Life is… something else, isn’t it?
It’s not a straight line. It’s more like a wild, unpredictable road trip where you sometimes forget the destination and end up in emotional traffic with no snacks. It’s a series of plot twists, slow days, unexpected blessings, painful lessons, and a lot of wondering if you’re doing it right.
Lately, I’ve found myself watching movies that try to make sense of it all. Little Women, Eat Pray Love—stories about growth, self-discovery, and pain wrapped in beautiful cinematography and dramatic piano music. They’ve made me reflect deeply.
Like, in Eat Pray Love, why did Julia Roberts’ character go all the way to Rome and not even visit the Vatican? I mean, you’re in the spiritual heart of Catholicism, but instead of seeking peace in a sacred place, she’s off eating pizza and flirting in fountains. (I get it—carbs can be holy too.) But it made me ask: Why do we go so far searching for peace when maybe, just maybe, peace has been patiently waiting for us to turn around and look up?
And in Little Women, oh how those characters wrestle with their choices and what society expects of them versus what their souls truly desire. It’s messy and beautiful and familiar. It reminds me that life isn’t meant to be perfect. It’s meant to be lived—and refined through the hard parts.
But in all of this storytelling and soul-searching, there’s still that underlying question: Why do we struggle so much in this world?
And honestly? I think part of it is because we were never meant to go through it alone.
Here’s what’s been sitting heavy on my heart: God allows suffering—not to be cruel or to punish us—but to draw us closer to Him. Sometimes it’s a result of our own choices. Other times, life just throws stuff at us. But through it all, God is gently nudging us to remember we need Him.
The problem is… we don’t always want to hear that. We want the healing without the humility. The miracle without the surrender. The Rome without the Vatican.
And I see it all the time—even in myself—how easy it is to turn away from God when things go wrong. Some people even blame Him. Like He’s supposed to act like a genie: “I prayed, so where’s my miracle?”
But God doesn’t work like that. He’s not a vending machine. And prayer isn’t a transaction—it’s a relationship.
The hard truth? If we go through life without God, we end up making ourselves the center of the universe. We rely on our own strength, wisdom, and timing. And while that might work for a while, eventually it crumbles. Because we’re not built to carry the weight of our lives alone. We’re emotional, impatient, stressed-out beings—most days we can barely keep up with our to-do lists, let alone run the universe.
And that’s why God gave us free will. He respects our choices—even when we choose to live apart from Him. But if we’re struggling and still refuse to come to Him because of pride or disappointment or misunderstanding, we end up closing the door on the very help we need. Not because God walked away, but because we shut Him out.
But here’s the good news: That door is never locked.
The moment we open ourselves to God—even if we’re messy, broken, uncertain—He steps in. With grace. With comfort. With peace. He doesn’t require perfection. He just wants us to come.
And when we do, we begin to realize something amazing: Even in our mistakes, He’s still there. Even in the detours, He’s still working. As long as we return to Him, repent, and trust, we are covered in grace.
And let me tell you—that kind of peace? The peace that says, “I don’t have to know everything, I just have to know God”—that’s the good stuff. That’s better than pizza in Rome and poetic monologues in candlelit bedrooms.
So if you’re in a season where nothing makes sense…
If you’ve been trying to control it all and you’re exhausted…
If you’ve blamed God for what went wrong…
Maybe it’s time to pause.
Breathe.
Remember that life is a journey. A messy, beautiful, deeply human one. And it’s not about having all the answers. It’s about walking with the One who does.
God isn’t mad at you. He’s not distant. He’s just waiting for you to let go of the ego, the fear, the need to do it all on your own—and to come home.
So wherever you are in your journey—whether you’re eating gelato in Italy, questioning everything in your living room, or just trying to stay awake during your quiet time—know this:
God’s grace is bigger than your confusion.
His peace is deeper than your pain.
And your best days? They’re not behind you.
They’re still being written.
