If I Knew Then What I Know Now

If I could sit down with my younger self, I’d tell her to stop doubting and start trusting. I’d tell her that every tear, every valley, and every mountain she’d face would be met with the faithfulness of a God who never lets go. I’d tell her that the storms would come, but so would the miracles—more than she could count. And that one day, she’d look back and see how every step, even the painful ones, were leading her exactly where she needed to be. This is my story. This is my song. This is the truth I know now, and the truth I wish I’d known then.

If I knew then what I know now, I wouldn’t have doubted You. I would have let go of the fear that gripped me, the sleepless nights spent wondering if You had forgotten me, the way my heart used to race when I looked at the mountain in front of me and thought there was no way through. I would have taken a deep breath and whispered, “You’ve got this,” instead of clinging to my own strength and watching it slip through my fingers. I wish I could tell my younger self to stop wrestling so much and just have faith—to believe that the One who created the stars was holding my fragile world in His hands. I wish I could tell her that the valleys she feared would swallow her whole would one day be the very places where Your presence felt the closest.

There are so many mountains You’ve moved, ones that once loomed so high I couldn’t even see the sky beyond them. You’ve leveled the ground beneath my feet when I thought I would trip and fall for good. You’ve parted waters I thought I’d drown in. And when I look back at the valleys, I see now that they weren’t dark because You weren’t there—they were dark because You were hiding me, protecting me from things I didn’t even know were coming. You have led me through each one, step by careful step, never rushing me, never leaving me behind. It’s only by Your grace that I’m standing here today. Without it, I would have been swept away by the storms, crushed under the weight of it all.

My life is full of miracles—more than I can count. The stories I could tell would stretch farther than the horizon. Some are the big, undeniable ones: prayers answered so clearly that no one could miss Your hand in them. Others are quiet, almost hidden: a word of encouragement just when I was ready to give up, the right person crossing my path at the right moment, a door closing that I didn’t understand until a better one opened. You’ve healed wounds so deep I thought they would always ache. You’ve restored what I thought was lost forever. You’ve brought peace to my chaos, strength to my weakness, light into my darkness. And I can’t forget—not any of it.

There have been moments when my life didn’t go the way I planned, when my dreams crumbled in my hands and my heart felt like it couldn’t take another blow. There have been times when I’ve stood at the edge of a cliff, looking at the pieces of what I thought my life would be, wondering how You could possibly make anything beautiful from them. But in those moments, I’ve remembered our history. I’ve remembered all the times You came through before, all the times You turned my mourning into dancing, my ashes into beauty. I’ve remembered that You’ve never failed me yet, not once. And so, even when I can’t see the way forward, I can still stand in the middle of the unknown and say, “You are good. You are faithful. And You will do it again.”

I am a witness to Your faithfulness in every storm, in every step. I’ve walked through days when the wind and rain threatened to knock me off my feet, and I’ve seen You calm the seas with a word. I’ve stumbled along paths where the next step was hidden, and I’ve felt Your hand steady me. I’ve wandered into deserts I didn’t choose, and I’ve seen You provide water from the rock. There hasn’t been a single day—no matter how lonely it felt in the moment—when You let me walk it by myself. And looking back, I see it so clearly: never once did You let me go.

The beauty of it all is that no matter what the future holds, I can face it without fear. I don’t have to have all the answers. I don’t have to know the timing or the details. I don’t even have to understand the “why” behind it all. Because I know You. I know Your heart for me. I know You take what the enemy meant for harm and turn it for good. I know You work all things together for my good—not some things, not just the easy things, but all things. And because of that, I can look at tomorrow, whatever it brings, and say with confidence, “It will be okay. He is with me, and He is for me.”

There is a peace in knowing that I never walk alone. In the nights when sleep won’t come, You’re there. In the mornings when I wake with a weight I can’t explain, You’re there. In the laughter and the tears, in the victories and the heartbreaks, You are beside me. You’ve walked with me through the fire, and I didn’t burn. You’ve carried me through the flood, and I didn’t drown. Every scar I carry is a reminder of where You’ve brought me from and how far You’ve carried me. They aren’t marks of defeat—they are testimonies of Your power and love.

If I could sit down with my younger self, I would tell her to stop trying to hold it all together on her own. I would tell her to stop doubting the One who has already written the ending of the story. I would tell her that faith isn’t about having all the answers—it’s about knowing the One who does. I would tell her that even in the seasons that feel like loss, she is gaining something priceless: a deeper trust, a closer walk, a stronger hope. And I would tell her this: “You will make it. Not because you’re strong enough, but because He is. Not because you know the way, but because He does. Not because you deserve it, but because His love will never let you go.”

And now, as I stand here looking back on all the miles we’ve traveled together, my heart is full. Full of gratitude for the ways You’ve provided, for the prayers You’ve answered, for the ones You said “no” to because You had something better. Full of awe at the miracles I’ve seen with my own eyes. Full of peace because I know the same God who was faithful then is faithful now—and will be faithful in the days to come. I can’t promise that life will go as I plan or hope. But I can promise myself this: I will trust You. I will remember. I will keep walking, one step at a time, knowing You go before me and behind me.

Because if I knew then what I know now, I would have spent less time fearing and more time praising. I would have worried less and worshipped more. I would have trusted the hand I could not see, knowing it was leading me exactly where I needed to go. And now that I do know, I choose to live differently. I choose to remember that I am never alone, never forsaken, never forgotten. I choose to stand as living proof that You are who You say You are—that You are faithful, good, and unfailing.

And when the next mountain rises in front of me, when the next valley lies ahead, I will remember this truth: You have never failed me yet. And You never will.