God Is Weird – Part 1

During my young adult years, I wasn’t actively connected to my faith. As a child, I attended church regularly up until high school, but as I got older, I didn’t feel a strong need to stay involved. Looking back, I can see how those early church experiences laid the foundation for my morals and sense of right and wrong.

Still, going to church as an adult often felt disingenuous—like a performance—especially when I saw how differently some people acted outside of that space.

That said, I’ve always believed in a higher power. Whether you call it God, fate, or karma, my recent experiences have led me to a renewed sense of belief. And honestly, the only word I’ve found to describe it is… weird.

God is weird.

I didn’t realize how deeply those early seeds of faith were planted until everything in my life began to fall apart.

In the midst of my personal world collapsing, with very little to cling to, I knew one thing for certain: my purpose in the coming days and months would be to make sure my little person didn’t know anything was wrong.

As parents, we often believe our children are immune to our struggles, but even the smallest interactions can leave lasting impressions. (That’s a whole blog for another day—stay tuned.)

Uncertain of the future, all I wanted was for him to feel nothing but love and happiness.

I spent the next few weeks nodding along like a bobblehead, agreeing to everything being handed to me with little explanation—just trying to stay afloat. I was searching for a new home for me and my little one.

My aunt, who also happened to be my realtor, showed me several homes, but they all felt like too much for what I could handle at the time.

Then I stumbled upon a small flipped house. It was close to family and near my old running route—something familiar that I knew could bring me a sliver of happiness. Until that moment, aside from my little person, I hadn’t felt joy in anything.

But when I stepped inside and saw the countertops, something shifted.

I know it may sound silly to fall in love with countertops, but the specks of mica caught the light just right, reflecting a sparkle that made me smile—really smile—for the first time in a long while.

In that moment, I felt like maybe it was okay to feel joy again, even if only in small, fleeting moments.

Buying a house is stressful for anyone, but doing it alone—and emotionally shattered—was more difficult than I could have imagined. From needing a co-signer (without a partner now), to scraping together a down payment, to negotiating a price I could manage, dealing with inspections, and then trying to sell our current home quickly—it was overwhelming.

My own parents, who are no longer together and not exactly on the best terms, still came through. Even if not fully willing at first, they both helped by co-signing and loaning me the money I needed to make a down payment. Just two months after my world was turned upside down, they gave me a fighting chance to land on my feet.

I didn’t feel God’s presence in those early, chaotic days.

Not until I stood in the dining room of what was soon to be my new home, with my aunt beside me, did I begin to understand the bigger picture.

The inspector had just left with a glowing report, and I broke down in tears—part gratitude, part hopelessness.

I told her I didn’t know how I’d keep going.

She took my hands and said gently:

“Look at what God is doing for you.
You needed a loan—you got it.
You needed a co-signer—you got one.
You needed a good inspection—you got one of the best I’ve seen.
You listed your home, and it sold in four days for cash. That’s not happening right now.
God did that.”

I nodded at each thing she named, fully aware of how remarkable it all was. But I was still so broken.

More than any house, any miracle—I just wanted my partner back.

Through tears, I told her I had been wishing I could find my childhood Bible—to read my favorite verse again. And then, right there in that dining room, without even realizing it, I recited a passage I hadn’t said in over 20 years:

“Trust in the Lord and do good;
dwell in the land and enjoy safe pasture.
Take delight in the Lord,
and He will give you the desires of your heart.” (Psalm 37:3–4)

She looked at me, stunned. I had never really spoken about God before, but I had said those words with confidence and clarity.

She squeezed my hands and said, “Yes, trust Him. He will continue to take care of you.”

I told her again about searching for that Bible. I had even ordered a replica from a used bookstore—just to see that verse printed the way it had been in my childhood.

Still holding hands, still crying, we prayed together. And even after that prayer, I felt just as lost—still unsure of what my future held.

Days later, as I was packing up boxes—splitting up things that were never supposed to be divided—I opened one filled with my grandmother’s memorabilia.

And there it was: my childhood Bible.

Tucked beneath old photo albums, waiting for me.

I gasped, opened it with shaking hands, and flipped to a well-worn page where those beautiful, familiar words were printed.

I burst into tears.

I called my aunt immediately to tell her about the miracle. She was thrilled for me. She said,
“See? He knows you. He knew you were looking for those words. And He’s showing you that He’s here.”

For the first time, I felt Him.

Really felt Him.

All my life, I hadn’t known that feeling—but now I knew.

When we’re truly at our lowest, when we have nothing left to lean on, He shows up in ways that are… well, kind of weird.

But that’s how I’ve come to see it.

God is weird. And beautifully so.

I thought that might be the end of the story.

But it turns out, that wasn’t the last time I felt God’s presence in a weird, beautiful way.

There’s more I need to tell you.