Ramblings on Faith, Change, and Perseverance…..

Today, I woke up while the sky was still heavy with darkness, the world suspended between night and the uncertain promise of dawn. It is a peculiar time to greet the day—anticipating the shift of the seasons, knowing that soon enough, time itself will bend, the days adjusting their rhythm so that light arrives earlier, the extended sunsets replaced by brisk sunrises. Each year, the dance of the clocks offers its own subtle reminder that change, no matter how quietly, is always in motion.

I had fully expected that I would awaken to a day shrouded in gray, the rain forecasted to descend in sheets, muffling color and sound as it so often does. Instead, sunrise arrived with the sun—a fragile, golden ribbon struggling to pierce the encroaching clouds. It was a small victory, a transient burst of hope before the gray inevitably rolled in, the clouds wafting with their own somber gravity. There’s something about these mornings—the sun fighting against a backdrop of gloom—that seems to mirror the internal landscape so many of us traverse. The world glows in a surreal way, tinted both by the sun’s defiance and the sky’s persistent melancholy, and it is in this glow that I find my thoughts anchored to the idea of a dystopian world.

The heaviness of existence feels palpable, almost tangible, as if the very air is freighted with sorrow and uncertainty. The past four years—though not without their own storms—served as a respite from the preceding five, a stretch that tested my spirit in ways words often fail to capture. Now, as the days lengthen and the light returns, it seems that the weight has returned in a heavier way, settling on the shoulders of the world like an old, uncomfortable coat. It is not just the external circumstances—the politics, the disasters, the relentless march of change—but something deeper, a sense that we are collectively living in the pages of a science fiction novel gone awry. Reality and truth bend and twists, as the journey continues…

At times, I wish I could retreat and simply read the next upcoming  scene, study the script of this peculiar act in the human drama. There is a particular horror to it, the way life now feels both too real and impossibly surreal. The rituals that once comforted—coffee, morning devotionals, the gentle cadence of prayers sometimes feel insufficient, unable to fully dispel the shadows that linger at the edge of the day. There are days when it seems that not even the strongest brew can cut through the fog, when the world is too heavy for caffeine to lift, and the only remedy is to sit quietly and let faith fill the spaces left empty by uncertainty.

It is my faith, in all its battered, dogged resilience, that keeps me anchored. Before I write, before I move away from my chair and confront the day, it is coffee and Jesus that stoke the embers of hope inside me. I am, as God surely knows, a billboard kind of woman—my heart worn openly, my prayers broadcast in silent whispers and hopeful sighs. I search for Him constantly, in the swirl of my thoughts and the hush of my questions, convinced that He is speaking even when I cannot hear. But too often, I miss the answers, the signs, the subtle nudges in the right direction. The road unfurls in front of me, unclear and winding, bordered by shadows and uncertainty.

Every year, I choose a new devotion book, and every year I am astonished at how the words seem tailored for my day-to-day journey. There are mornings when I could swear the book was written for me alone, the directions inside meant to guide me through the labyrinth of my own doubts and dreams. In those moments, faith feels less like a distant beacon and more like a lamp at my feet—small, flickering, but sufficient for the next step.

In this season of shifting light and encroaching gray, I am reminded that perseverance is not guaranteed by strength, but by the stubborn refusal to surrender. Each day requires greater effort, a deeper will of endurance, and so many of us are drawing from reserves we did not know we possessed. The world may seem dystopian, dreams may feel fragile, and the days may pass beneath a sky both beautiful and menacing, but still, we rise. We make coffee, we read scripture, we talk to God in the quiet places. We keep showing up, feeling lost at times, in constant search for a billboard to show the way. God knows this ole’ woman is a billboard searcher, afraid to miss the right turn in the journey that lies ahead.  This morning God sent this one, “But if from there you seek the Lord your God, you will find him if you seek him with all your heart and with all you soul.” ( Deuteronomy 4:29 )

As I sat in my chair, coffee in my hand and the soft weight of the devotion book on my lap, I remember that resilience is woven from the everyday acts of hope. It is found in the first sip of coffee, the quiet utterance of a prayer, the deliberate act of choosing faith over despair. There are no shortcuts, no easy answers, but there is the steady belief that light—however faint—will return. When I cant find the way, hear the answer, or see the path, I must seek with all  my heart and my soul to find the way, because there is a way, This I know… Jesus told me so, He promised a way… The truth and the light are found through Him.

The clouds may gather, and the world may glow with a surreal, dystopian hue, but the fire is stoked, the heart persists, and the journey continues. Perhaps, in the end, that is all we can ask for: the courage to keep moving, the wisdom to seek God in the silence, and the humility to accept the mystery of each new day. Every sunrise, no matter how gray, is proof that hope remains possible. And so, with coffee in hand and faith at my side, I greet the morning—heavy, surreal, and shining with possibility…