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This Lenten season, I found myself in that old familiar place—lacking consistency and devotion in my prayers and penances. I’ve always said that I stink at Lent, and when it came to my own carefully laid plans, this year was no exception.

However, this year I did one thing differently.

I began Lent with less internal pressure, and I made sure to include one specific intention in my prayers: that the Lord would reveal Himself to me however He saw fit. (A wise move for this Lenten loser.)

The Uncomfortable Truth

As Lent approached, I realized something uncomfortable. I had been praying so hard for the things I desperately wanted that I had largely stopped considering what the Lord knew I needed. I was simultaneously pleading for more while living a life rooted in fear of scarcity—constantly feeling like I needed to conserve every resource because there was never enough time, enough energy, or enough money.

I was spending every day asking the Lord to provide more, while barely trusting His providence for today.

Why do I do that?

The Lord has never not provided for me. He has never left me in the lurch. He has never denied me my daily bread. His providence has never failed me—and yet, so often I live as though it will. I brace myself for lack. I plan for disappointment. I allow panic and worry to take hold long before anything has actually gone wrong.

Intellectually and theologically, I know better.

Scripture has never been unclear about God’s provision:

“Therefore, I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink, or about your body, what you will wear… Look at the birds in the sky; they do not sow or reap, they gather nothing into barns, yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are not you more important than they?”
(Matthew 6:25–26)

And again:

“My God will fully supply whatever you need, in accord with his glorious riches in Christ Jesus.”
(Philippians 4:19)

The saints echo this truth with the quiet confidence of those who have actually lived it.

“The Good Lord does not do things by halves. He always gives what we need. Let us then carry on bravely.”
— St. Zélie Martin (Letters of St. Zelie Martin, ICS Publications)

“Let nothing disturb you, let nothing frighten you; all things are passing away: God never changes. Patience obtains all things. Whoever has God lacks nothing; God alone suffices.”
— St. Teresa of Ávila (Collected Works of St. Theresa of Avila, Vol. 1 ICS Publications)

If I’m honest, my husband is far better at living this than I am. It’s not uncommon for me to call him in the middle of what feels like a full-blown crisis, only to hear him calmly respond, “We’ll figure it out.” And somehow, every time, we do.

I know these truths. I believe them—at least on paper. But practically, I struggle to live them. Trusting God for today is far harder than believing He is faithful in theory.

Baby Steps

Gradually, I realized that part of trust is surrender—handing over the reins of my plans and letting God guide each day. Lent isn’t about proving myself; it’s about letting Him shape me, one small step at a time.

This Lent did not turn me into a model of heroic penance or unwavering trust. I didn’t suddenly excel at my promises or master my reliance on Him. But something quieter happened: my heart shifted—just a little. I took a baby step away from scarcity and stepped toward trust.

And the Lord met me there.

He did not chastise my unbelief. He did not teach me a lesson by allowing me to fall flat on my face (as perhaps I deserve). He did not confirm my fears by withholding Himself. Instead, He gently reminded me (again and again) that He hears my prayers, that He sees my needs, and that He will take care of everything.

Not always how I expect.
Not always when I demand.

But never by halves.

As we move through this Easter season, I pray that I can continue to carry this shift with me – to learn to live in the abundance that only God provides, to live fully in the joy of the Resurrection, and to embrace the fullness of God’s providence in each ordinary moment.