Finding My Way Back

Hey guys, it’s the husband here, making a rare guest appearance before my wife realizes I found the login.

I’m not a writer; I'm just married to one. But recently, after a heart-to-heart with my wife, I felt something stirring in my spirit: the urge to share my story. My Jesus story.

She was surprised, probably because I hadn’t talked about all of this in detail before, but as always, she supported me without hesitation. So here I am, sharing my journey, not just for myself, but for anyone who feels like they’ve drifted too far. Like my wife, I grew up in the church. I was fully involved: on the worship team, playing instruments, and eventually stepping into youth leadership. Church wasn’t just somewhere we went on Sundays; it was our family. Faith runs deep in my bloodline, too. Almost all the men on my mom’s side are pastors. My wife jokes that there might be a calling on the men in the family, and that I could end up preaching one day. I always laugh and say, “That’s not my calling.” (Still not convinced it is!)

But with such a strong foundation, it begs the question: how does a guy raised in church, surrounded by faith, end up far from God?

I can’t tell you the exact moment I started drifting, but I know for sure the breaking point was when my grandmother passed away. She was a pillar in our family, faithful, prayerful, and kind. Losing her broke me in a way I didn’t expect. I had questions, deep, painful ones: Why would God let someone like her die? Why didn’t He answer our prayers? And maybe the deeper truth is this: the drift started even before that, when I began noticing favoritism in the church. That kind of thing messes with your spirit, especially when you're young and genuinely trying to serve God. The grief, the confusion, the silence from those I thought would guide me, all added up.

Eventually, I just stopped going. One Sunday turned into months, I stopped showing up, stopped caring, and started living in ways I never imagined I would. I surrounded myself with the wrong crowd. I made poor choices. I entered a relationship that nearly broke me. And in many ways, I hit rock bottom.

Even while I was running, God was chasing me. I didn’t stop believing in Him. I just didn’t want anything to do with Him, or so I thought. My parents never stopped going to church. My mother never stopped praying. She prayed for me daily, prayed that God would reach me, and that He’d send a God-fearing woman into my life. Turns out, He did.

When I met my wife, I didn’t think anything would happen between us. She was different, carried herself with such grace and confidence, and she talked about Jesus like He was in the room with her every minute.

But something about her drew me in. We talked, really talked. And for the first time in a long time, I felt safe enough to open up. I shared my grief, my anger, my hurt, and my doubts. And not once did she judge me. She reminded me of God’s love in the way she lived, not just what she said. We connected deeply, especially through our shared experience of grief. She had lost her father, and in that mutual pain, we formed a friendship that grew into something beautiful.

One day, she gave me a challenge: “Even if it’s just one Sunday a month, go to church with your parents. Just try.” Of course, I resisted at first. But her words stuck with me. Eventually, I did go to church again. Once, then again, a few more times, and with every visit, something began to shift. It was in one of those services, when I had finally let my guard down, that I felt something I can only describe as a peace like I’ve never felt before. And in that moment, I knew. I knew she was my wife. God confirmed it in a way that bypassed all my doubts.

Shortly after that, I visited my grandmother’s grave. I sat there and told her everything, how I was going back to church, how I had met someone special, and how I was slowly finding my way back to the God she so faithfully served. I talked to her about Serge, about the prayers that were working even when I thought no one was listening.

I’m not perfect, not even close. I’m still a work in progress, just like we all are. But God is always working on me, and every day I pray to become a better man, not just for my wife, but for our future children. You probably wouldn’t believe it if I told you this a few years ago, but now? I pray for my co-workers, I invite my friends to church, and I make it a point to pray over my wife and our home. I’ve discovered a whole new hunger for God's Word and His voice. And that hunger drives me now more than anything else.

There’s so much more to come, I can feel it. I don’t have all the answers, but I know the One who does, and for now, I’m walking with Him, one day at a time.

If you’re reading this and you’ve walked away from God or feel like He’s far off, just know: He never left.

He’s been right there through the grief, through the pain, through the silence. And He’s waiting to welcome you back, not with shame, but with open arms.

You’re not too far, you’re not too broken, you’re not too late.

If He could find me, He can absolutely find you too.