you know when you know

thoughts on faith and trust minus the pixie dust

A favorite song of mine opens with this lyric:

“Strength and devotion come without warning; you know when you know what to do.”

This song was released in 2015 and I’ve carried it at my side as somewhat of a weapon ever since. This lyric: my reminder in moments of high stress (and there have been many over the past 10 years) that when I need it, whether it be faith, confidence, or strength, it will be there.

And the reminder has been necessary, for I’ve found it over and over again very hard to believe.

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I often lament that a side effect of my misunderstanding of Christianity throughout my early teen to young adult years was a belief that I was inherently flawed and my life’s work ought to be spent recovering the perfection God intended for me. The trouble with that idea was that it actually held two beliefs at odds:

1) that I was inherently flawed, and

2) that perfection must be achieved to honor God.

How could I regain perfection if I was doomed to always be bad? HA— I couldn’t! Furthermore, Jesus acting as the antidote for my imperfection never sat right with me; I was too committed to the reality of my flawed nature to ever believe I deserved Jesus’ saving. So what did it matter whether I was saved or not? I didn’t deserve it anyways and I didn’t really believe anyone else did, either.

Now, I am relearning a faith that sees the best in others, including myself; a faith that believes if God made me in their image, then I am inherently good. I am inherently worthy. I do not need Jesus to “save” me, I do not need to “get into heaven” like it’s an Ivy League school that will secure me a good job. I need only to know that goodness exists and to be passionate about its perpetuation. As Martin Luther King Jr. said perfectly, “Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”

I need only to follow the teachings of Jesus and other wise and often radical people who insist on perpetuating goodness even in the face of evil. Even in the face of places and people who insist on spreading the kinds of lies that instill fear and hate.

But even in my learning and unlearning, it has been difficult for me to trust that what is good and right will be good and right because it is and not because I make it so. That many things, good and bad, are out of my control. That faith is what we apply to the things unseen. The situations unknown.

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My 2025 began at the beach with a few of my best friends. It was a slow, silly, and utterly lovely handful of days spent being lost in a place where being lost is always allowed: at sea.

Upon making the trip home on New Year’s Day, the reality and busyness of life crept dutifully back into my mind, my bones, my soul. It said, “Enough of that rest; now what are you going to do?”

In 2024, I had my heart set on growing up a little bit. In my mind, that meant getting a “real job.” If you are new to me and my life, a “real job” would entail a job with hours and a salary and, God willing, some benefits, like getting to go to the doctor or the dentist. A “real job” would be one that you interview, not audition for. A “real job” would be easy to explain when a date asks, “What do you do?” A “real job” would solve away my existentialism and finally assure me that, “Yes— you’ve done enough!”

A real job would ensure that I’ve done a good job.

That I am on the right track.

That I am okay.

And so, I sent out application after cold email after application and even spent 6 months working part-time in retail. Yet, I ended the year the way I started: with no “real job,” but still alive. No “real job,” but still surviving.

With no “real job,” but having done some work I’m really, really proud of.

As I am writing this, we are almost a full month into the New Year. Over the course of just one month, I will have shot a wedding, gotten to perform with one of my best friends, been offered a brand deal I’ve been praying for, auditioned tens of times, seen snow, and spent some really lovely and wonderful quality time with the people I love.

But before I started writing this, I was simply sitting at my computer pouting. Scared of what I do not know. Mourning losses for projects I did not book and boys who didn’t love me back. Scrolling through job applications, searching for a sense of worth and purpose and wondering if I am doing enough. If I will ever just get it right.

Luckily, I remembered that song. I remembered that “strength and devotion come without warning.” I remembered a bad poem I found in my notes titled “thankful for the no’s”

THANKFUL FOR THE NO’S

to the things i wanted

and could’ve had

that if i’d had

would’ve kept me from

having the things i

i didn’t want

but really did

need

And as I am writing and remembering and starting to climb out of my self-deprecating and seriously mean hole that I’ve dug for myself, I am realizing that maybe the first step toward wisdom is just reaching for those reminders; those poems and lyrics and practices. The ones that tell you the things you’re not sure you believe, but the more and more you listen to them, you know that at least they’re true, whether you’ve really accepted them or not.

The ones that help you remember,

“You’ll know when you know what to do.”