The Paradox of Immeasurably More

Now as I stand at the threshold of what the Lord has revealed to me as the Promised Land—a season of harvest—I find myself still struggling. Doubt creeps in through quiet, persistent questions: Is this really it? Are you sure, Lord? What’s the catch?

My current circumstances don’t resemble the victory I had envisioned. They feel fragile, even anticlimactic. Many of us live in this uncomfortable tension—the space between a promise spoken and a promise fulfilled.

I have survived the unraveling of my life and dreams, knowing that through each choice I make, I am drawing closer to God.

Some of these promises are deeply personal, others collective or global. In the absence of tangible outcomes, our faith is tested. We begin to grieve unmet expectations. We question our discernment and confront the erosion of hope.

For those of us who have long interceded for revival, for the emergence of the new wineskin and the breaking in of God’s kingdom on earth, the “not yet” can feel louder than the “already.” And yet the Lord has gently reminded me: the hardest part is behind you.

It’s like the parable of the treasure hidden in a field (Matthew 13:44). On the surface, the land looks barren. But underneath lies something of immeasurable worth. The man works, saves, and sacrifices—not for the field itself but for the treasure buried within it.

In the midst of my own hardship, I began Narrative Exposure Therapy—a trauma-centered approach to healing. I entered the work, hoping to break cycles, to rewire self-sabotaging patterns etched into my body and psyche. At one point, I confessed to my trusted practitioners that I felt like I was failing—that the most vital parts of my life seemed to be falling apart. Their response was both tender and grounding: “You have much to be proud of. You have faced, with courage, some of the most broken and vulnerable parts of yourself.”

And that, I’m learning, is where the real treasure lies—not always in what’s visible but in what has been transformed beneath the surface. As I continue to ask the Lord, “What exactly is my Promised Land?” he reveals that the wealth begins within.

Many of our biblical heroes may have experienced their greatest moments of faith before the promise was fully realized. Often that came in the form of a test—not to punish but to reveal the heart and strip away the remnants of control and idolatry, making space for something far greater.

For Esther, it was fasting and accepting her role in delivering her people, sacrificing safety and ethnic anonymity to confront a hidden enemy.

For Abraham, it was the walk up Mount Moriah with his beloved son—the willingness to lay down the very promise he had received. 

For Joseph, it was becoming trustworthy in prison and choosing forgiveness for his brothers. 

For Ruth, it was leaving her homeland to walk alongside Naomi and working tirelessly in a foreign field. 

For David, it was the moments he could have killed Saul, yet chose not to. 

For Job, it was the decision not to curse God amidst unbearable loss and pain.

Yes, I believe God “is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine” (Ephesians 3:20, NIV). I believe in redemption for all the years the locusts have eaten and in legacies that bless generations to come. But in the present tension, I believe we have access to some of the clearest, most sacred moments of intimacy with our Lord. I believe he receives our obedience and noble sacrifice as true worship.

I have survived the unraveling of my life and dreams, knowing that through each choice I make, I am drawing closer to God. While he has not answered every question, the Lord has confirmed that I am not lost. Each day brings its own sustenance: a conversation, a Scripture, a holy whisper of reassurance. These small revelations are like manna—enough for the moment.

Like treasure hunting for little wafers and signs of Christ’s love, I have continued to deepen my intimacy with him. But in doing so, I’ve found myself making harder decisions. I have never known vulnerability like this, and it requires standing for uncompromising truth in love.

Each decision has been a test of what I value the most. The job opportunities have whittled down, the connections have been severed to a handful, and the visions I had for the future have disappeared. While it has been hard separating from career opportunities, nothing compares to the pain of lost relationships. Many of these connections that I have sacrificed for and deeply loved have decided they can no longer go where I am going due to life circumstances or drastically different beliefs.

Even with all this grief, I find myself closer to Christ, closer to the experience of the cross, even in small ways. As I exercise my voice, courage is slowly being baked into my bones with peace calming my nervous system. This courage has bolstered me to forgive and to soften—yet also to strengthen—myself before loved ones and enemies alike. For instance, the resentment I carried toward my parents, both large and subtle, has begun to melt away as I have confronted some of my most painful memories. The same is true for others—bullies and abusers who have caused harm both intentionally and carelessly.

With this healing occurring, my chronic illness symptoms have subsided. I haven’t arrived at full healing in every area, but I can’t help but notice the profound peace that has begun to grow within me. The kingdom is slowly taking root—not just in theory or theology but in my body and soul. The joy of the Lord continues to go before me and protect me.

So even as the earliest buds of promise begin to emerge, I have already found the treasure I most deeply need, and that is the restoration of hope. I’m beginning to hope again that the work the Lord has begun will be brought to completion—including in me.