Right before a long-awaited breakthrough, life often delivers its fiercest test. The path that felt steady and clear suddenly tosses you into confusion—doubt swells, familiar fears return, and every certainty you once held seems to wash away. This is not a malfunction of faith; it is its refining.
God does not abandon the dream when the storm comes. He tests the heart that will carry it. The turbulence that appears at the threshold of manifestation is not punishment but preparation. It asks: will you keep moving when you cannot see? Will you trust the voice within when every outward sign screams otherwise? Will you hold to your calling even when the world offers easier stories?
In those dark hours the mind becomes a marketplace of rival voices: the whisper of intuition and the clamor of fear. Intuition is quiet, steady, and rooted in the soul’s remembrance of why the dream came in the first place. Fear is loud, urgent, and often recycling old narratives—“not enough,” “too late,” “this is impossible.” The test is to learn which voice to follow. The one that aligns with God’s nudge within you, however faint, will always point toward the shore.
These trials are also curricular. They do not merely threaten; they teach. Stripped of comfort, you are forced to practice the lessons you once only understood conceptually: patience, surrender, resilience, and humility. The storm reveals wounds that need tending and strengths that require activation. It exposes attachments to outcomes so you can learn to serve the work—rather than demand its reward.
There is a paradox here: the harder the storm, the more profound the arrival. Often the breakthrough that follows is not precisely what you imagined—it is wiser, redirected, and truer to your soul. The detours and storms shape the vessel that carries the blessing. Had the trial not come, you might have reached a different shore, one less suited to what you were becoming.
So how do we live through it? Keep listening. Keep small acts of faith. Refuse to let external evidence alone dictate your worth or your path. Pray not only for relief but for clarity to discern the next right step. When the voice of intuition returns—calm, persistent, and loving—answer it, even if your hands tremble.
Remember: tests are not proof that God has forgotten you. They are the crucible through which purpose is purified. If you endure—if you do not surrender your knowing to the noise—you may find the shoreline arriving not as a reward for having been right all along, but as a testament to a faith that learned to stand in the storm.
The question remains: when the waters rise, will you give up, or will you deepen your trust and walk the course God has set before you?
