The Answer Is in the Journey:

A Christian Reflection on Finding Purpose in the Struggle

There was a season when I desperately wanted God to speak.

Not in riddles. Not through circumstances. Just clearly—directly. I wanted Him to tell me what to do, where to go, how to move. I would sit quietly, heartfully waiting, saying, “Lord, just give me the answer.”

But instead of a lightning bolt or a loud voice, what came was silence.

And then struggle.

When God is Silent, He’s Still Working

It felt like walking in fog with no light—just enough grace for the next step. I wrestled with questions about direction, calling, and timing. I prayed, journaled, and waited more. And the waiting turned into doubt, anger, and isolation some nights.

At first, I thought God was withholding something from me.

But over time, I realized—He wasn’t punishing me. He was preparingme.

Looking back, I see it now. It wouldn’t have meant as much if He had given me the answer right away. I would have run with it—maybe even taken credit for figuring things out. But in the struggle, I learned to listen. I learned to depend. I realized that faith isn’t built by explanations—many times it’s forged through experience.

Jacob’s Limp: Blessing from the Wrestle

I think about Jacob in Genesis 32—how he wrestled all night with God. And when it was over, he walked with a limp… but also a blessing. That encounter changed his name and his future. Not because he got answers—but because he refused to let go until God met him in the middle of the fight.

The journey became the very thing that transformed him.

The Journey That Transforms

Isn’t that how God works? Even Jesus, after His resurrection, chose to walk with two disciples on the road to Emmaus. He could’ve revealed Himself immediately. Instead, He joined them in their confusion, asked questions, shared truth—and only after the conversation did their eyes open (Luke 24:13–35).

It was the journey that gave weight to the moment of revelation.

That’s how it was for me.

I didn’t realize it then, but God walked beside me the whole time. He was more interested in shaping my heart than simply solving my problem. He used the struggle to deepen my roots, refine my trust, and anchor me in Him. And in doing so, He gave me something far greater than an answer—He gave me Himself.

The Comfort We Pass On (2 Corinthians 1:3-7)

That’s why Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians 1:3–4 speak so profoundly to me now:

“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.”

There’s a purpose in the pain. A pattern in the process. What I went through wasn’t just for me—it was also for others that God would place in my life.

That scripture helped me see that my journey wasn’t just about finding answers for myself. It was also about being formed into someone who could sit with others in their questions and heartache. Not as an expert—but as a witness. A comforter who had been comforted.

God didn’t just bring me through the struggle—He built and continues to buildsomething in me through it. And now, like Paul says, I get to share that comfort with others. Not by fixing them. Not by giving them quick answers. But by walking with them… the same way God walked with me.

Paul goes on to say in verse 6, “If we are distressed, it is for your comfort and salvation.” That means even our distress can be a ministry. Our hardship can carry healing. Our silence, our tears, our waiting—they all have meaning in the hands of the Father of compassion.

And when we comfort others with what we’ve been given, we’re not just offering advice—we’re offering evidence. Proof that God is faithful. That He’s near. He really does meet us in the middle of the mess.

Hope That Comes Through Suffering (Romans 5)

Paul’s words in Romans 5 now feel like a lived truth: “…We rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope.” (Romans 5:3–4)

That wasn’t theory anymore—it was testimony.

So now, when I face new challenges—or walk alongside someone else who does—I am reminded not to rush to resolve them. I remember what God did in my journey. How He took the tension and turned it into transformation.

And I gently remind myself the answer I was begging for wouldn’t have changed me nearly as much as the path I had to walk to get there.

The struggle became sacred.

Because the answer is rarely something handed to us, more often, it’s something formed in us.

And that’s the kind of answer that changes your future.