(Faith series part 1)

You know those people who say, “When I found God, everything fell into place”?

Yeah… this is not that story.

This is not about everything falling into place.
This is about feeling like everything was falling apart—on the inside.

It’s the story of how I lost sight of God.
Or maybe more accurately… how I walked away from Him.

It’s about the exhaustion that comes from doing all the right things, yet still feeling empty. It’s about disappointment, confusion, and one night when it all became too much—and I broke.

I didn’t stop believing in God’s existence.
I just couldn’t feel Him anymore.
And eventually, I stopped trying.

The Desperate Search Party (Population: Me)

I was in full-on spiritual detective mode.

Reading the Bible? ✔️

Bible study group? ✔️

Helping in church? ✔️

Praying with others and getting oil on my head? ✔️✔️✔️

I was doing everything right—on paper. But instead of finding peace or clarity I was just… tired. Tired and confused.

What was wrong with me? Was I misinterpreting everything? In the wrong crowd? I tried harder. I prayed more. I pushed myself to believe. But nothing worked. It just made me feel more alone—and more confused.

I started second-guessing everything. I kept asking, “Why is God so quiet when I’m trying so hard? Is it supposed to feel this difficult? What am I missing?”

Eventually, I ran out of questions—and out of patience.

The Night I Quit

One night, it all came to a head.

I broke. I snapped.

I did the most un-Christian thing I could think of: I yelled at God.

Not a poetic, psalm-like lament.
A full-volume, ugly-cry, fists-clenched, shouting match.

“I’ve done my part. Now it’s YOUR turn. I’m done.”

And I meant it.

I quit.

Not just for a week. Not just for a “spiritual reset.”

I stopped praying.

Stopped reading the Bible.

Stopped pretending.

For several years, I lived in silence.

Not from God, but from my side.

I ghosted Him. Hard.

Panic Attacks, Passport Stamps, and the Great Escape

What followed wasn’t exactly a highlight reel.

I fell into depression. Panic attacks became part of my daily routine. Eventually, I quit my job, sold almost everything, and decided to travel the world, to find myself, to reboot —call it what you will.

Did I have a plan? Not really. Just the need to get away from the life I knew and discover the world.

I met incredible people. I saw places that took my breath away. I volunteered in beautiful communities. I had wild adventures—maybe stories for another time.

Looking back, I know now:
I had walked away from God.
But He hadn’t walked away from me, protecting me throughout the travel.

I just didn’t realize it yet.

Eventually, the world hit pause—and so did I.
The pandemic forced me back home, back to stillness.

That’s when I realized something no one puts on a travel blog:
You can’t outrun emptiness.
It packs light and always fits in your carry-on.

And it came home with me.

The depression returned. The anxiety too.
Even the smallest interaction felt like too much. I couldn’t bear the news—climate change, wars, injustice.
It was all just… too loud.

So I shut down. I wanted to be alone, disconnected from the outside.

To be continued…

For a long time, I believed the story was over.
But God hadn’t given up on me. Not even close.

Even in the silence, He was still at work.
And when He called me back…
He didn’t use a sermon or a bible study

He used a dog.

But that’s a story for another blog…