When Nothing Remarkable Was Happening
Most days don't announce themselves.
There's no breakthrough. No crisis. No moment that feels especially meaningful. Life simply unfolds—tasks to complete, responsibilities to manage, conversations that blur together.
For a long time, I assumed faith was meant to feel louder than that.
The Expectation of Constant Significance
I thought faith would always feel purposeful—charged with meaning or direction. When it didn't, I worried that something was missing.
If God was present, shouldn't the days feel fuller?
If faith was growing, shouldn't it feel noticeable?
But most of life doesn't operate as spiritual extremes. And neither does faith.
Learning That Routine Is Not Empty
What I've come to understand is that ordinary days are not wasted days.
They are the spaces where discipline forms. Where patience is practiced. Where trust is reinforced through repetition rather than revelation.
Faith didn't grow louder during those seasons.
It grew steadier.
Showing Up Without Needing a Moment
There were no dramatic prayers or emotional shifts—just consistency.
Reading. Reflecting. Choosing restraint. Acting with care. Doing what needed to be done, even when nothing seemed to hinge on it.
Faith wasn't asking me to feel inspired.
It was asking me to remain present.
The Quiet Work of Formation
The ordinary days shaped me in ways I didn't notice at first.
They reduced my dependence on emotion.
They strengthened my habits.
They clarified what mattered when nothing demanded attention.
Faith became less about response and more about posture.
Trust Built Over Time
Looking back, I see that trust was built in those uneventful stretches.
Not because anything dramatic happened—but because nothing did, and faith remained anyway.
Faith didn't require a reason to stay.
It simply stayed.
And sometimes, that is enough.
"Whoever can be trusted with very little can also be trusted with much." — Luke 16:10