Dear Heavenly Father,
I’m writing from a place I know You’ve called me to—honesty, vulnerability, and trust. Not performative trust. Not the “I’m fine, I know God’s got this” trust I put on when people ask how I’m doing. But the deep, aching kind—the kind that digs into the core of who I am and challenges what I believe when life doesn’t make sense.
I’ve been wrestling with facts. The facts say things are not going well. The facts say I’m behind in life. The facts say that what I prayed for didn’t happen—again. But Lord, You keep whispering to me, “Don’t trust the facts. Trust Me.”
I keep thinking about Proverbs 3:5-6:
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.”
I’ve quoted that verse a thousand times. But tonight, it feels confrontational. It’s telling me that my understanding of the facts—my human logic—isn’t the final word. You are. And honestly, that both comforts me and frustrates me.
It comforts me because I know You’re bigger than the circumstances. But it frustrates me because I want clarity, not mystery. I want proof, not promises. I want to see it before I believe it—but You ask me to believe it before I see it.
Why is that so hard, Lord?
Because my flesh is loud.
Because my mind wants explanations.
Because the world worships evidence and mocks faith.
But here’s the thing: facts are not the same as truth.
Facts are what we see. Truth is what You say.
And You are Truth—not just a version of it. Not just a perspective. You are the Truth (John 14:6).
So here’s where I stand tonight: I’m choosing Your truth over human proof.
Even when it’s hard.
Even when I don’t have the evidence.
Even when it makes me look delusional to other people.
I don’t need to defend You. I don’t need to explain away the delays. I don’t need to convince anyone of what You’ve promised me. I just need to believe You. Period.
“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the Lord.
“As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.”
That verse punches me in the pride. I want to understand, but You tell me that Your ways are so high above mine, I couldn’t even comprehend the blueprint. You’re not asking me to figure it all out—you’re asking me to walk by faith, not by sight (2 Corinthians 5:7).
So tonight, I surrender—again. Not just in theory, but in practice.
I lay down my timeline.
I lay down my need for proof.
I lay down the idol of certainty.
I lay down the fear that says, “What if God doesn’t come through?”
You will come through. You always have. Even when You didn’t answer the way I wanted, You answered the way I needed. That’s what a good Father does.
God, I confess that I’ve let fear interpret the facts of my life. I’ve looked at closed doors and assumed You were silent. I’ve looked at empty hands and assumed You were absent. Forgive me. Remind me that You are always working, even in the unseen. Strengthen my faith, Holy Spirit. I don’t want a faith that collapses under pressure. I want a faith that declares, “My God is still good, even when the facts don’t look favorable.”
You’re not a God of convenience; You’re a God of covenant. You don’t break promises. You don’t forget prayers. You’re not slow; You’re strategic.
So I declare tonight: Your truth over my facts.
Your voice over my logic.
Your promises over my panic.
Help me trust You with the facts of my life—because no one is more qualified to interpret them than You.
Amen.
I keep thinking about Joseph. The facts of his life looked like failure.
- Betrayed by his brothers.
- Sold into slavery.
- Falsely accused.
- Forgotten in prison.
But God was with him the entire time. And in Genesis 50:20, Joseph says something so powerful, it echoes in my soul tonight:
“You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.”
That’s it. That’s the perspective I need.
What looks like harm may actually be preparation.
What feels like a setback may be the setup for something greater.
What seems like the end might just be the middle.
God, You are not just watching my life play out. You are directing it.
And I hear You saying, “Let Me interpret the facts. You don’t have to.”
Maybe what feels like rejection is actually Your protection.
Maybe the silence is not absence—it’s incubation.
Maybe You’re growing something in me that needs this exact season of pressure.
You’re not random. You’re intentional. And I don’t want to miss the purpose because I was too focused on the proof.
Father, give me eyes to see what You see.
When my heart tries to interpret the facts through fear, remind me of Your Word.
Let me not be led by feelings, but by faith.
Not by human evidence, but by divine revelation.
I declare: I will not let circumstances define what You already decided.
I silence every lie of the enemy that says I’m forgotten, behind, or disqualified.
Your truth says I’m chosen.
Your truth says You’re working all things together for my good (Romans 8:28).
Your truth says You started a good work in me and You’ll finish it (Philippians 1:6).
So I rest.
Not in denial of the facts—but in confidence that You’re above them.
I guess what I’m learning, slowly but surely, is that faith isn’t denial. It’s defiance.
Faith says, “Yes, I see the facts—but I still believe God.”
Faith is standing on a battlefield, outnumbered, and saying, “This is the Lord’s fight.”
Faith is putting one foot in front of the other, even when it feels like walking in the dark.
I’m not always going to feel strong. But I can still choose faith.
I can still choose to trust the God who’s never lied, never failed, and never abandoned me.
Tonight, I breathe a little deeper. I cry a little softer.
And I believe a little harder.
Because God’s truth > human proof.
Every single time.
The Christian Tech-Nerd 