So I turned to the Lord God and pleaded with him in prayer and petition, in fasting, and in sackcloth and ashes.
I prayed to the Lord my God and confessed:“Lord, the great and awesome God, who keeps his covenant of love with those who love him and keep his commandments, . . .”
I remember a morning when I was a young mom, standing in my kitchen before the sun came up. The house was finally quiet after a long night of feedings and little feet padding across the floor. I was exhausted in a way that went deeper than sleep deprivation. I loved my children with everything in me, yet I felt overwhelmed, unsure, and stretched thin. I stood there with my Bible open, not because I had a plan, but because I knew I needed God to meet me right there.
I remember a morning when I was a young mom, standing in my kitchen before the sun came up. The house was finally quiet after a long night of feedings and little feet padding across the floor. I was exhausted in a way that went deeper than sleep deprivation. I loved my children with everything in me, yet I felt overwhelmed, unsure, and stretched thin. I stood there with my Bible open, not because I had a plan, but because I knew I needed God to meet me right there.
I did not have big prayers that morning. I did not have clarity or confidence. I just had a tired heart and a deep need for mercy.
What I remember most from that season is how much I thought I was failing. Failing as a mom who should have it together. Failing as a daughter of the King who should feel stronger in her faith than she did. I believed faith was supposed to look steady and confident, not worn down and uncertain. I quietly carried the weight of thinking something must be wrong with me, that I was falling short both spiritually and personally.
Years later, when I found myself in Daniel 9, that memory came rushing back.
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By the time we reach this chapter in the Book of Daniel, Daniel is not young anymore. He has lived most of his life in exile. He has walked faithfully with God for decades, serving under kings who did not honor the Lord. And yet in chapter 9, we find him in the Word, letting Scripture shape his response.
Daniel is reading the prophet Jeremiah and realizes the seventy years of exile are nearly complete. God’s promise is unfolding. What moves me is not just what Daniel knows, but how he responds. Scripture says Daniel turned his face toward the Lord God and sought Him in prayer.
That phrase stops me every time.
Daniel had to be near to God in order to turn toward Him. He did not have to search for God or wonder where He was. When understanding and conviction settled in, all Daniel had to do was turn. His nearness made that possible.
Daniel does not celebrate or rush ahead. He humbles himself. He fasts. He confesses. He prays and says, “we have sinned.” Not they. We. Even though Daniel is known for his faithfulness, he does not distance himself from the brokenness of his people. He stands in it with humility and honesty. This is not shame. This is intercession. His prayer is rooted in who God is. God’s faithfulness. God’s mercy. God’s covenant love. Knowing God’s promises does not replace prayer for Daniel. It deepens it.
And it is here, after sitting with Daniel’s posture, that something finally settles in my own heart.
I was not failing back then. I was growing.
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Like Daniel, I was near enough to God to turn toward Him. I did not have polished prayers or spiritual confidence yet, but I knew where to go. I knew to open His Word. I knew to stay close. Even when I felt unsure, even when I felt inadequate, I was positioning myself in His presence. That mattered more than I understood at the time.
Growth often looks like weakness while you are in it. Relationship is formed in the quiet showing up, not in perfection. Daniel’s life reminds me that faith is built over time, through proximity to God, through returning to Him again and again. When the moment came for Daniel to turn his face toward God, he could do so easily because he had spent a lifetime staying near.
Looking back now, I can see that those early mornings in my kitchen were not evidence of failure. They were evidence of relationship forming. I was learning how to stay close to God, and that closeness shaped everything that came after.
Daniel 9 reminds me that spiritual maturity does not mean we never struggle or doubt. It means we live near enough to God that when life feels heavy, when understanding grows, or when conviction comes, we know exactly which direction to turn.
Sometimes the most faithful thing we can do is stay near and trust that God is growing us, even when it feels like we are falling short.
Write a Letter to God
Take a few quiet moments and write a letter to God. Do not worry about getting the words right. Write honestly.
You might begin with:
- God, here is where I feel like I am failing
- God, here is where I am tired and unsure
- God, help me see where You are growing me, even if I cannot see it yet
Write what needs to be cleansed in your heart. Write what is heavy. Write what feels unfinished. Write where you are learning to stay near and turn toward Him. Write your thankfulness
God, thank You that growth does not require perfection. Thank You that You meet us in the quiet, in the weariness, and in the questions. Please give me for the times we have been fearful and with lack of trust in your plan and promises. Teach us to stay near to You, to turn our face toward You when life feels heavy, and to trust that You are at work even when we feel unsure. Help us see our lives not through the lens of failure, but through the lens of relationship and growth. We want to know You more, walk with You closely, and trust You deeply. Amen.
