Yesterday morning I got up and ran two miles. The sun was out, wind steady at my face. My legs felt strong, ready to keep moving. The trail through Jackson Park was quiet. Quiet like that, it’s feeling warm under a blanket next to a roaring fire with a mug filled to the brim with hot cocoa and marshmallows. You know, in that moment, you have nothing to be afraid of. I am safe. God is on my side.

In a country far from home, our video crew was escorted into a police compound by local police officers. They brought us inside a gated area, keeping us safe from a gathering mob outside the gates. Yelling curses, growing louder, chanting words we weren’t sure we wanted to understand. We could hear them from inside the yard. The sound bounced off the walls and filled the space. We had no way out and no way to know how long we’d be there. So we prayed together, the team huddled in the compound, asking God to move. A minute or two later, the crowd dispersed. No negotiation. No intervention from the officers. When the gates opened we walked out into the quiet.

Years later in another country, again far from home, we were four days into dubbing a film, a project that mattered deeply to everyone on the team. We chose our voice actor because he was a trained professional, someone with real range and presence, the kind of person you don’t find easily for this kind of work. Then without a word, he vanished overnight. No notice. No explanation. Just gone. We needed someone to replace his talent. We were running out of time, five more days to record, our flight leaving the country on day six. The margin was thin. So we prayed.

In less than an hour, our replacement had five days off with his employer’s approval. He stepped into the booth, found his footing fast, and settled into the role. He finished the work in three and a half days. One and a half days ahead of what we needed.

Twice, prayers were answered.

And more times than I can count, across years, across continents, in the moments when everything goes sideways and the options narrow down to one. A crowd goes home. A door opens. A stranger shows up with exactly the five days you need. Prayers land in ways that the circumstances had made look impossible. That kind of track record does something to a person over time. It runs deeper than optimism. Deeper than hope, even. It settles into your bones as knowing. You believe God loves you. God wants the best for you. That is when God shows up.

Jesus loves us even when we panic, freak out, and don’t know how to trust him. So we pray, holding up our hands in faith across every hard place, every closed gate, every two-mile run. Until God’s peace quiets our hearts with something we didn’t put there ourselves.

I have nothing to fear.

Neither do you, if you put your faith in Jesus.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​