I am a perfectionist. Which means, among many things, I worry that when things don’t work out exactly how I hoped they would that it means I did something wrong—that I somehow failed. Maybe you can relate.
The problem is, sometimes God sends us trials. Big ones. Small ones. Uniquely tailored ones. And sometimes as I try steering the boat that God gave me, watching the waves get choppy and the winds begin to howl, I call out for His aid. I ask Jesus to calm the storm like He did for His disciples long ago. But He doesn’t. It seems the heavens have gone silent as the rest of the world remains in chaos. I feel abandoned, forced to weather the storm.
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