I thought you said there would be enough.

how 2024 broke and rebuilt my faith

May 16, 2025

One of the things we often forget is that trusting God doesn't mean you're happy with him all the time. It doesn't mean you never doubt or question or wonder about your faith.

The Hebrews 11 kind of faith is about where you end up, and what foundation you plant your feet on, not about how you got there. Your own mistakes and other people’s mistakes can mark your life deeply—but none of that is stronger than where you're planting your feet. The rock holds firm.

But the journey? It can be messy. And to trust means you pause, right there in the mess, and face yourself and the One Who Is With You.

One of the things the Book of Job tells us is that God would rather have honest questions than fake allegiance. He'd rather you be too bold in facing him and demanding answers than to offer empty platitudes, shushing away the complaints and hiding your real self. He's not afraid to tell you who he is and he's not afraid of you telling him who you are.

He says he's enough for all of it.

The past few years of my life have been riddled with questions— with physical, mental, and emotional pain— and the unrelenting compassion and love of God.

For a while I tried to just hold steady, grasping at the feelings of trust that have marked so many years of my life, but eventually, I broke. I remember standing in my bedroom with tears streaming down my face asking God, or maybe just myself, if everything I'd ever done was in vain.

And that moment started a journey of dismantling and rebuilding.

During the entire process, I was unsure about where I'd end up. I felt shaky and uneasy. I like control and everything felt like it was spiraling just outside my reach.

But looking back, and reading through my journals, I can see God's mercy and goodness running after me.

I’m going to share with you all some selected journal entries from January 2024 through December 2024. The evidence of God's presence is so vivid. But some moments? Some were so painful, I wanted to die.

Some of you who read this will be close enough to me that you'll know what triggered certain emotions. Others won't have any idea. But the point isn't the trigger—and the ones that involved other people, I will purposefully not name directly—the point is that we all face overwhelming circumstances that leave us floundering, even if, like me, you've followed Jesus for more than three decades.

But I invite you into this past year for one reason: as followers of Jesus, I believe we need to be real about the process of choosing faith. It's not a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders, it's not all logical and practical decisions, and it's not always from a place of peace or strength.

Instead, it's messy. It's a struggle. It's referred to in Scripture as "overcoming". And it's beautiful.

Over the next few months I'm going to share some deeper parts of this story, but for now I want to invite you on a short journey through a year of questions and grace.

And I would guess that even without the deeper pieces, you'll see some of your own story in my words. After all, we're not so different from each other—no matter how varied the specifics of our stories may be, we’re all in this journey together and God is pursuing all of us with His goodness.

//January ‘24//

There are a thousand ways I've failed at everything that matters to me.

Why do I bother even caring? Why do I hope for healing for my body? For my children? What's the point of hoping for what will never be?

I want to have hope for a new year, but I feel like there's no way any of this will turn out okay.

Oh, Lord, prove yourself able. Are you? Can you do anything with all of this?

I don't know the outcome.
I don't know how the story will end.
I don't know if anything I did
was worth anything at all.

But I do know whom I have believed,
and am persuaded that he is able.

Relationships break when mutual hearing doesn't happen.

This is true of friends, neighbors, parents, children— but also, of God. Scripture promises that the Lord hears us. "Simu", to "hear intelligently". Not just audible hearing but engaging the heart and mind.

He hears me. Do I actually know how to hear him?

//February ‘24//

I'm so ready to live without my gut churning constantly.

I'm ready to live in a world where I'm good enough, what I know is enough, what I do is enough, how I love is enough, and by golly, I want to live in place where everyone's decisions "for themselves" aren't piled on my back so I'm drowning under them.

I've been sick for two weeks.

I know I'm pregnant. Amos knows too. But I keep ignoring it and any implications. Still, every day I'm sick it gets harder. I don't want to be negative but loss feels inevitable at this point.

I'm due on Annie's birthday.

God, I hate this. I just want it to stop. Please, please, don’t ever let me bleed a baby out of my body ever again.

I thought you said there would be enough, Lord. If that's so, then why do I feel like I've been torn open and gutted and left sitting here empty?

Protect me, as the one you cherish.
Hide me, as the one who is vulnerable.

Nothing I have in myself is enough to create life,
Only you give breath.

I will be satisfied with your presence. (Psalm 17:15)

//March ‘24//

God, not to repeat myself, but I thought you said there would be enough?

How do I reinvent a life where the hope of more children is part of my past, but isn't my present?

My thoughts are so messy right now. I can't find any coherence.

//May ’24 //

I want to say, "Death! Where is your sting?"
But I know where it is,
It's under my skin.

If someone would just tell me what to do, I would do it. I'm so, so tired of not knowing what to do.

As I sat there, it felt like God was saying that whatever I've done is enough. Whatever I've done (even if I've failed) is enough because HE IS THE SOURCE. Not me.

I can't fix my body. I can't fix my family. I can't fix this world. I can only do the next thing and trust.

I’m not very good at trusting.

I thought I was angry,
but maybe I'm just sad.

Sadness so deep, my heart reeks of it.

We all have our stories but when we add Jesus to the mix, it changes everything.

I've believed this for thirty years. Is it true?

I want "for my good" to mean "for my comfort"
but that's not what you said.

You said you're Emmanuel.
The One who is with us.

You said you're the Giver of Life,
the kind of life we were created to know.

I don't mean to be needy or difficult or lacking in faith--
But where is that life? And are you actually with me?

// April ‘24 //

Lord, I want to pour my wrath on those who are ignorantly harming everyone around them. But I want to honor you more.

Gentle my words. Quiet my mind.

Lord, teach me how to exist outside the whirlwind.

//June ‘24//

I feel so alone. But who wants to spend time with someone who keeps repeating the same story of sadness day after day?

Every time I talk to someone my mind screams for me to pretend, to avoid talking about anything real, to not mention the same turmoil that's been consuming our world for a year now. Because I'm sure they're sick of it. I know I am.

Lord, teach me how to worship through heartbreak, because I'm not great at it.

"I'm trusting you with my family,
I'm trusting you with my pain."

I was talking to Lizzi about favor. How she's always had and always will have our favor. That she's beloved, no matter what.

Having favor is better than being the favorite. A "favorite" can lose their position, but having favor is something that is yours no matter what.

Having my favor means my heart is always turned toward hers. Always.

And it was like God whispered the same words over me.

"You have my favor."

Teach me to walk in the knowledge of your favor, Lord.

Life is still beautiful. God is still good.

Writing, the farm, joy, children, my marriage, studies, dreams— they're all still here. If I can just keep this anxiety at bay long enough to enjoy them.

One verse of "It is Well" says, "Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight..." and it goes on to talk about the Lord's return but I sang it today about my children and our family.

Lord, haste the day when my faith (for wholeness) will be sight...

All will be well.

The leaves on the tree are for the healing of the nations.

And my children are part of the nations.

Amen, come Lord Jesus.

//July ‘24//

Lord, I trust that you're not done.

//August ‘24//

God, you've seemed so far away.
But. But.
You're not far from any one of us.

//September ‘24//

I'm so angry, it's like my mouth is constantly full of the metallic taste of blood. I have never, ever felt so angry in my life. Maybe in general about circumstances, but never with specific people like this.

Amos sent me with Brianna. I know he's hurting too deeply to help me right now and her offer to have us go with her to Minnesota felt like a lifeline.

She just keeps telling me it's okay to be angry. She prays over me. She hugs me. She distracts Mary Kate while I cry. She's been a gift.

Lord, what do I even do with all of this emotion? How do I process it, accept it, yet do no harm with it?

//October ‘24//

Becoming like Jesus is miraculous, but it's not an accident.

Change is inevitable for all of us but being transformed into the image of the Son depends on which direction we walk.

The "what" of faith is a decision we make logically but the "how" of faith is a journey we experience.

//November ‘24//

I was told I'm not loving like Jesus.
I know what they meant was that I'm not loving like they want me to. It would be easier if we participated instead of holding this line.
Boundaries feel harsh sometimes. I get it.

But I think I understand love more than I ever have in the past. I think they'd be surprised at how much I truly care. How much I'd give for their sake if I was presented with something that was for their good and in my power to bestow.

The difference is that my love is wider, perhaps than where they are looking. I care the same amount for a much broader circle of people and I'm unwilling to harm others to make them more comfortable. But that doesn't mean I love others more and them less. I am actually shocked at the depth of care and compassion that my heart holds for each of them.

I know my love isn't as perfect as the love Jesus has for us. She's right about that. But I feel it burning inside me just the same. Like the anger from this past year has transformed and multiplied into deeper compassion and empathy and mercy than I've ever known before.

Give the Lord the rightness you can and trust him. (Ps. 4:5, paraphrased)

//December ‘24//

Looking over the past year, all I know is that the Lord stayed near.

Even when it felt like the messiness of my life would drown me, he was within reach.

My feet really have been on the rock, because it hasn't moved. I've changed, but he remains the same.

I was held by him, and so was my grief.

It feels like joy and hope are trickling back into my world, like the stream in our back field that dries up sometimes but then slowly starts moving again. The snow is melting in the sunlight, and we all know the banks will overflow again soon.

It turns out there are still tables in the wilderness, and there's room at the table for me, with all of my messiness, with my life still blown into disarray from the whirlwind of trauma, with every piece of sadness and loss that is still attached to my story.

And just like He said, there's enough.

Thanks for walking through 2024 with me. If you missed it, God had some brilliant surprises in store for us for 2025. (I share about some of them in this post if you missed it—

And you, friend. Whatever your story looks like, I promise His goodness is in pursuit of you as well. Even if you're in the midst of hopelessness like I was a year ago. He's still moving toward you.

In Psalm 56 we’re told that God records our wanderings, holds our tears in a bottle, writes our story into His—and I look forward to sharing more in-depth pieces of my story with you in the weeks to come as we look at God’s steady and unrelenting faithfulness.

I thought he said he was enough, and it turns out that’s exactly what I’ve found to be true.

Natasha

Natasha Metzler

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