Becoming isn't linear, but it is holy.

I’ve circled the same mountains, wrestled with the same lessons, and stumbled over the same struggles so many times, I’ve lost count. But every single time, something in me is different. Subtly, quietly — but undeniably. Most recently, I came to recognise that as growth. Not the polished, pretty and predictable kind I imagined. But the slow, spiralling, sacred kind that is still leading somewhere.

I’m learning that just because I’m not moving in a straight line doesn’t mean I’m not moving at all. The path to becoming is rarely smooth — it’s full of stumbles, stillness, and steep climbs. But even then, it’s holy ground.

There are days when it feels like I’m going backwards. Like the old version of me has barged back in, uninvited no less, tripping up on the same old hurdles. But now, I can point to different thoughts, different choices, different revelations. Proof that I’m not who I used to be. I’m being remade. And the beauty of it is, God will bring us the same lesson in its different forms until we’ve gathered all the wisdom we need from it. That’s not punishment — it’s care. It’s precision. It’s love. The Israelites wandered for 40 years on a journey that could have taken 11 days, and yet — with God, the detour was still purposeful.

That’s what becoming is: the tension between I’m not where I started, where I fell or where I left behind and I’m not yet where I hoped to be, where I want to be or where I “should” be. It’s living in (and appreciating) the space between who you were and who you’re becoming. I’m learning not to mistake the slow season as being stuck or stagnant. How would we recognise momentum if we’ve never moved slowly?

Ecclesiastes 3:11 (NIV) says, “He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.”

I refuse to work on my time when I don’t have all the facts. That’s just stupid. Wouldn’t it be better to leave it to He who knows the beginning and the end? The full picture. The entire canvas. This is my monthly reminder (cause after all, I am human and will surely be impatient with God once again) that everything is made beautiful in it’s own time.

How does this relate to my life today? I’m 6 months out from a new decade. It’s stirring up all the checklists I thought I’d have completed by now - the growth I expected, the healing I assumed would be done, the milestones I thought I’d have reached. But I’m not lost. I’m not behind. And I’m definitely not the same. There are countless quiet ways in which I’ve changed. As the first to critique myself, the fact that I can even recognise those changes is one of them. God is in these circular seasons - the ones that feel like wandering - and they are not wasted. One day, I will be able to see the bigger picture and understand why I had to go through it, in that way, at that time, to be the woman I am becoming.

So no, it hasn’t been linear and I don’t know what the next step looks like. But I am here, further than I was, which means God is still building, still moulding, still pruning. I’m trading my urgency for trust. My frustration for faith. Why? Because nothing is for nothing. He wastes nothing. Even now, in my limited wisdom, when I look back, I can see His fingerprints over moments that have led me to today. So if I find myself circling the same mountain again - the same lesson, the same prayer, the same hurdle - I’ll remember: He’s still working, and as long as He is, I’ll keep going.

I know that in the wandering, I am still becoming, even if I’m yet to know who. 

With love,

M

xx