Dear Father,

I trust that you love and want what is best for me. You do everything for your children out of your love and for our good.

You have said in Jeremiah 29:11:

“For I know the plans that I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans for prosperity and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.”

With this assurance, Lord, I lift every pressing need in my life, both immediate and long-term, into your hands.

You know better than I do the things I need in my life right now. And you know when and where I need them.

You know what I haven’t spoken aloud. The thoughts that rise uninvited while I’m brushing my teeth or stuck at a red light. You see the battle between faith and fear that plays out in my chest.

You see how hard it is for me to keep smiling when everything feels uncertain underneath. And yet—you love me. You’re not overwhelmed by my weakness, and you’re not disappointed by my weariness.

I don’t want to focus on the options outside you or those born out of fear and doubt.

I don’t want to rely on my own understanding or lean into quick solutions that only bring temporary relief. I don’t want to take control in moments of panic, only to end up more anxious than before.

Lord, train my heart to rest—not in answers, but in you. If peace comes only when I understand, I’ll never know it. But if peace comes from trusting you—then I want that kind.

From the physical standpoint, it is not easy to trust an invisible God for such a miracle. But, Father, I am choosing to trust you for this.

Yes, I’m choosing—because faith is a choice. Even when I don’t feel brave. Even when the numbers don’t add up. Even when nothing around me looks like your promise, I’ll stand in the space between “not yet” and “soon” and say, I believe. Because I’ve seen what you’ve done before. And I believe you haven’t changed.

I claim the promises from your word over these needs, and I stand upon it, believing that you will come through for me.

Your Word is not a fragile thing. It’s not just poetry—it’s power. It doesn’t bend to circumstance or change with time. You are the same yesterday, today, and forever.

And so, I hold your promises like a sword in my hand. I speak them into my day. Into my doubt. Into the darkness that tries to creep in when I’m tired and alone.

I am reading Isaiah 50:7:

“For the Lord God helps Me, therefore, I am not disgraced; therefore, I have made My face like flint, and I know that I will not be ashamed.”

Help me to live like this, Lord. Steady. Firm. Unshaken. Let my face be like flint—not hardened by bitterness or pride, but strengthened by your Spirit.

When things don’t go according to my plan, let me hold fast to your character. You are kind. You are faithful. You are with me.

Now, Lord, I refuse to give any room to fear or worry. Instead, I choose to laugh, rejoice, dance, and be thankful.

I choose joy, not because everything is perfect, but because you are present. I choose gratitude—not just for what I see, but for what I trust you’re preparing. Let my praise rise higher than my problems.

Let laughter return to my lips and lightness to my steps. Remind me that celebration is not something I have to earn—it’s something I can practice, even in the waiting.

I am convinced you’ve got this, so I praise you.

I don’t need a sign—I have your Spirit. I don’t need all the details—I have your promises. I don’t need to feel strong—I have your strength living in me.

So I will go into this day not with fear, but with faith. Not with anxiety, but with assurance. You are ahead of me, beside me, behind me. You are my safety net and my source.

Whatever comes, you’re already in it. You’re already using it. You’re already redeeming it for good.

In Jesus’ name, I pray.

Amen.

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