Have you ever been late because you took a wrong turn, missed an exit, or got rerouted by construction? It’s frustrating—especially when you’re in a hurry and everything feels out of your control. I used to stress over those moments. Then one day, God gently pressed something on my heart: "worrying is just another way of saying you don't trust where I'm taking you."
Because when I looked back, He had never failed me. I may have been delayed. I may have missed what I thought was the “right” road. I may have had to sit longer than I wanted. But every single time, I still arrived exactly where I needed to be and safely.
In my last blog, I wrote about grieving the life you thought you’d have. This one is about the destination… and something even more important: who you become on the way there.
Six months ago, I felt God tell me my time in California was finished. I sensed a pull toward something bigger. Part of me was scared, but another part of me was ready. I was exhausted from living in a comfort zone that felt more like a cage. I felt Him say, “Take the risk. Trust Me.” So I did.
What’s wild is I was convinced I was being led to Utah. Everything lined up. The dream townhouse. The perfect community. Moms I connected with right away. Photoshoots already scheduled. It felt effortless like doors were swinging open.
Until they closed.
And instead, God redirected me somewhere I never imagined living. A place I hadn’t prepared for. Not the townhouse I’d been approved for. Not the plan I had carefully built in my head. I was confused. I questioned Him daily. “Are You sure? Because Utah made sense. It was perfect.”
But I’ve learned something about God. His will doesn’t always look like our version of perfect. Sometimes the “perfect” option is just the comfortable one. And sometimes the reroute isn’t rejection… it’s protection. Or preparation. Or promotion.
What feels like construction on your life might actually be divine redirection.
And if He’s the One guiding you, you can trust this: even if you don’t recognize the road, you will arrive exactly where you’re meant to be.
Construction is loud. It’s inconvenient. It blocks roads and slows progress. But it’s never pointless. It’s building something that will last something sustainable, durable, and safe.
That’s what Jesus does in us.
When our lives are centered on Him, when He is the foundation beneath everything we build, it takes time. There are seasons of waiting. Seasons of tearing down what can’t stay. Seasons that feel like delay.
But foundations aren’t rushed.
A building without a solid base may look impressive for a moment, but the first real storm will expose it. Wind comes. Rain falls. Pressure hits. And anything unfinished or poorly anchored will crumble.
When Christ is our foundation, we don’t collapse under pressure. We may sway. We may feel the weight of the storm. But we don’t tumble. We don’t crash. Because what’s underneath us is steady.
Construction seasons aren’t setbacks. They’re reinforcement.
And if God is still building you, it’s because He plans for you to stand.
I never planned on being in this state. It wasn’t on my vision board. It wasn’t the dream I had mapped out.
But now that I’m here, I understand.
God is doing something deeper than a location change. He’s working on my heart. He’s reminding me of His mercy in ways I didn’t even realize I needed. Some days have stretched me. Some moments have hurt. There have been tears. There have been hard lessons.
And still, I rise.
“Fall seven, stand eight.”
I’ve stumbled. I’ve made choices I’m not proud of. I’ve had moments where I questioned myself. But I’m still here. Still breathing. Still learning. Still choosing Him.
That’s grace.
Becoming the woman my Heavenly Father has called me to be isn’t about perfection, it’s about perseverance. It’s about getting back up every single time. It’s about allowing Him to refine me instead of running from the fire.
I may not have planned this place. But I can feel that He did.
And if He brought me here, it’s because there’s something in me worth building.
It’s okay to fall short. It’s okay to make mistakes. They don’t define you.
What defines you is what you do next.
Do you repeat the pattern?
Do you justify it?
Do you sit in comfort and call it grace?
Or do you choose growth?
Real maturity isn’t never falling, it’s refusing to stay down. It’s trading excuses for ownership. It’s replacing temporary comfort with discipline. It’s calling yourself higher when it would be easier to stay where you are.
Grace isn’t permission to remain the same. It’s the strength to become better.
Mistakes are moments.
Character is direction.
And every day, you get to decide which direction you’re walking.
From someone who’s wandered before, don’t go too far.
What feels small, what feels harmless, what feels like “just this once”… it slowly tightens its grip. Sin rarely shows up looking destructive. It shows up disguised as comfort, validation, relief. But over time, what you thought you were controlling begins to control you.
It keeps you stuck. Distracted. Numb.
The Lord’s path isn’t always easy. Sometimes it feels like a steep climb with loose gravel and sharp turns. It requires surrender. It requires discipline. It requires saying no to things your flesh wants to say yes to.
But it leads somewhere.
It leads to freedom—not chains.
It leads to peace—not chaos.
It leads to purpose—not emptiness.
The narrow road may feel uphill, but it strengthens you. And every step with Him builds endurance, clarity, and real joy.
I’ve tasted both paths. And I promise you the climb with God is worth more than the comfort without Him.
I know where I’ve been. And even in the seasons I strayed, even when I chose my own way over His, the Lord never left me. He walked beside me in my wandering. He covered me when I didn’t deserve covering. He stayed steady when I was not.
That’s mercy.
And I know where I’m going.
Not because I’ve suddenly become perfect. Not because I’ve figured everything out. But because this time, I am choosing Him. Fully. Intentionally. Without one foot on His path and one foot on mine.
Where I’ve been is marked by grace that kept me.
Where I’m going is marked by a foundation I’m finally building on purpose.
He was with me in the detours.
But now, I’m walking in alignment.
And there is a difference between God carrying you through your wandering… and you willingly planting your life on His foundation.
This next season isn’t accidental. It’s anchored.
It’s choosing Him over every flesh-driven desire.
Over the impulses.
Over the temporary highs.
Over the comfort that feels good in the moment but leaves you empty after.
It’s saying no to what your body craves so your spirit can grow and finally live the life He has waiting for you.
Because following Christ isn’t about adding Him on top of your life it’s about surrendering the parts that compete with Him. It’s choosing obedience when indulgence would be easier. Discipline when comfort calls your name. Alignment when distraction is louder.
It’s daily. Sometimes hourly.
But every time you choose Him over your flesh, you reinforce the foundation. You strengthen the structure. You prove that where you’re going matters more than what you momentarily want.
That’s not restriction.
That’s freedom being built.
Just know this: wherever you’ve been and wherever you’re going, God has never stepped away from you.
He was there in the wandering.
He’s there in the rebuilding.
He’s already standing in your future.
Trust the detours.
Trust the construction.
Trust the delays that don’t make sense yet.
What feels like interruption is often protection. What feels like slowing down is often strengthening. What feels like being rerouted is usually refinement.
It’s all part of His plan.
And if He’s guiding it, you can rest knowing you’re never off course—only being positioned.
Heavenly Father,
Thank You for walking with us through every detour, every delay, and every season of construction. Forgive us for the times we’ve chosen our own way, and give us the strength to choose You fully.
Build our lives on Your foundation so we can stand through any storm. Remind us we are never too far gone and never alone.
We trust You with where we’ve been and where we’re going. Bless this reader to feel of your spirit, Lord. Wherever they are at in life, let my words act as a vessel. I'm tired today, Lord, but I'm still showing up doing what you've called me to do. Please strengthen us on our journey with you. Call out of us the things displeasing to you and into more of what you have planned for us. Forgive us for falling short. We love you, and I love you. Bless this reader, whoever they may be, wherever they may be. I'm thankful you created them, Heavenly Father.
In Jesus’ name, amen.
Add comment
Comments