One of our family traditions during my teenage years was a yearly family reunion at a camp in a remote area of Idaho, USA. On our second trip ever — the day before we were to come home — my older brother started getting sick. He typically would have driven the car with the boys in it (there were five of us) so my parents and sister could enjoy the drive home in the other car.
We went to bed that night and I knew I would be the one driving the car home the next morning. I felt a sense of duty to take care of my older brother by driving so he could rest.
I woke early the next morning to discover that one of my contact lenses was missing. I removed my contacts the previous evening in the out-building where the showers and toilets were — about a hundred yards from our cabin.
I come from a strong faith tradition. It was almost second nature for me to offer a prayer for help locating that contact lens even though I had little hope of finding it. I offered a simple prayer then scoured the path between the out-building and our cabin, with my one good eye, over and over again.
After what felt like an hour of searching, I determined that my prayer had not been sincere enough. I returned to our now-vacated cabin, alone, and dropped to my knees on the floor. I offered a simple, sincere prayer. It couldn’t have lasted longer than a minute.
I concluded my prayer and with my head still bowed, I opened my eyes. There, right between my knees on the floor, was my missing contact lens.
Of course, you can argue that it is completely coincidental that I happened to fall to my knees in the exact location where the contact lens was. Even if coincidence, if I had not had that desire to pray in secret, I would most certainly not have found that contact lens because all of our gear was loaded, just waiting for us to get on the road.
That was my first experience with seeking for an answer through prayer; of trusting that God would hear me and answer somehow, some way. That particular prayer was answered even better than I hoped. Did an invisible guardian pick up that contact and drop it between my knees while I prayed? I don’t know. I didn’t notice the contact when I knelt down, but it was there when I finished.
I’ve had numerous experiences where I’ve received answers to prayers. They’re not always the answers I want. Often, if I’m humble enough to watch and listen, I can see how not getting the answer I wanted has blessed me in some way. Each of those prayers, little by little, has taught me to trust in God.
I was sixteen years old when I chose to follow God and I’ve never really looked back. I’ve had a few difficult experiences in life. I’ve measured most of my tough experiences against losing my mother to cancer when I was just about fifteen years old. I have felt, thankfully, that each of those difficult experiences has pulled me closer to God. In the midst of trials, that has been a great blessing in my life.
I recently learned of a very dear friend who moved away some years ago. He and his wife have built a beautiful family together. Their youngest child, a few months ago, was diagnosed with terminal cancer. He had just turned three years old.
I also heard from another friend that he had multiple myeloma and acute kidney failure. Doctors gave him a few months to live, but he died just days later.
Those are just two of the hundreds of thousands of experiences that are repeated daily across the globe. For those who believe in God — any god — there are opportunities to question their faith as things in life don’t turn out how they hope and pray.
Faith — really trusting God — is a choice. Faith doesn’t happen by accident. According to the 24-hour news cycle, faith is decreasing in popularity.
In the face of life’s hardest moments, it’s natural to wrestle with doubts, to ask whether our prayers truly matter. When prayers seem unanswered, the temptation is to wonder if God is listening at all. Trusting God isn’t about receiving the desired outcome all the time. It’s about recognizing the limitation of our own perspective. Trust isn’t profoundly tested in the moments where we get the desired outcome, like the morning I found my lost contact lens. The real test is when our hopes and prayers appear unfulfilled, and we’re left searching for meaning in the darkness of doubt and despair.
I’ve learned that trusting God is knowing that I’m never alone in my struggles, even when I don’t get what I want. Prayers and yearnings that seem unanswered are an invitation to draw closer, to lean into a strength and peace beyond my own. Trust grows strongest in the face of hardship, not its absence. It’s a reminder that faith is not certainty in the temporary outcomes of life. Certainty only exists in trusting that God guides and comforts even when answers seem so far away.
I often think about the contact lens I lost all more than 30 years ago. It wasn’t visible to me until I’d paused, humbled myself, and knelt quietly on that cabin floor. Life’s deeper answers often appear like that lens, waiting patiently for us to slow down, let go of our urgency, and genuinely trust God. Even when circumstances feel uncertain — especially when it feels uncertain — God finds ways to meet us precisely where we are.
Miraculous moments can definitely bolster faith, but they’re not required to prove God’s love. We show our trust in Him through quiet, consistent acts of patience, hope, and surrender everyday.
The details of life won’t always align with our hopes, but profound peace comes from believing every experience — especially painful ones — holds a sacred opportunity to draw closer to God.
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