I don't know of any outlets, myself, but I'd love to read it.
Thats good enough for me! Here it is:
Finding God in the Quiet
I was awakened last night—at least, I think I was awake. It was around 3 a.m. For some reason, my thoughts were fixed on God. I don’t know if it was something I saw or a conversation from earlier in the day, but then it hit me: it was my sixteenth wedding anniversary. And suddenly, everything felt clear.
I found myself retracing the path God chose for me—though at the time, I had no idea. Or maybe I should say times.
As a kid, I believed in God completely. I never doubted His existence. But I also believed He wasn’t pleased with me. I used to joke that God hated me. Looking back now, I realize it was the exact opposite—and only now does it all make sense.
Throughout my life, I prayed for things. Sometimes those prayers materialized. Most times, they didn’t. When they didn’t, I took it personally. I believed I was being punished. That sounds ridiculous to me now, but at the time it felt very real.
That line of thought brought me back to the first time I met my wife. Not when we started dating—but well before that. Years before.
When I was in eighth grade, I worked at a buddy’s parents’ pizza shop. I was fifteen and very aware of girls. Lots of them worked there. I had crushes. Plenty of them. But there was one girl—by far the prettiest of all—and I never once put her on my mental “wish list.” I never asked about her. Never pursued her. Nothing.
I can still picture her clearly, and it blows my mind.
I worked there for about a year before moving on. High school started. Life happened.
Fast forward fifteen years.
My captain at the time asked if I wanted to meet his girlfriend’s coworker. He showed me a photo. I said yes. We met, hit it off instantly, and before long realized we had worked together at that same pizza shop. Our paths had crossed repeatedly over the years—mutual friends, overlapping circles. She had even met my sister.
And yet… nothing.
She wasn’t someone you’d overlook. Not then. Not ever.
That’s when it clicked. God planned for us to meet at the exact right time—and not a second before. I can’t be convinced otherwise. No other explanation makes sense.
From there, my thoughts turned to the Bible itself.
I wasn’t religious growing up. I was raised Catholic until my parents split. I remember telling my mom I wasn’t going to church anymore. I didn’t like being told I was doing bad things because the devil was involved. It felt absurd to me. Devils and demons were movie stuff.
Turns out, I was wrong—but that’s a story for another day.
Over the last few years, I’ve leaned into the Bible hard. I’m close to reading it cover to cover for the tenth time—probably more. But for most of my life, I was just reading it. Not absorbing it. Not sitting with it.
To say it changed my life would be a massive understatement.
I’ve become more patient. More compassionate. Less negative. It’s opened my eyes to things I never noticed before.
It also brought me to Jesus.
I used to roll my eyes—quietly—when people openly gushed about Him. Not because I didn’t believe, but because it felt performative. Like overreacting to a meal everyone else already knows is good.
I get it now.
Still, I don’t bring up Jesus unless it comes up naturally. After all, He said it best in Matthew 6:5–6:
“When you pray, do not be like the hypocrites… But when you pray, go into your room and shut the door…”
That passage explains a lot for me. I had to find faith on my own terms—when it was time.
Which somehow brought me to churches.
I don’t go. I know that’s a red flag for some people. But I’ve been spared more times than I can count—times when I had no business still being here. You won’t convince me it was luck. God’s hand has been on my life whether I recognized it or not.
I feel closer to God outside than inside four walls. In the quiet. In creation. I’m more present there.
Recently, I saw a video of a pastor at a large church delivering what was less a sermon and more of a show—over-the-top and expensive. It unsettled me. Not because it wasn’t entertaining, but because I couldn’t stop thinking about how many people that money could have helped.
Growing up, my mom relied heavily on church pantries. So yeah—it hits a nerve.
It made me wonder: are people going to hear the word of God? Or are they going for a show? And if the show gets them in the door and they happen to receive the Lord’s message, does that make it better?
That’s not my judgment to make.
But I do know Jesus flipped tables over a lot less. I can’t help but wonder what He’d think now.
As my thoughts wandered that night, I felt peace. The more I understand Scripture, the more I understand God—and the calmer I become. Life hasn’t gotten easier. If anything, it’s gotten harder.
But I’m not carrying it the same way anymore.
God has a plan. He always has. Unanswered prayers aren’t punishment.
They’re protection.
psalms 91, Deuteronomy 28, Joshua 1:9 are just automatic shoe ins I think.
