In the Middle: Trusting God When Nothing Feels Clear

There are seasons of life that feel clear and grounded. We know where we are headed, or at least where we stand. And there are seasons of rest, when we feel deeply tended and refreshed. But then there are the in-between seasons, the middle spaces.

The middle is uncomfortable.

I think of being stuck in the middle seat on an airplane or in a car. People on both sides are brushing against me, I have no armrest, and I do not know what to do with my hands. It is awkward, and I find myself silently asking, “When will this be over?”

That is exactly how the middle seasons of life feel. We are not resting. We are not moving forward. We are caught in the in-between, and we just want it to end.

Grasping for Stability

When I feel restless or aimless, I notice myself grasping. I look for intellectual armrests to stabilize me. I start scanning for guidance, and I often turn to books, podcasts, content creators, or even spiritual practices as a way to escape the discomfort.

Sometimes I find myself asking questions that have not even fully formed yet, hoping someone else can answer them for me. It feels desperate.

And eventually, when I become aware of my own grasping, it feels vulnerable. Which, I will be honest, is not my favorite. Vulnerability is not something I gravitate toward. It has taken years of practice to allow myself to be seen and to admit I need help. And when I forget that the Shepherd is still with me in those middle spaces, I often put up walls instead.

Psalm 23 in the Valley

Psalm 23:4 speaks directly into this space:

“Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil, for you are with me” (NRSV).

The writer projects confidence: I fear no evil, because you are with me.

The NIV says, “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me.” Present tense walking. Future tense trusting. The writer is confident about what their response will be when they face the valley, because they know the Shepherd who walks with them.

And the Amplified Bible deepens it: “Even though I walk through the [sunless] valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for You are with me.” The light is gone. The valley is shadowed and dim. Yet even there, the Shepherd is present.

This kind of confidence is not instant. It is grown through time spent with God. It is cultivated in the middle spaces, where faith and trust are stretched and deepened.

A Personal Story of the Middle

Not long after I moved to Santa Barbara, I was invited to speak at a large church event back up north. Everything seemed lined up. I was prepared. I had been encouraged by my spiritual director. It felt like I was stepping into a clear path.

But the day unraveled quickly. I got stuck showing property in the mud. I barely made it to the airport. When I arrived, my ears were plugged, the tech was not working, the introduction was completely off, and by the time I was ten minutes in, I lost my grounding completely.

On the outside, I pushed through. On the inside, I unraveled.

For weeks afterward, I replayed the entire evening in my head. I did not feel like myself. I kept trying to reach back for who I had been before, wishing I could rewind time. I was firmly planted in the middle, off-balance, unsettled, disoriented.

And that is where I began to learn something I could not have learned anywhere else:

The middle is not wasted.

The Middle as Formation

What if the in-between is not a delay, but a space of divine formation?

We want to leapfrog over it, to get to the end result without the discomfort of process. But transformation does not work like that. It takes time. It is slow. It requires surrender.

I once described it to a professor as feeling like the holy ground beneath me had shifted. My equilibrium was off. But over time, through prayer, solitude, community, and conversations with trusted guides, I began to notice the shift was actually forming me.

The middle is where trust takes root.

The Process Matters

It is tempting to think we can just decide to become a new version of ourselves. But real transformation comes through living the process. Step by step. Moment by moment.

We cannot simply admire someone we find inspiring and say, “I will be like that.” We actually have to practice the way of love. And we need a Shepherd who knows the path.

Even Jesus did not skip the process. His life between birth and resurrection mattered. The years of learning, teaching, healing, and walking with others revealed what love looks like in flesh and blood. If all we had were the bookends of birth and resurrection, we would have missed the beauty of his humanity. The process was the point.

A Small Invitation for You

If you find yourself in a middle season right now, take heart. You are not behind. You are not lost. You are being formed.

Pause for a moment and name where you are. Name the discomfort, the uncertainty, the longing. And then whisper the words of the psalm: “You are with me.”

Even here, especially here, the Shepherd has not left you.

Closing

The middle is uncomfortable. But it is also sacred. It is where trust grows and where transformation quietly takes root.

You are not alone in the middle. You are being held.

(Next in the series: Sent: Becoming People of Love in Action.)