October 31, 2025

I thought I knew what I was stepping into when I walked into 2025.

The biggest concern on my mind was how to find my footing in a new role after an acquisition at work. I had dreams I was building towards, promises of promotion that gave me hope and the quiet satisfaction of seeing something start to take shape. But not long into the year, everything began to unravel. The team struggled to find its rhythm, the promises made were continuously delayed and the work that once gave me purpose started to drain me.

And then the unthinkable happened– my son received a life altering diagnosis. 

In an instant the world I’d been trying to build and shape flipped upside down and inside out. The dream I’d been chasing, the sense of stability I had clung to– they all slipped through my fingers. 2025 stripped me of every security I held onto with white knuckles. And the worst part is, I could not push my way through it. I had hit a wall that blocked my path. There was no quick fix, no tidy prayer, no plan B. Life had changed, and I didn’t get a say in it. 

In the midst of the disorienting chaos I found myself in the deepest grief I had ever experienced and it showed up when I least expected it. Lament took over my demeanor as I slowly surrendered to the stripping of expectations till all that was left was nothing but raw dependence. 

I was numb. Weak. Disappointed in the direction God was taking me and if I’m being one hundred percent honest with you, I was angry too. I kept asking God “Where are you?!”

And through it all, one quiet question kept pressing against my heart: “Do you trust me?”

It wasn’t loud or demanding. It was a whisper. I’d heard it before at other crossroads in my life, but this time it felt different. This time it felt like an invitation to surrender everything I’d built my identity on. 

God is always present and at work. I know that. But in a year that stripped me bare, I learned that knowing that truth and trusting His character are two very different things.

Looking back, I can see that season wasn’t just loss—it was formation. Painful, uninvited, holy formation.

I used to think spiritual formation meant growing stronger, wiser, more like Jesus in ways I could measure. But I’ve learned that sometimes formation feels like unraveling. It’s the dismantling of false securities and misplaced identities—the undoing of everything I thought made me safe, capable, or successful—so that something truer can take root.

The hardest truth of all is that our formation will never be complete this side of eternity. There’s always a deeper place Jesus invites us to go, if we’re willing to trust Him in the waiting. And that’s the part I still resist. I want closure. I want clarity. But Jesus wants communion. He wants me entwined with Him—so deeply that my worth, my stability, my identity aren’t tied to what I can control, but to who He is.

Waiting became the classroom where I learned that kind of trust. It was in the stillness, when every illusion of control had been stripped away, that I began to see how much He was shaping me—not in spite of the waiting, but through it.

Psalm 27:14 has never felt more real: “Don’t give up; don’t be impatient. Be entwined as one with the Lord. Be brave and courageous, and never lose hope. Yes, keep on waiting—for He will never disappoint you.”

I’m learning that courage in waiting isn’t about holding it together—it’s about holding onto God. It’s about believing in His character when the outcome is unclear, and trusting that He is still writing goodness into the story, even when I can’t see the next line.

If I’ve learned anything through this season, it’s that God is the strength of my life—not my resolve, not my discipline, not my plans. His power is made perfect in weakness, and that truth is both humbling and freeing.

We weren’t designed to be limitless. We were created to depend—on Him. And maybe that’s the very heart of formation: to be shaped again and again into people who trust God’s strength more than our own.

So if God is not the source of your strength right now, maybe it’s time to pause and ask:

What is?What—or whom—are you trusting more than Him?

Waiting has a way of revealing those quiet attachments, those counterfeit sources of security. But the good news is, God doesn’t expose them to shame us. He reveals them so He can heal us, draw us closer, and entwine our hearts with His.

Because even when life unravels and the waiting feels unbearable, He remains steady. He is our strength, our portion, and the One who will never disappoint.

Jane Doerman

Teaching Team

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