I don’t know.
In the past six months, my journey of faith has taken me through a humbling passage, an unexpected unraveling that has taught me the beauty of not knowing. I've clung to scriptures, believing I had a firm grasp on His Word, yet I am so grateful for the revelation that I do not, in fact, hold all the answers. There is joy and excitement in embracing the uncertainty, in letting periods of ambiguity be opportunities to learn more about God, to grow in curiosity and faith.
As I reflect on this, I am reminded of my humanity, of my finite understanding. I am not God. I do not have the luxury of omniscience, nor am I burdened with the necessity of perfect insight. We, as leaders, believers, or simply as people, often place an intolerable pressure on ourselves to make flawless decisions, to discern the perfect will of God for our lives. But in this striving for perfection, we risk missing the breathtaking adventure that is a walk of faith. The paths we do know were more than likely forged by others, but the path of "I don't know" is uniquely yours. It's an opportunity to experience God in a way that is intricately tailored to your faith walk.
Like Peter, when he saw Jesus walking on water, we are not always obligated to step out into the unknown. Jesus did not mandate Peter to walk on water; Peter chose to try. As long as he focused on Jesus, as long as his faith was anchored in Him, he was able to walk. Peter's decision to leave the boat was voluntary, and I love that for him. I love that for me. And I love that for you if you're in a season of "I don't know."
These moments of uncertainty are often the result of bold and courageous decisions, ventures embarked upon without a blueprint. If you find yourself saying, "I don't know what I'm doing, how I got here, or where I'm going next," let me encourage you that God is present in the wilderness. He sustains us with provisions we've never seen before, just as He sustained the Israelites with manna on their journey to the Promised Land.
It is in our nature to crave complete knowledge but it also necessary to understand we don’t have it. I think of Eve, tempted by the serpent's promise of omniscience in Genesis 3:5, "You will be like God, knowing good and evil.” The temptation was not merely for knowledge but for the ability to navigate life by ticking boxes, to ascend to a plane of self-righteousness. And this pursuit of knowing it all can have adverse effects on others.
Consider the consequences in our churches, where some, believing they have reached a pinnacle of faith, lead with condemnation and judgment. Often, these are not spaces where true healing and transformation flourish. Instead, they become places where the most profound wounds are inflicted by those who claim to be healers, by those who assert they have the answers because they "passed the test."
This is why I am learning to find beauty and humility in acknowledging "I just don't know." The ONLY certainties I cling to are that God is sovereign, that He makes a way where there seems to be none, that all power belongs to Him, that He is Alpha and Omega, the author of both the end and the beginning. The only thing I am sure of is God's total control over my life. As for the specifics, as for what tomorrow will bring, I am at peace with not knowing. What I do know is that God's favor and grace accompany me, that His love is steadfast, and these truths are the most powerful anchors for my soul.
I know in a world where everyone is quickly becoming a subject matter expert or guru, admitting "I don't know" can feel like a defeat. But it's not. It's a declaration of dependence on God, an act of humility that says I am willing to trust in His omnipotence and goodness, even when I can't see the road ahead. It's acknowledging that our paths are not just about reaching a destination but about the journey itself—the lessons learned, the character built, and the relationship with God that deepens with every step of faith.
Honestly, I don't know what the future holds, but I am confident in the One who has already seen it.