You Don’t Need All the Answers to Take the First Step

We chase “arrival” like it’s the finish line that will finally make us enough. I’ve done it in business, in faith, and in identity—believing that being complete meant being good, and that certainty meant being right. But really, that drive was pride wearing purpose. Underneath the striving sat ego: craving proof, applause, and a public “I made it.”

The problem? The Gospel doesn’t speak the language of perfection. Scripture keeps pressing a different rhythm into me—a slower, more surrendered one—where God meets imperfect people mid-stride and still moves through them.

When I read Exodus, I see myself in Moses arguing with God about his own unworthiness. He didn’t get useful by cleaning himself up first. He became useful by obeying while imperfect. God refined him as he walked. That revelation changed how I define success—not as arriving polished, but as staying faithful in process.

I grew up seeing Christianity as a checklist: a behavioral report card more than a relationship. But when I met Jesus personally—outside the pressure to perform for the Catholic Church—I discovered the inverse. Relationship births transformation. Obedience isn’t leverage; it’s fruit (the result of the inner transformation that takes place).

The closer you draw to Him, the more old habits lose their pull. You don’t have to white-knuckle sanctification—it happens from within. That’s the beauty and the frustration of it: it’s slow. Sometimes quiet. Often messy.

You’ll feel tension between what you once practiced and what conviction starts whispering. I’ve felt that deeply—especially with my oracle deck and yoga. There were nights I wrestled through Scripture, asked God hard questions, studied historical sources, and waited. I didn’t want a reactive decision; I wanted a rooted one. And God honored that. Conviction came not as condemnation, but as clarity—a gentle realignment born from relationship, not religion.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that wrestling with God is not rebellion—it’s intimacy. My faith actually grew stronger when I stopped running from my questions and started researching.

I went deep: manuscript evidence, historical timelines, the stunning coherence between the Old and New Testaments. Every study peeled back another layer of doubt. Faith didn’t shrink—it expanded. It became intelligent, anchored, alive.

And that’s where the Spirit met me—not in blind obedience, but in irrefutable trust. Once you’ve tasted the real thing, you don’t follow Jesus to look righteous. You follow Him because you can’t unknow what’s true. That’s a durable faith. One that holds when friends question you, when critics label you, or when the world around you shifts.

If you’re curious about Jesus but afraid of what you might lose—start small. Don’t try to fix or figure everything out first. Just pray, “Jesus, show me who You are.”

Let that be your first yes.
You don’t need to know every doctrine or understand every verse. Relationship comes first; clarity comes later.

And as His love starts to reorder things, you’ll find some practices and beliefs just… fall away. Not from shame, but because they stop fitting who you’re becoming.

If you’re caught in between—feeling misunderstood by both your New Age friends and church people—you’re not alone. I’m walking that road too. I’m not here with a “before and after” testimony. I’m here in the middle, documenting what sanctification actually looks like: awkward, humbling, holy, and deeply human.

Because the world doesn’t need more polished Christians.
It needs honest ones.
Ones willing to say, “I don’t have it all figured out, but I’m still saying yes.”

So take a step. Ask your hardest question. Read a chapter. Pray that simple prayer. And then—watch what happens.

The goal isn’t arrival.
It’s becoming.
And Jesus is patient enough to walk every mile of that road with you.