What do I know?

“And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose.” — Romans 8:28

When I read this verse, a quiet question rises in my spirit: Do I know?

Do I really know this right now—not just remember it, not just quote it, but know it, deep in my bones?

I know I used to. I remember a time when I carried a deep confidence that all things—even the broken, delayed, and difficult things—were working together for my good.

I believed that the jobs I held were about more than a paycheck or a title; they were assignments—opportunities to impact lives. Back then, it didn’t matter what position I had, because I knew I was in the will of God.

I believed even my weight struggles were being used for good—an invitation to learn discipline, nutrition, and self-compassion in a way my upbringing never offered.

I believed my delays had purpose. That the journey itself was shaping me.

But today, reading this scripture again, I realize: my knowing was incomplete.

Why?

Because somewhere inside, I had silent conditions attached to my faith.

Surely, I thought, I won’t be single for this long.

Surely, this weight will come off quickly once I surrender it to God.

Surely, I’ll be promoted to executive by 40 if I just keep doing the right things.

But the longer the delay, the more the silence stretched, the more I began to question: Was I wrong? Did I misunderstand God?

Yet here’s the truth He’s gently showing me—this delay, this unfulfilled desire, this waiting—it is working for my good.

Because it’s purifying my faith.

It’s stripping away false expectations and surface-level hopes.

It’s bringing my motives to the altar and exposing where I’ve been leaning on outcomes instead of the One who holds them.

It’s not punishment—it’s refinement.

Not rejection—it’s reformation.

God is teaching me to trust Him not for what He gives, but for who He is.

And in this moment, I know—more clearly than ever—that I stand not because I’m strong, or right, or disciplined, but because He is kind.

I stand in grace.

I stand in His righteousness, not my own.

And that brings humility.

It brings compassion.

So, Lord, thank You for this holy pause.

Thank You for reminding me of what I know:

I know You are good.

I know You are kind.

I know You are faithful.

I know You are my Father and my Friend.

I know You are with me—even when nothing around me seems to change.

Your power is still at work in me, even when I can’t see it.

You are purifying me for Your glory.

You are shaping me into a vessel You can use.

You are reviving my faith, deepening my walk, anchoring my soul.

You have not left me. You never leave.

Just like when my father passed and Your presence surrounded me—I knew then I was not alone.

And now, in this season of dryness, I remember again: I am not walking alone.

There’s a fourth Man in the fire.

Jesus, thank You for being with me in the fire.

I’m available for Your use—whatever it looks like, whatever it costs.

Because now I know: I never walk alone.

Amen.