I can still see that moment clearly, sitting in church when God first called me. It wasn’t an audible voice or a dramatic sign. Instead, it was a vivid image, a vision in my heart. I was standing behind the pulpit with a Bible in my hand, speaking God’s Word. More than anything, I felt called to teach women, to share His truth in a way that would touch hearts and change lives. Deep down, I knew this was the path He wanted me to take. But even with that knowing, I didn’t chase after it. I did pursue God, but only for a season, and then life’s swirling currents pulled me away.
What kept me distant for so long was more than just the busyness or fear of the unknown. I was afraid. Afraid that if I leaned too deeply into God, the people I cared about, my friends, family, loved ones might reject me. I had already experienced the sting of being mistreated because of my faith. I remember those moments vividly when a loving look turned cold or a conversation was cut short because I spoke about Jesus. The pain of that rejection was sharp enough to make me retreat, to hold back the part of me that longed for God’s presence, all to preserve relationships that, in truth, never truly embraced me.
Looking back, it breaks my heart that I chose to turn away from the One who loved me most because of those fears. It’s a bitter irony that in trying to keep people’s love, I pulled away from the One whose love was unconditional, constant, and real.
Have you ever felt that tension - yearning for God but afraid of what it might cost? Wondering if you can truly be known and loved without rejection? If so, you’re not alone.
Over the years, my faith journey was a dance of steps forward and steps back. Sometimes I moved toward God with hope, sometimes I drifted away, confused and wounded. But through every high and every low, God never stopped waiting for me. His patience wasn’t passive it was filled with love that chased after me, even when I ran the other way.
This persistent love brings to mind the parable of the Prodigal Son, a story that suddenly felt like my own. The young man demanded his inheritance, left his father’s house, and chased freedom on his own terms. At first, it seemed exciting, but soon he squandered everything and found himself broken, alone, and desperate. He realized how far he had strayed and how empty life felt away from home.
And the father? The moment he saw his son from afar, he ran to him, arms wide open, full of joy and mercy. There was no scolding, no disappointment strong enough to push him away. He did not wait for apologies or explanations. He simply rejoiced that his child had returned, that he was home.
God’s love for us is just like that. No matter how far we wander, He watches, waits, and runs toward us when we turn back. His pursuit is patient, relentless, and tender. The father in that story is the God I’ve come to know personally, always inviting me back, always rejoicing when I return.
Last Thanksgiving, I found myself in a deep conversation with my dad and brother. We spoke about what it truly means to be in relationship with God, how salvation is not about a single moment or a prayer said long ago but about being known by Him, truly known.
You’ve probably heard the phrase Jesus said in Matthew, “I never knew you.” It’s a startling statement. To really grasp it, imagine meeting someone once or twice, maybe having a few pleasant conversations, but never truly knowing them never building the kind of trust and intimacy that makes a relationship real. You might recognize their face, remember their name, but your lives remain strangers passing in the night. The heart connection, the deep understanding, simply isn’t there.
This is what Jesus warned against. That some might call Him Lord, speak His name, and yet never be truly known by Him, because they never invested in the relationship. It challenges me deeply. I ask myself, am I living in such a way that Jesus truly knows me? Or am I simply going through the motions, hoping that a distant familiarity is enough?
If you think about the friendships that matter most to you, they didn’t grow from a single conversation or a handshake. They grew through time, vulnerability, shared stories, laughter, tears, and countless moments of presence. The same is true with God.
Faith is not a one-time event. It’s a daily invitation to draw near, to listen, to speak honestly, to let Him into the corners of our hearts we sometimes hide, even the messy parts.
If you feel distant from God right now, or perhaps you’ve drifted away because of fear, hurt, or doubt, I want to encourage you to come home. Not because you’re perfect, but because you’re loved beyond measure.
What would it look like for you to take one small step toward intimacy with God today? Maybe it’s a quiet moment of prayer asking Him to reveal Himself to you in a new way. Maybe it’s opening your Bible to a favorite Psalm and letting His words wash over your heart. Or maybe it’s simply confessing honestly your fears and doubts, trusting He is big enough to handle them.
God’s mercy is new every morning. Psalm 51 is a prayer we should cling to during dark seasons: “Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me.” It’s a beautiful reminder that God is in the business of making things new, renewing hearts, restoring hope, repairing what feels broken.
Since that conversation last Thanksgiving, my heart has been changing. I’ve begun to live more intentionally connected to God, like a branch clinging to the vine (John 15:5). I don’t always get it right. Some days I feel weak, tired, and tempted to wander again. But I hold onto God’s promise that He gives strength to the weary and power to the weak (Isaiah 40:29). His grace carries me forward.
I want you to ask yourself what will Jesus say to you when you stand before Him one day? Will He say, “Well done, good and faithful servant,” or “I never knew you”? That question isn’t meant to scare us. It’s a loving call to deeper intimacy, to living fully in the presence of the One who loves us most.
Whatever your story looks like, whether your faith feels fresh or frail know this. God is running toward you right now, arms wide open. He is inviting you home.
Dear Jesus, I come to You with a heart full of gratitude for Your endless patience and mercy. Thank You for loving me when I was lost, for pursuing me when I turned away, and for welcoming me back without hesitation. You see me, every part of me, the joys, the doubts, the broken places, and the parts I try to hide even from myself. I ask You to heal those hidden wounds and fill me with a peace that only You can give. Teach me how to walk with You daily, to open my heart with honesty and courage, to lean on Your strength when I feel weak, and to rest in Your unfailing love. Help me to trust You more deeply, even when the road is uncertain or my faith falters. Mold my heart to be like Yours, compassionate, patient, and full of grace. May I be a reflection of Your love to those around me, a witness to Your mercy and kindness. I surrender my fears, my doubts, my failures, and my dreams into Your hands. Keep me close, guide my steps, and remind me each day that I am Yours, deeply known and forever loved. In Your holy name I pray, Amen.
As you reflect on this, perhaps consider journaling these questions:
How have I experienced God’s patience in my life?
What fears or wounds keep me from drawing near to Him?
What is one small step I can take today to deepen my relationship with Jesus?
May His peace fill your heart as you come home!
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Beautiful, so sweet