Where Do I Sense God (or meaning) Showing Up in the Quiet, Unpolished Parts of My Life?
AYFM 2026 Reflection Card
This post is part seven in a ten part series answering each of the questions in the As You Find Me 2026 Reflection Card. Revisit part one, part two, part three, part four. Dive back into part five, part six. You are encouraged to answer each question for yourself.
There’s a question on the As You Find Me 2026 Reflection Card that feels like it was written for the parts of me I usually keep tucked away:
“Where do I sense God (or meaning) showing up in the quiet, unpolished parts of my life?”
Not the curated parts.
Not the disciplined parts.
Not the parts I’d proudly show a spiritual director.
The quiet parts.
The unpolished parts.
The parts I’m still learning to let be seen.
And when I sit with that question, I notice something surprising:
God keeps showing up in the places I least expect Him.
God in the “Unproductive” Moments
The clearest example this week was playing Roblox with Ben.
At first, it felt like nothing. Just a dad fumbling with controls, trying not to embarrass himself in front of his kid. A part of me even wondered if I should be doing something more “useful,” more “productive,” more aligned with the version of myself I’m always trying to grow into.
But then something shifted.
Somewhere between the laughter and the pixelated chaos, I felt something sacred.
A softness.
A presence.
A sense of meaning that didn’t need to be earned.
It reminded me of sitting on the couch with my own dad, playing Nintendo.
Those moments weren’t polished.
They weren’t spiritual practices.
They weren’t intentional.
But they were real.
And maybe that’s the point.
Maybe God shows up most clearly when I stop trying to impress Him.
God in the Wilderness Moments
I’ve also noticed God in the harder places, the anxious places, the health‑spiral places, the moments where I feel like I’m wandering without a map.
I’ve described it before as God “calling from the wilderness,” and that still feels true.
Not calling me out of the wilderness.
Calling from within it.
As if He’s saying:
“I’m here too.
You don’t have to be polished to be held.”
There’s something strangely comforting about that.
Something grounding.
Something that makes the wilderness feel less like punishment and more like invitation.
God in the Questions About Authenticity
Lately I’ve been wrestling with what feels genuine versus what feels performative in my spiritual life. I’ve been asking myself whether my habits come from sincerity or survival, whether my intentions are pure or just practiced.
It’s messy work.
Uncomfortable work.
Unpolished work.
But even there (maybe especially there) I sense God.
Not correcting me.
Not scolding me.
Not demanding clarity.
Just sitting with me in the questions.
Almost as if He’s more interested in my honesty than my certainty.
God in the Raw, Unscripted Spaces
When I zoom out, I can see a pattern:
God keeps showing up in the places I’m not trying to perform.
In the living room, controller in hand
In the anxious moments where I’m trying to breathe my way back to center
In the memories that surface unexpectedly
In the questions I don’t know how to answer
In the parts of my story I’m still afraid to explore
In the quiet mornings where I’m not sure what I believe but I still show up anyway
These are the unpolished places.
The raw places.
The places without tidy edges.
And yet, they’re the places where meaning feels the most real.
The Sacred Middle of Being Unfinished
Maybe that’s the invitation of this season:
To stop assuming God only meets me in the parts of my life that look intentional or impressive.
To trust that He’s just as present in the messy, ordinary, unfiltered moments—the ones that don’t make it into a journal or a prayer or a spiritual practice.
To believe that the quiet, unpolished parts of my life aren’t obstacles to God.
They’re the places He prefers to begin.
And maybe that’s where meaning is born:
Not in the polished performance,
but in the honest presence.
Answering the As You Find Me 2026 Reflection Card questions is possible due to journaling with Rosebud. Rosebud offers something rare: a space that listens back. It turns journaling from a monologue into a conversation, helping you slow down enough to hear what your inner life has been trying to say.