I could never achieve on my own.

A Reflection for You

As I tie all these thoughts together, I want to reiterate that this is not a story with a neat and tidy ending. My fear has certainly eased this week, but it has not been eliminated. I am still on the path, still learning to trust, still on this unfinished walk. The encouragement for you and for me lies not in a magical cure, but in the profound truth that we have a loving Father who walks with us through the entire process, making us stronger and more like the heroes He calls us to be with every single step.

• What is the “Midianite” in your life that you’ve been hiding from? Is it a fear, a habit, a broken relationship?

• Are you asking God to be a magic genie and simply make it disappear, or are you willing to let Him be the loving Father who walks with you through the challenge, step by step?

• Where is God calling you to be a “mighty hero” this week, trusting in His promise that “the Lord is with you,” even when you feel battered and bruised?

Facing your fears with God isn’t about becoming fearless; it’s about fearing less because you know the One who walks beside you. And it is on that journey, on that unfinished walk, that He shapes us into who we were always meant to be.

I was pondering what to write about this week. I find the process of writing therapeutic; it helps me to process my thoughts and untangle the knots in my mind. Let’s face it, without the writing, this blog would be a rather sparse and uninteresting corner of the internet. So, I found myself in that familiar state of gentle searching, turning over ideas, waiting for a spark.

As is so often the case, the moment of clarity didn’t arrive while I was staring at a blank screen. It came when I was out on the morning walk with my cockapoo, Buckley. God, as He so often does when I’m pondering, chose to speak not in a grand pronouncement, but through the quiet, everyday actions of my four-legged companion.

You see, Buckley has recently developed a rather pronounced anxiety towards cars. What might have started as a mild curiosity has morphed into a full-blown reactivity. The moment he sees one of these metal menaces approaching, his entire demeanour changes. He’ll lunge, bark, and strain against his lead with a ferocity that belies his cuddly appearance. On our walks, especially along roads, I have to ensure I keep a tight rein on him, a constant, firm presence to prevent him from getting into harm’s way. I am his anchor in a world he suddenly finds threatening.

The Moment on the Narrow Path

On this particular morning, we reached a narrow part of the path that runs alongside a busy road. The proximity of the traffic, combined with the lack of space to retreat, sent his anxiety into overdrive. He began to get more agitated, his barks becoming sharper, more frantic. I stopped and looked down at him, and what I saw truly broke my heart. I could see the raw fear in his eyes. His body was trembling, not from cold, but from an overwhelming sense of dread. The world had become too much for him.

In that moment, my agenda for the walk—the distance I wanted to cover, the time I wanted to be back—evaporated. My only priority was him. I found a small patch of grass, and I simply sat down with him. I didn’t pull or drag him. I just sat. I stroked his back, speaking to him in a low, reassuring voice. I praised him whenever he took a breath and glanced at me, rewarding his trust. I comforted him, letting him know I was there and that I was in control of the situation. I was his safe space.

We didn’t move for quite some time. Then, when I saw his shaking subside just a little, we took a few small steps towards home. We repeated this process over and over. A few steps, a stop for reassurance, a moment of calm, and then a few more steps. Slowly, painstakingly, we made our way. And then, a small miracle happened. As we turned onto our quiet home street, away from the roaring traffic, his tail, which had been clamped firmly between his legs, gave a tentative wag. Then another. Before long, it was up in the air, wagging with his usual confident rhythm. He was back to his happy-go-lucky self.

And that’s when the lesson, intended for me all along, hit me with the force of a tidal wave.

“God is our refuge and strength, always ready to help in times of trouble.”

Psalm 46:1 (NLT)

An Honest Confession

To fully explain why this simple interaction with my dog resonated so deeply, I need to be open and honest with you. At the moment, our family is navigating some difficult times. Life is throwing challenges at us that feel relentless, and the strain from that is inevitably leaking out and causing friction in my relationship with my partner. That friction, in turn, is causing me a tremendous amount of personal anxiety.

My anxiety creates a vicious cycle. The more anxious I become, the more I perpetuate the very friction I’m desperate to resolve. My specific issues stem from a place of deep love and an equally deep fear. I love this woman more than words can say, and I cannot imagine a life without her. But my anxious mind relentlessly bombards me with questions. Am I doing enough to help her? Is my support enough for her? And the darkest fear of all, whispered from the shadows of past hurts: Is she going to leave me?

Logically, I know our relationship is not anywhere near that breaking point. But you try telling that to a brain caught in the grip of anxiety and a deep-seated fear of abandonment. Logic often doesn’t stand a chance against such a powerful emotional onslaught. I feel like I’m on a narrow path with traffic roaring past, trembling and seeing threats everywhere.

The Divine Parallel

As I watched Buckley’s tail start to wag again, I saw my own spiritual life laid bare. Buckley, in his fear, looked to me—his master, his protector—to calm him and “walk” him through the terrifying situation. He didn’t know how to get home safely on his own. He needed my guidance, my patience, and my reassuring presence to navigate the path.

This is exactly how God wants to care for us.

When we are overwhelmed by anxiety, our instinct is often to lunge and bark at the problems—the financial worries, the relationship strains, the health scares. We try to fight them head-on with our own strength, or we try to run from them, only to find ourselves more entangled and afraid. God is inviting us to do something different. He is inviting us to stop, to look to Him, and to let Him sit with us in the middle of our fear.

He knows the path home. He knows the way through the trouble. But He rarely just magically teleports us to the destination. Instead, He offers to walk with us, step by patient step. He keeps a tight, loving rein on us, not to restrict us, but to protect us from the real dangers we cannot see. He sits with us, comforts us, and praises our every small step of faith. The process of letting God calm your anxiety is an active one, requiring us to continually turn our gaze from the roaring traffic of our fears and fix it on Him.

“Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.”

Philippians 4:6-7 (NLT)

Progress, Not Perfection

Over the last couple of days, I’ve noticed a change in Buckley. He’s been a lot calmer when we’ve passed cars. The deep-seated anxiety isn’t totally gone, but he is certainly better. He recovers more quickly. He looks to me for reassurance sooner. It’s a work in progress, and I know I just need to keep patiently working with him, reassuring and comforting him, reinforcing his trust in me.

This, I realise, is the final piece of the lesson. My spiritual journey is also a work in progress. God isn’t disappointed that I’m not “cured” of anxiety overnight. He simply asks that I keep turning to Him, that I keep trusting His lead. My job is to let Him do for me what I am doing for Buckley.

When the fear of abandonment whispers in my ear, I need to let God reassure me of His eternal love. When I feel the friction in my relationship, I need to let God comfort me with His peace that surpasses all understanding. It is a continuous act of surrender, of placing my trembling self into the hands of a Master I can trust completely. I need to keep letting God calm my anxiety, not just once, but daily, and sometimes moment by moment.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart; do not depend on your own understanding. Seek his will in all you do, and he will show you which path to take.”

Proverbs 3:5-6 (NLT)

A Reflection for You

As you read this, perhaps you see a bit of yourself in my story, or even in Buckley’s. We all have things in our lives that feel like roaring traffic on a narrow path. We all have anxieties that cause us to tremble and lunge at perceived threats, real or imagined.

• Where in your life are you like Buckley, reacting in fear to the world around you?

• Are you trying to navigate that narrow, frightening path on your own, straining against the lead?

• What would it look like for you to stop, even for a moment, and simply look up at your Master?

Letting God calm your anxiety doesn’t mean the scary things will instantly disappear. But it does mean you have a calm, strong, and loving guide to sit with you, to reassure you, and to walk you through it, step by patient step, until your tail is wagging once more. He is always ready to help. All we have to do is look to Him.

This week, a memory from a few years ago popped up on my Facebook feed. It was a picture of a very swollen and painful ankle. You see, I had just been out for a run when my ankle gave out and I rolled it. I thought I’d share how this painful experience became a way that God showed me his incredible love.

I started running back in 2020, during the first lockdown here in the UK. It was a way to get out of the house and also a way to get fit. It took a while to get into the rhythm of running, but with the help of the Couch to 5k app, I got there. Running became a precious time for me to have some great conversations with God. I would be out on the road, listening to music, praying, and just treasuring that time with Him.

Fast forward two years, and I had entered the Bournemouth half marathon. I was in the middle of training when, whilst out on a run, I rolled my ankle. The pain was intense, and I knew I had done some serious damage.

I had to walk the mile back home, and to make matters worse, it started to rain heavily. I wasn’t in the best of moods. But, even in that moment, I knew this wasn’t God’s fault. A little voice inside me tried to whisper that a good God wouldn’t let this happen, but I knew that wasn’t true. I’m sure we’ve all heard similar voices of doubt in our moments of struggle.

When I got home, I took a look at my ankle. It had swollen to the size of a tennis ball.

Despite the pain and the setback, I wasn’t downhearted. I thought, “No, God is going to heal this, and I will run in that event.”

A week passed, with only six weeks to go until the half marathon. I tried a little run, but I shouldn’t have. So I rested some more. The next week, I repeated the same mistake and regretted it instantly. With only three weeks to go, I was still sure God was going to heal me.

With two weeks left, lying in bed one morning, I cried out to God. “Why haven’t you healed me? You know how much I love running, how much I love that time talking to you. Why haven’t I been healed? What have I done wrong? Do you not love me?” I’m sure we’ve all had moments where we’ve questioned God’s love and His plan.

And that’s when God showed me something incredible. He gave me a picture of a father holding an injured child in his arms, cuddling and consoling the child who was hurting, with such a ferocious look of love between the two.

Then He said to me, “This is me, and the child is you. Even though you may not be healed right this second, like a good father, I am here holding you, going through this pain with you, consoling you, and my love for you is like this.”

I rested in God’s arms for about 20 minutes, just letting Him heal my pain and anguish, not physically, but emotionally and spiritually. That day, I truly understood the depth of God’s love for me.

I found a new way to have my time with God after that. Now, three years on, I am back to running properly again and am looking to enter a half marathon in the new year.

What I learned through that incident and the long recovery process was how much I could lean on God. Every time I thought about running or my injury, I wasn’t filled with self-pity. Instead, I was glad for the reminder of how much God loves me and that He is always with me. If I had been healed instantly, it would have been great for me, but would I be able to share what a wonderful God He is, and how much closer this experience brought me to Him? This way, God was able to use me and my story to a much greater effect.

The story of my ankle is a reminder that sometimes, God’s healing isn’t about a physical miracle, but about a deeper, more intimate encounter with His love. This reminds me of a powerful scene from the series ‘The Chosen’, where Jesus explains to Little James why he has not been healed. It’s a beautiful illustration of how our struggles can have a purpose we may not understand at the time.

You can watch the clip here:

A Reflection for You

Perhaps you are in a season of waiting, praying for healing that hasn’t come. Maybe you’re feeling discouraged, wondering where God is in the midst of your pain. I want you to know that you are not alone. Your story is not over.

In those moments of doubt, remember the image of the father holding his child. God is holding you, weeping with you, and loving you with a fierce and unending love. He may not remove the thorn from your side, but He will sit with you in the pain and give you the strength to endure.

Your struggle is not a sign of God’s absence but an invitation to experience His presence in a new and profound way. Your story of faith in the midst of hardship can be a beacon of hope to others who are navigating their own dark valleys. Just as my injury became a testament to God’s love, your journey can be a powerful story of His faithfulness.

Don’t lose heart. Keep leaning on Him. He is a good Father, and His love for you is immeasurable. He sees you, He knows your pain, and He is with you, always.

I’ve just had a week off with the family, and as often happens, conversations can take some truly unexpected turns. On one occasion, we somehow landed on the topic of illnesses and prayer.

Now, this got me thinking. And then it got me chuckling. Because it instantly brought to mind one of my favourite, slightly gross, wonderfully hilarious stories of divine intervention. It involves my daughter, Lily, a sore stomach, and a rather dramatic, shall we say, evacuation.

It was bedtime, a time usually reserved for the strategic deployment of ‘just one more story’ or ‘I’m thirsty’ tactics. On this particular evening, however, the complaints were genuine. “My stomach hurts, Daddy,” she moaned, clutching her tummy with a pained expression that would have won her an Oscar if Pixar ever did a film about appendicitis.

Being the ever-so-spiritual, yet sometimes-a-bit-sleepy, Christian dad that I am, I immediately thought, “Right, let’s go for the spiritual plaster.” I said, “Okay, Lils, let’s pray on this. We’ll ask Jesus to take away the pain so you can have a good night’s sleep.” I put my hand on her tummy and offered up a fervent, if slightly perfunctory, prayer. Something along the lines of, “Dear Jesus, Lily’s tummy hurts. Please make it better so she can sleep. Amen.”

Not Quite What I Prayed For

Now, I must confess something at this point. And please don’t judge me too harshly. As I prayed, my internal monologue was less ‘expecting a miracle’ and more ‘hoping this will placate her enough to drop off’. I was, in essence, using prayer as a sophisticated form of bedtime psychology. My faith, in that moment, was probably hovering somewhere around the level of ‘I hope the biscuit tin isn’t empty’.

So, you can imagine my utter, jaw-dropping surprise – nay, shock! – when my prayer reached its ‘Amen’. There was no gentle sigh of relief, no peaceful drifting off to sleep. Oh no. Instead, my daughter, Lily, executed what can only be described as a perfectly choreographed, projectile-vomiting dash. She shot out of bed like a startled gazelle, made a beeline for the bathroom, and, thankfully, hit the toilet with pinpoint accuracy.

The sounds that followed were… well, let’s just say they weren’t pretty. But then, after a few moments, she emerged. And here’s the kicker: the pain was gone. Completely. Not only that, but the anxiety of being sick, which usually plagues kids (and quite frankly, me), was entirely absent. She just shrugged, said, “I feel much better now,” and happily climbed back into bed, drifting off to sleep without another peep of discomfort or complaint. No more sickness, no lingering pain, just peaceful slumber.

I stood there, blinking, trying to process what had just happened. My half-hearted, slightly cynical prayer had resulted in an instant, albeit messy, healing. We still laugh about it to this day. It’s one of those moments that always reminds us that God works in mysterious ways – and sometimes, those ways involve a quick trip to the porcelain throne. It was effective, immediate, and certainly not what I had in mind when I asked Jesus to ‘take away the pain’. I guess sometimes the ‘taking away’ involves a bit of expulsion.

Jesus: The Master of the Unconventional Cure

This incident, as humorous as it is, really got me thinking about Jesus’s own healing methods. Because let’s be honest, if you were writing a divine instruction manual for healing, you probably wouldn’t start with ‘Step 1: Spit on the ground and make mud’. Yet, Jesus, the Son of God, the ultimate healer, had a penchant for the wonderfully, gloriously, and sometimes downright bizarre. He rarely went for the straightforward, clean, and clinical approach, often opting for methods that would make any modern-day health and safety inspector faint clean away.

Mud, Spit, and a Test of Faith (John 9:1-7)

Take, for example, the story where Jesus encounters a man blind from birth. What’s his solution? A gentle touch? A powerful word? Nope. He spits on the ground, makes mud with his saliva, and smears it on the man’s eyes. Then he tells him to go wash in the Pool of Siloam. Mud! On a blind man’s eyes! Can you imagine the disciples looking at each other, wide-eyed, thinking, “Is he sure about this?” But the man went, washed, and came back seeing. From mud and spit. It’s gloriously messy!

An Intimate, Physical Healing (Mark 7:31-35)

Then there’s the account where a deaf man with a speech impediment is brought to Jesus. He takes him aside from the crowd for a more intimate, focused moment. And then… he puts his fingers into the man’s ears, spits, and touches the man’s tongue. Ephphatha! – “Be opened!” he commands. And instantly, the man’s ears were opened, and his tongue was loosed. Fingers in ears, spit on the tongue. It’s not exactly what you’d find in a first-aid manual, is it? Yet, it worked perfectly.

Healing in Stages (Mark 8:22-26)

And what about the time a blind man is brought to him in Bethsaida? Jesus leads him out of the village, spits on the man’s eyes, and lays his hands on him. “Do you see anything?” he asks. The man says, “I see people; they look like trees walking around.” Not quite 20/20 vision yet. So, Jesus lays his hands on the man’s eyes again, and then the man sees clearly. A two-stage healing, involving spit, and a temporary vision of walking trees! It’s almost comical, yet profoundly effective.

A Practical Resurrection (Mark 5:35-43)

Even his more ‘standard’ healings often had a flair for the dramatic. Think of Jairus’s daughter, already dead. Everyone’s mourning, weeping loudly. Jesus walks in, calmly tells them she’s only sleeping, and then takes her hand and says, “

Why the Eccentricity?

So, why all the unusual methods? Why didn’t Jesus just snap his fingers or simply speak a word from a distance every single time? He certainly had the power to do so; after all, he healed the centurion’s servant from afar with just a word (Matthew 8:5-13), and simply declared the paralytic’s sins forgiven before telling him to pick up his mat (Mark 2:1-12). So, the spit, the mud, the fingers in the ears – they weren’t necessary for the healing itself.

• To Engage the Senses and Create a Memory: In a world without widespread literacy, physical actions were powerful teaching tools. Imagine being the blind man with mud on your eyes, or the deaf man feeling fingers in your ears. Far from being sterile, forgettable moments, these were deeply personal, multi-sensory encounters seared into the memories of the healed and the witnesses. The experience ensured they’d never forget how they were healed. Just like I won’t forget Lily’s projectile prayer.

• To Challenge Expectations and Invite Participation: Jesus used unconventional methods, like making mud from spit, to shatter people’s expectations of how God works. This approach also demanded active participation. He didn’t just perform a miracle on someone; he invited them into it. The blind man had to take a step of faith and go wash, making him an active participant in his own healing rather than a passive bystander.

• To Show His Sense of Humour: This might just be me, but I can’t help but feel there’s a divine twinkle in Jesus’s eye during these moments. Can you imagine the disciples’ faces when he first spat on the ground to make mud-paste? There’s a wonderful, joyful subversiveness to it all. Perhaps, alongside the profound theological lessons, Jesus simply enjoyed shaking things up a bit. He loved people, and maybe part of that love was expressed through a divine sense of humour, a desire to bring not just healing, but also a sense of wonder and maybe even a chuckle at the sheer unpredictability of God’s kingdom.

The God Who Breaks Our Boxes

So, what do we take from this? For me, Lily’s impromptu gastric exorcism, alongside Jesus’s wonderfully quirky healing methods, serves as a powerful reminder that God is far bigger, far more creative, and far less predictable than we often give Him credit for.

I am always amazed at how God speaks to me on my dog walks with Buckley (our cockapoo). It’s one of the reasons why this blog is called The Unfinished Walk. The other day, I ran out of his usual treats, so I placed some of his daily biscuits in his treat bag, thinking he wouldn’t notice. When it was time for a reward, I offered him a “treat.” He eagerly ran up, went to take it, did a double-take, and then just sat back and looked at me with a scoff. A genuine scoff. Here I was, offering him free food (granted, eating the biscuits doesn’t exactly excite me either, but still).

As this happened, this verse came to mind:

“So if you sinful people know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good gifts to those who ask him?”

Matthew 7:11 (NLT).

A flood of thoughts suddenly hit me. Here I was, offering my dog part of his daily “bread,” and he was turning his nose up because it wasn’t a more luxurious, exciting “treat.” This got me thinking: how often do we (read me) fail to appreciate the gifts God freely gives us each and every day?

I started looking at myself, wondering if I was like Buckley, looking at the daily gifts my loving Heavenly Father gives me and scoffing because it’s not a big, exciting treat—like a surprise gift to help pay for my garden renovations. And yes, I am guilty of failing to appreciate the gifts he gives me daily: the grace, mercy, love, food, warmth from the heating, electricity for fans to keep me cool, my family, and all the rest of it. For that, I am truly sorry.

As I continued my walk with Buckley and pondered this, his demeanour towards his biscuits changed. We kept walking, and he even started to enjoy them, coming back on command and receiving his “daily bread.” This again spoke to me about what a great time we both had once he adjusted his thoughts about what a “gift” is and that I would not give him something bad.

The Foundation of Trust

This small, humorous incident with Buckley revealed a much deeper truth about the nature of trust. Buckley’s initial reaction was one of disappointment because the gift didn’t match his expectation. But as we walked on, his trust in me, his provider, overrode his disappointment. He recognised that I, his owner, would not offer him something harmful or without purpose. My intentions were always good, even if the gift wasn’t what he expected.

This is the very essence of the trust God calls us to have in him. Buckley, in his simple canine way, had to move past his idea of a “good gift” and accept that his provider had a better understanding of what was truly good for him. It was a lesson in submission, not to a master, but to a trustworthy and loving caretaker.

Think of the parallel. Buckley has no concept of what is best for his long-term health. He’d probably eat a whole bag of high-sugar treats if I let him, even though it would make him sick later. He trusts that I know better. He trusts that the food I give him is the right food, at the right time, in the right quantity. This is a profound, uncomplicated trust.

This is what we are invited to have with our Heavenly Father. We may ask for a specific, shiny “treat”—a new job, a specific relationship, a financial windfall—and God may instead give us a “biscuit.” We might be tempted to scoff, to question his love or provision. But we are called to trust that he, our loving Father, sees the bigger picture. He knows what will nourish us, what will sustain us, and what might harm us in the long run.

Scripture on God’s Good Gifts

The Bible is full of verses that echo this theme of God’s perfect provision and our need to trust it. The verse from Matthew 7 is a cornerstone, but there are many more.

• James 1:17 NLT: “Whatever is good and perfect is a gift coming down to us from God our Father, who created all the lights in the heavens. He never changes or casts a shifting shadow.” This verse reminds us that every truly good gift in our lives, from the sun in the sky to the very breath in our lungs, originates from a flawless and unchanging God.

• Philippians 4:19 NLT: “And this same God who takes care of me will supply all your needs from his glorious riches in Christ Jesus.” This is a promise of provision. Note that it says “needs,” not “wants.” God promises to supply what we need for our journey, not necessarily every single thing we desire. He knows the difference.

• Psalm 84:11 NLT: “For the LORD God is our sun and our shield. He gives us grace and glory. The LORD will withhold no good thing from those who do what is right.” Here, we see a beautiful promise: God will not withhold any good thing. This means if we don’t have something we want, it’s not because God is being stingy. It’s because, from his perspective, it is not the best thing for us right now, or the timing isn’t right. It’s a challenge to our perception of what is “good.”

The theme of God giving good gifts is central to understanding his character. It’s a character rooted in perfect love and wisdom.

From Disappointment to Gratitude

My experience with Buckley’s scoffing was a stark reminder of my own similar behaviour. I was disappointed that I didn’t have the treats I wanted to give him, and he was disappointed with the alternative. In the same way, we can be so focused on what we think we lack that we completely miss the daily abundance of God’s provision.

This mindset shift from disappointment to gratitude is key. It’s about training our hearts to see the “biscuits” as the “good gifts” they are. The morning sunrise, a healthy family, a roof over our heads—these aren’t luxuries; they are divine provisions. The grace and mercy we receive each day are gifts we could never earn.

How do we cultivate this mindset? It’s a discipline, like any spiritual practice.

• Pray with a Thankful Heart: Begin your prayers with thanks. Before you ask for anything, thank God for what he has already given you. It changes your perspective.

• Acknowledge the Small Things: Don’t just look for the big, exciting gifts. Be thankful for the everyday things: a hot cup of tea, the sound of a bird singing, a kind word from a stranger. These are all good gifts from a loving God.

• Keep a Gratitude Journal: Write down three to five things you are grateful for each day. This forces your mind to focus on what you have, rather than what you lack.

The Ultimate Good Gift

While the daily provisions are wonderful and worthy of our gratitude, the most profound and ultimate good gift

A New Walk, A New Perspective

As Buckley and I continued our walk, his initial disdain for the biscuits gave way to an eager acceptance. He trusted that I, his owner, had his best interests at heart. He came back when called and took his food with joyful expectation.