How God's Grace Found Me in Every Season

A Fractured Beginning

One of my first memories is of my parents’ divorce when I was four. I didn’t understand what was happening, but I knew everything had changed. My world split in two—two homes, two routines, and a constant feeling of being caught in the middle. I loved them both deeply, and yet, I always felt torn. How am I supposed to choose which one to live with? Am I betraying the other by missing them? It was a lot for a little boy. That early experience of division, of being pulled between two people I loved, created confusion within me—a sense that love could be fragile, that even family could be broken. And yet, it also planted the first seeds of longing for something unbreakable, something steady and whole. 

A Childlike Faith

I was six years old when I first believed. My dad, a faithful man with a worn Bible always close by, had been walking my siblings and me through the story of Scripture—creation, rebellion, redemption through Jesus. One day, I asked to be baptized. He hesitated, as many wise fathers do, wanting to make sure I understood. So, he took me to our pastor. After a conversation about sin, grace, and the cross, pastor Simmons agreed for my dad and him to baptize me. 

Prayers Answered

I was baptized not long after, and something changed. Within a year, I remember praying regularly for God to draw near not only to me, but also to my best friend Scott. I’d ask him, “When are you going to become a Christian?” Eventually, Scott believed, too. It was the first time I had seen God answer my prayer and change someone's life forever. Scott's faithfulness would eventually help me when I needed guidance back toward Christ, even though I don't think he knows how much.

Even as a kid, I was beginning to grasp something beautiful: God doesn’t play favorites. He saves by grace alone, not because of anything we do or earn.

Wandering and Returning

But belief is not the end of the story. It’s the beginning of a life lived in response to God's kindness.

For the next sixteen years, I bounced between moments of spiritual closeness and seasons of distance. I chased what I wanted—parties, selfishness, impurity—while still feeling the pull of conviction. I knew God wasn’t done with me. Looking back, I see how he never let me go. He drew me in, slowly but surely.

His grace and kindness haunted and hunted me down, failure after failure. The truth that Christianity is primarily about God's faithfulness rather than mine grabbed me, and I couldn't shake it. 

Marriage and a Mirror to My Soul

Getting married in 2013 was a turning point. I became more aware of how deeply selfish I was. We had a rough start, although there were beautiful moments. We fought a lot. I postponed our wedding... twice. We were a mess. If you had asked me then, I would have told you we weren’t going to make it simply because our fights would be so regular. But God showed up again, and after six years of trying to work things out, we finally started to see improvement. Now, she is my ride or die; it just took a little bit to get here.  That mirror of intimacy revealed a need for God I hadn’t seen clearly before. And somehow, my hunger for Him grew. Our marriage and friendship began to see enrichment only after seven years — seven years. If you're still reading this and your marriage needs some work, it will improve. Go through counselors until you find one that works for you, and refuse to give up. Read the ten books on relationships and refuse to give up. Keep owning up to your mistakes, every word, and refuse to give up. We have a beautiful friendship now, and yes, some rough days. But nothing like it was in the beginning.

Grief, Faith, and the Deep End of Suffering

I didn’t know it yet, but I was about to walk through a valley where only God’s presence could sustain me.

In 2014, my dad—the one who first taught me about Jesus—was diagnosed with leukemia. The diagnosis shook us, but there was still hope. We clung to the treatments, to the updates, to the small victories along the way. Hospital visits were marked by prayer, tears, and even laughter. We believed he might beat it.

Then, a year later, lung cancer. It felt like the bottom dropped out. The hope we had clung to so tightly was suddenly pierced by finality. Watching him suffer became an ache I couldn’t describe. And yet, I also watched him trust. He didn’t become bitter or distant from God. Somehow, his faith deepened.

When he passed, the pain was so deep. Strangely, the pain felt more like fear—like I was standing at the edge of a chasm I couldn’t see the bottom of. It came on so suddenly, so completely, that I realized something about suffering I hadn’t known before: it has no bottom. You don’t know how deep it goes until you’re falling. That uncertainty—that level of vulnerability—was terrifying. However, there was also an unusual protection, as if the Spirit were holding me up. God didn’t remove the grief, but He somehow protected me from going too deep. My pain became a place where God met me, not to remove the sorrow, but to share in it with me.

Praxis: A Life Shaped by Grace

That season taught me something that has shaped my Christian life ever since: Grace is not a one-time event. It’s a daily reality. And Christian praxis—Right belief that translates into our habits, our rhythms, our obedience—isn’t about making God less frustrated. It’s about responding to His kindness as demonstrated through the person of Christ. It all hinges on Him.

Why This Story Matters

If you're someone who's struggled with drifting from God—whether through rebellion, apathy, or grief—I want you to know something: God doesn't leave His people alone. He pursues. He reorients. He anchors. Your obedience doesn’t begin in strength; it begins in response to God's loving-kindness. That’s the essence of Christian praxis: learning to return to God with our whole selves—through confusion, compromise, loss, and longing—because He meets us in real places, at real times, with real grace that changes us. 

A Final Word

God deserves worship not just because of what He has done in our lives, but because He's holy. If I had lost my dad and never felt comfort, if my prayers for Scott had gone unanswered, if I still struggled to feel close to God—He would still be worthy. But His mercy and nearness are real. He’s not just the God who saves. He’s the God who dwells among and within us.