Coming Home to Now: God in Whatever This Is

The other night, I went to my longtime friend Lauren’s 40th birthday celebration at Marty B’s in Bartonville. It was a warm, lively evening, country music in the air, laughter echoing from the tables, the kind of atmosphere that buzzes without asking anything from you.

Lauren and I go way back. We met in 2005 behind the counter at the Barnes & Noble Café in College Station. That chapter was filled with espresso shots, shared dreams, and conversations that wove into the fabric of slow-burning friendship. She stood beside me as Maid of Honor in 2009. I stood beside her not long after at her wedding.

Life carried us in separate directions, but somehow, the thread never snapped. Now, in 2025, I’ve just moved to the Dallas-Fort Worth area. When her husband invited me to celebrate her milestone birthday, I said yes! I didn't know how much that yes would echo into something deeper.

A Subtle Return

It wasn’t the night itself that changed me, but the after. The next morning, I felt something stir... quietly.Not joy exactly, not nostalgia.

A calm knowing. A soft anchoring. A return to something already inside me.

It wasn’t the presence of people that filled me. It was the presence of God I could finally feel again because I had slowed down enough to notice.

The Sacred in the Seemingly Small

For years, I’ve lived a life of searching, trying to patch together meaning from relationships, work, performance, spirituality, even relocation. From Texas to Florida, back to Texas, and eventually across the ocean to Ireland.

I’ve experienced beautiful places and been surrounded by good people. And yet… I often felt invisible, not because no one saw me, but because I had lost sight of myself.

I thought something was wrong with me. I asked, Why do I feel so disconnected? Why do I always feel like I’m chasing something I can’t name?

But after that night, after sitting beside an old friend, laughing without pretense, being fully present, I felt a soft whisper inside say:

“I never left you.”

That voice is God. Right here. Right now. Not waiting for me to be more healed, more spiritual, more whole. Just present.

God, the Friend Inside

What shifted wasn’t the room, or the music, or even the reconnection. What shifted was me noticing that God is not separate from the moment I’m in. That night wasn’t magic because of who was there. It was sacred because I was there. Fully. And in being present, I could finally feel that I was not alone, not ever.

I don’t need to search for meaning anymore. I don’t need to fix the inside to earn peace on the outside. I don’t need to collect friends to feel seen or to feel like I belong. God is in whatever this moment is. And that’s enough.

No More Earning, Just Receiving

I've spent so much of my life believing I had to get the inside right for the outside to align. That I had to fix, heal, rise, perform. That the feeling I was missing would arrive after I figured it all out.

But what if it's already here? What if this moment, this breath, this body, this room I’m sitting in, is the miracle? This moment helps me understand what my next chapter looks like.

God is in the flicker of memory. In the shaky exhale. In the silence after laughter. In the friend who holds your hand. In the stillness when they’re gone. God is not after the breakthrough. God is the breakthrough.

A Quiet Arrival

I’m learning not to reach so hard. Not to ache for belonging when I’ve already been claimed. Not to build a perfect life just to feel like I’m enough. Because I am. Because God is here. And God is in whatever this is, this breath, this pause, this imperfect moment. Right now. And that’s enough.

It brings to mind the gentle, unwavering invitation from Psalm 46:10: “Be still, and know that I am God.”

Not “do more.” Not “figure it out.” Just be still. Let go. Stop striving. And in that stillness, know. Know that He is already here. That He has never left. That I don’t need to chase belonging when I’ve already been held.

This isn’t about waiting for the chaos to settle or the pain to pass. It’s about recognizing that God is not on the other side of the breakthrough... God is the breakthrough.

So today, I release the grip. I breathe. I know that I rest in the sacred truth that God is in whatever this moment is. And that’s more than enough.