Day 122

1 Samuel 8–9 | Acts 16:1–15

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Sometimes the answer you think you want becomes the one that breaks you.

Israel wanted a king.

Not because God wasn’t leading—but because they couldn’t see Him. They wanted a leader like the other nations had. A name. A face. A figure to rally around.

And after pushing back on the idea, God said yes.

He let them have Saul—not because it was best, but because it would reveal something they needed to learn. That their longing for control would never be satisfied by a crown of their own choosing.

Today, I Know That Feeling

Because today is the day I’ve been dreading and awaiting for the past fifteen months.

Today, it became official: my job has been eliminated, and my final day is now set.

And not only did I learn it—I had to announce it.

As the head of corporate communications at my firm, it was my job to click send on the email notifying hundreds of colleagues that their roles are ending too.

I hit send.

But it felt like I hit a wall.

So now begins the résumé writing. The job searching. The networking. The applying for open positions. The wondering what’s next. The prayers for provision. For direction. For contentment. For our savings to be enough. For medical insurance to cover the two surgeries ahead.

And the part that stings most?

I’m really good at my job.

Not just diligent. Not just experienced. But efficient, productive, and effective in ways most people never see. That kind of value—mine—is being overlooked. Dismissed. Passed by.

And it hurts.

And maybe what weighs most heavily isn’t just the uncertainty or the layoff itself. It’s the fact that my wife and my 12-year-old daughter are watching. Not in the spotlight moments—but in the quiet ones. The sighs. The scrolls. The silence at the dinner table. And in those unremarkable moments, I want them to see Jesus in me—not self-pity. Not panic. Not bitterness. Just trust. Not because I’m strong—but because He is.

I know God has a bigger plan in this. But today, that plan feels more like a mystery I’m begging Him to unlock.

God’s Provision Doesn’t Always Look Like a King

In 1 Samuel 9, God orchestrates Saul’s calling through missing donkeys and a prophetic appointment. It looks random. It feels ordinary.

But it’s providence.

And in Acts 16, God redirects Paul’s path—not by parting the heavens, but by shutting doors.

He keeps Paul from Asia. Keeps him from Bithynia. And finally, through a vision of a man in Macedonia, gives him the green light.

Some days God leads by blocking what we think is best.

Some days He leads through silence.

Some days—like today—He leads through loss.

And I’m learning to trust that just because a door closes doesn’t mean God isn’t moving.

It might be the very road He uses to reroute us.

When You Don’t See the Reason Yet

I don’t know where this path leads yet.

But I’m learning that faithfulness doesn’t require a full itinerary. It just asks for trust in the One who sees the whole map.

The call is to obey.

To listen.

To keep walking.

To believe that even when the way feels blocked or backward or brutal—God is still writing something good.

Because the God who let Israel choose Saul didn’t abandon them.

The God who shut doors on Paul didn’t leave him directionless.

And the God who just helped me click send on the hardest email of my career hasn’t walked away from me.

He is still leading.

Even when I feel lost.

Even when my confidence is shaken.

Even when I don’t understand how this chapter fits into the story He’s writing for my good and His glory.

Because faith that doesn’t cost me anything isn’t the kind of faith I want my daughter to remember.

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Lord, this ending hurts. Not because I doubt You—but because I’ve poured everything I had into the work You gave me. And now it’s gone. But You are still good. Still sovereign. Still writing a story I don’t yet understand. So I’ll keep walking. Keep trusting. Keep planting seeds I can’t yet see bloom. And I’ll leave the outcome in Your hands—the only hands strong enough to hold the weight of all my unknowns.

Amen.