Drifting, Doubting, and Finding My Way Home Again

When have you felt like you drifted away from God or like your faith in Him was not 100% genuine or wholehearted? What brings you back to Him at such times?

Have you ever felt like you’ve drifted from God?

Or maybe you’ve wondered if your faith was truly genuine—if it was ever wholehearted to begin with?

If so, I want you to know: you’re not alone.

I’ve been there too. More than once.

There are seasons—quiet, hollow-feeling seasons—when I’ve found myself just going through the motions. Reading scripture, saying prayers, showing up… but feeling like I’m watching my own faith from a distance. Like I remember how it used to feel, but now it feels muted. Faint. Almost like it belongs to someone else.

I remember one particular season when we had just walked through something really hard. I was still doing all the “right” things—still showing up to church, still praying—but my heart was exhausted. I would sit in stillness and think, Why does God feel so quiet right now?

I wanted to feel strong in my belief, confident in my trust. But the truth was, I was empty. I was tired. And I didn’t know how to make my heart catch up to what my mouth was saying.

But over time, I’ve learned something sacred:

God doesn’t need us to have it all figured out. He isn’t waiting for us to be perfect or even strong. He meets us right there—in the middle of our weariness, in our questions, in the spaces where our faith feels like it's barely holding on.

And most often, it's the little things that bring me back.
The way the afternoon light shines across the kitchen sink.
A line in a hymn that catches me off guard and fills my eyes with tears.
A simple message from a friend that says, “You’ve been on my mind.”

Tiny, gentle reminders—breadcrumbs—that lead me back to Him.

And when I get still enough, when I finally pause the noise and listen, I remember something I somehow forgot: He never left.

I may have drifted.

I may have been the one watching from a distance.

But He’s been right here, holding space, waiting for me to come home.

And when I finally do, it never feels like shame.

It feels like grace. Every single time.