E32 | Trusting God When You Never Get the Answer | I Never Got My Why - Part 10

For a long time, I believed healing would begin the day I finally understood why.

Why the relationship ended.

Why the prayer wasn't answered.

Why life unfolded the way it did.

That day never came.

Instead, God gave me something I didn't know I needed. He transformed my heart, reminded me who I was, and taught me to trust Him even when the answers never arrived.

In the final part of the I Never Got My Why series, we're looking back at the journey we've taken together—from heartbreak and disappointment to healing, surrender, and hope. If you've ever wrestled with unanswered prayers, wondered where God was, or questioned whether your story still has purpose, this conversation is for you.

In this conversation:

• Why healing doesn't depend on getting every answer.
• How old wounds shape the stories we believe.
• What changed after I stopped searching for explanations.
• Why I still ask "why" sometimes—and what I do now.
• How God brings purpose through seasons that don't make sense.
• The invitation waiting for all of us in the middle of the story.

Transcript

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For a long time, I believed healing would begin the day I finally understood why. Why the relationship ended, why the prayer wasn't answered, why life unfolded the way that it did. That day never came. Instead, God gave me something I didn't know I needed. He transformed my heart, reminded me who I was, and taught me to trust Him even when the answers never arrived. I've been thinking about this conversation for a long time, not because I didn't know what I wanted to say, but because I wanted to be honest. If you've been with me since part one, thank you. Thank you for trusting me with your mornings, your walks, your drives to work, or maybe the quiet moments at the end of a long day. Maybe you've listened one conversation each week. Maybe you're just finding this series today and decided to start here. However you found your way to this table, I'm grateful you're here. Today isn't simply the end of a series. It's the closing of one chapter and maybe the beginning of another When we started this journey together, everything centered around one question. Why? Why did this happen? Why didn't God stop it? Why didn't the relationship work? Why didn't the prayer get answered? Why did life unfold this way? For a long time, I believed healing was waiting on the other side of that answer. If I could just understand, then maybe my heart could finally rest. I don't believe that anymore. Not because I finally received the explanation. I didn't. I never got my why. But I received something I didn't even know to ask for. And looking back now, I wouldn't trade it for the answer I thought I wanted When I think about these last 10 parts, I don't just remember the questions. I remember the woman asking them. She was exhausted, not just physically, emotionally, spiritually. She loved God. She believed He was good, but she couldn't reconcile His goodness with what had just happened. Maybe you felt that tension too. You know what Scripture says. You know God is faithful. You know He keeps His promises, and yet you're living through a chapter that doesn't look anything like the life you imagined. That's a difficult place to be because your mind knows one thing while your heart is trying to catch up. That's why we started this conversation, not to force ourselves into hope, not to pretend everything was okay, but to make room for honest faith, the kind of faith that asks difficult questions and keeps showing up anyway Over these past weeks, we've walked beside people in scripture who understood that tension. In Genesis, Hagar wondered if anyone truly saw her in the wilderness, yet she encountered the God who sees. Naomi believed her story had ended in bitterness, only to discover God was quietly writing redemption through ordinary faithfulness. Hannah waited with an ache that words could hardly express before God answered in His own time. Jeremiah spoke hope to people living in exile, reminding them that God's plans weren't canceled simply because life looked nothing like they expected. the woman with the issue of blood spent years believing she would always be defined by her suffering until one encounter with Jesus changed everything. And Joseph endured betrayal, slavery, false accusation, and prison before he could finally look back and see what God had been doing all along. None of them could see the whole story while they were living in it. Neither could I, and maybe neither can you. For a long time, I believed I needed answers. I thought healing would begin the day God explained Himself, the day everything finally made sense, the day I could connect every piece and say, "Oh, that's why." Looking back now, I don't think that's what I needed at all. What I needed was God. Not simply His direction, not only His provision, not another promise highlighted in my Bible. I needed His presence. Because answers can satisfy curiosity. Only God can transform a heart. And that's where everything began to change. Not outside of me, inside When I first started thinking about this conversation, I kept coming back to the one question: What was actually better? Was it the opportunities that came afterward, the podcast, the writing, the people God brought into my life, The church family that welcomed me when I felt like I didn't know where I belonged? Yes, I'm deeply grateful for every one of those gifts. But as I sat with that question, I realized those weren't the greatest gifts God gave me. They were the fruit. The deepest work happened somewhere much quieter. It happened inside me. Looking back now, I can see something I couldn't see then. The heartbreak didn't create my deepest wounds, it uncovered them. There were places in my heart that had been carrying pain long before that relationship ended, long before the prayer went unanswered, and long before I found myself asking God why. There were wounds of rejection, wounds of abandonment, the fear of not being chosen, the quiet belief that somehow I wasn't enough. Those wounds had been influencing my story for years. I just didn't realize they were there. The circumstances didn't create them, they revealed them, and as painful as that was, um, I'm grateful. Not because I wanted the pain, not because I would choose that season again, but because God loved me too much to leave those places untouched. For years, my prayer was, "God, change my circumstances." Instead, He began changing me, not overnight, not through one heartbreak, not because I suddenly woke up healed, But through one honest conversation after another, one surrendered prayer, one faithful step, just one right after the other. I've known that God often meets us in the places we'd rather avoid, the memories we'd rather forget, the conversations we'd rather never have again, the questions we'd rather have answered immediately. Those became the places where I experienced His presence most deeply. Not because He caused my pain, but because He refused to waste it. I used to picture God standing across from me, waiting for me to figure everything out. Now I picture Him sitting beside me patiently, gently, never rushing me, never shaming me for struggling, simply inviting me to trust Him with one more piece of my heart. Some days that looked like worship, some days it looked like tears, and other days it looked like sitting in complete silence because I didn't have any words left. He welcomed every version of me, the confident one, the fearful one, the hopeful one, the disappointed one. He never asked me to become someone else before coming to Him. He simply asked me to come. And little by little, that changed For a long time, I thought healing meant the wound would disappear. I don't believe that anymore. Healing doesn't mean the wound never gets touched. Healing means the wound no longer gets to tell the story. There are still moments when something catches me off guard A conversation, a memory, unexpected news, someone bringing up your past. Sometimes before I even realize what's happening, I feel that old question begin to rise. Why, God? Why this? Why now? If I'm honest, there are still moments when asking why feels familiar, almost comfortable. Not because I enjoy living there, because it's the pattern my heart learned over many years. The difference is I recognize it now. I recognize the old story trying to pull me back. I recognize the temptation to believe that if I could just understand everything, then I'd finally be at peace. But I've learned something. Peace was never waiting on the other side of, of that explanation, of any explanation. It was waiting on the other side of surrender. So I pause, I breathe, I pray. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I open my Bible and just simply sit quietly and remind myself of what I already know to be true. God has been faithful before. He is faithful now, and He will be faithful tomorrow. I remind myself that I don't have to understand everything to take the next faithful step. I have also realized that purpose isn't always something we discover years later. Sometimes purpose is unfolding while we're still asking questions. Purpose was growing every time I chose to pray instead of giving up, every time I opened my Bible when I didn't feel like reading, every time I went to church with a heart that was still hurting, every time I chose to believe that God could do something beautiful with a story I never would have chosen for myself. Looking back, I can see that purpose wasn't waiting at the end of my healing. It was quietly shaping me through it That may be one of the greatest surprises of this entire journey. I thought I was waiting for God to change my circumstances. All along, He was changing me. people sometimes ask me what changed. The easiest answer would be I healed, and I'm still healing. But I don't think that's the whole story. Here's what really changed. I stopped measuring God's goodness by whether He explained Himself. For a long time, I believed His silence meant His absence. Now I know those are not the same thing. There were seasons when I couldn't hear Him clearly. He was still present, though. There were seasons when I couldn't see what He was doing, but He was still working. There were seasons when I wondered if He had forgotten me, and He never had. That realization changed the way I prayed and pray. It, it changed the way I read Scripture. It changed the way I looked at disappointment, the way I look at myself. Because I no longer define myself by the hardest chapter of my life. I define myself by the one who has been writing my story from the very beginning. I still ask why questions sometimes, but I don't live there anymore Now when I find myself returning to that familiar question, I gently remind myself that not understanding doesn't mean God isn't working. I don't always understand what He's doing, but I've stopped assuming that because I don't understand He isn't doing anything. That may be the greatest lesson He's taught me. I didn't receive the answer I wanted. I received the relationship I needed, and that was better. So much better. There's a verse that I've come back to over and over again throughout the season. Joseph, after many years of betrayal, slavery, false accusation, prison, and finally restoration, looks at his brothers and says, "You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good." It's one of my favorite verses, and it's in Genesis chapter fifty, verse twenty. I've heard that verse so much throughout this healing process, from different people, in fact. During this season, I noticed something I'd never really thought about before. Joseph didn't say those words from the pit. He didn't say those words while he was serving in Potiphar's house. He didn't say them while he sat in prison wondering if anyone remembered him. He said them years later Looking back, that doesn't erase everything he endured. It doesn't make those years any less painful. it simply means that over time, he was able to see what God had been weaving together all along. I think about that often because if I'm honest, I'd love tomorrow's perspective today. I would love to know what's happening. I'd love to know what God is doing before He finishes doing it. Wouldn't you? I'd love to skip ahead a few chapters and see how everything comes together, but that's not how stories work, and it isn't how faith works either. Faith asks us to keep walking before we can see the whole picture, not because we're certain about what's ahead, because we've come to know the one who's leading us. And I've realized something else. When this series began, I thought I was asking one question. Why? Looking back, I think I was really asking something different. Am I still loved? Am I still chosen? Did God forget me? Is there still a future for someone whose story didn't unfold the way she imagined? Those were the questions underneath the question. Maybe that's true for you, too. Sometimes why isn't really about information. Sometimes it's about identity. We ask why because we're trying to understand what our pain says about us. Does this mean I'm not enough? Does this mean God passed me by? Does this mean I'll always be alone? Those questions are heavy, and they deserve more than quick answers. They deserve truth. Here’s the truth I've been learning. What happened to me changed parts of my story. It didn't change who God says I am. The disappointment was real. The heartbreak was real. The grief, real. But none of those things had the authority to rename me. Only God does that. That realization didn't happen all at once. It happened one ordinary day at a time. One surrendered prayer, one honest conversation with God, one act of obedience when I didn't feel like taking the next step, and I'm still learning it. Every new season seems to invite a deeper level of trust. I don't think that's because God keeps moving farther away. I think it's because He's continually inviting me closer. So what did God actually give me that was better? It wasn't one big moment. It wasn't one life-changing conversation. It wasn't finally discovering the missing piece. It was a thousand quiet moments that slowly became a different life. He gave me himself, and I don't mean that as the answer we're supposed to give in church. I mean it because I didn't understand it until I lived it There was a time when I wanted God to remove my pain more than I wanted to know Him with it I didn't understand what it was to give Him my pain. As my Bible study teacher and my mentor would tell me, they would say, "Give Him your pain." Sit with Him. Spend time with Him. Spend time in His Word. Now I understand that some of the sweetest moments I've ever experienced with Him happened because I had nowhere else to turn. I met a Father who wasn't intimidated by my questions, a Father who never asked me to pretend I was stronger than I was, a Father who wasn't disappointed every time I circled back to an old hurt. He simply just kept inviting me closer again and again. That changed everything. He gave me a church family, not because they replaced what I'd lost, because they reminded me that I wasn't walking alone. He gave me women who sat beside me without trying to rescue me, people who prayed when I couldn't find the words People who reflected God's faithfulness back to me when I couldn't yet see it for myself. He gave me this podcast. And sometimes I still catch myself smiling when I think about it. If you had told me a few years ago that I'd be sitting behind this microphone talking about hope talking about God, talking about reading the Bible, I honestly don't think I would have believed you. Not because I doubted God, Because I couldn't imagine becoming this version of myself. He gave me my writing back. Some of my deepest conversations with Him happened with a journal open in front of me. Words became prayers. Prayers became surrender. Surrender slowly became healing. And He gave me purpose, not because my life suddenly became easier, because my pain was no longer the only story I had to tell. And He gave me new dreams. Dreams I never would have noticed because I was so focused on mourning the ones that didn't come true Dreams that I thought I wanted. And now as I look back, I'm grateful that it didn't happen. So grateful He gave me peace. Not the kind that comes from finally figuring everything out. The kind that quietly settles into your heart because you've learned that God's character doesn't change even when your circumstances do And that is a treasure that is so important because Every time we engage out in the world and we encounter people, we see that sometimes their words change, their character changes, but God is faithful. And He gave me hope. Not hope that life would unfold exactly the way I imagined. Hope that whatever chapter comes next, I won't walk into it alone. And maybe that's what redemption looks like. Not pretending the story never hurt, not calling pain good, but watching God patiently weave grace through places that once felt beyond repair Maybe you're listening today and your story still feels unfinished. Maybe you're waiting for a phone call, a diagnosis to change, a relationship to heal, A prayer you've been praying for years to actually happen. If that's where you are, I don't wanna offer you cliches. I don't wanna tell you everything happens for a reason and move on. I want to remind you of something I hope you've heard throughout this entire series. Don't measure God's presence by how many answers you've received. Look for His faithfulness. Look for the ways He's sustained you. Look for the people He's placed beside you. Look for the strength you have today that you didn't have a year ago Look for the compassion that's grown inside you because of what you've walked through. Sometimes the miracle isn't that the situation changes. Sometimes the miracle is that we do. And if someone had told me that at the beginning of my journey, I probably would've smiled politely and thought, "That's nice, but I'd still rather have the answer." I understand that feeling, I really do. But today, I wouldn't trade what God has done in my heart, not because the pain was worth it. Pain is never something I would wish for But because God refused to waste it, He redeemed it, He met me in it, and He continues to transform me through it So before we close, I wanna say thank you. Thank you for trusting me with your story over the last 10 parts. And if you've been with me from the beginning of this podcast, thank you for trusting me and listening to me from the beginning. Whether you've been here from the beginning or you're just finding this series today, I'm grateful we were able to spend this time together. If you're starting with this conversation, I want to encourage you to go back to part one and walk through the series at your own pace. There's no finish line. Let God meet you where you are, one conversation at a time. I've also created a free companion, the I Never Got My Why reflection guide, to help you process what we've talked about throughout the series. You can download it using the link in the show notes whenever you're ready. and because some conversations deserve a little more room than a podcast episode allows, I'll be writing a companion reflection on Substack for this final part. If today's conversation resonated with you, if you felt a connection, I'd love for you to join me on Substack. The link is in the show notes. If you'd like to share part of your story, ask a question, or simply let me know how this series has encouraged you, there's a fan mail button in the show notes right here. I read every message, and hearing how God is meeting you in your own story is one of the greatest gifts this podcast has given me. And if this series has been meaningful to you, one of the simplest ways you can support The Living Story is by following the podcast and leaving a review. It helps these conversations reach other women who may be sitting in the middle of their own stories, wondering if anyone understands Thank you for being here. And before I absolutely leave, and I promise this is the last part. Maybe one day you'll understand why. Maybe you won't. This side of heaven, there may always be questions we carry, but I no longer believe that the greatest miracle is getting every answer. I think the greater miracle is discovering that God's presence is enough to keep taking the next step. I still ask why sometimes. The difference is I don't build a home there anymore. When the question comes, I recognize it. I bring it to my Father. I remember His faithfulness, and I keep walking, not because I have everything figured out, because I've come to trust the one who is leading me. And the questions you still carry are not evidence that God has left. He's still here. He's still faithful. He's still writing. So wherever you are today, keep showing up, keep praying, keep trusting, Thank you for letting me walk beside you through these 10 parts. It has truly been an honor. Until next time, you are seen. You are deeply loved. Your story isn't over. The author is still writing, and He has never left your side. Grace and peace