As I got off the call, I couldn’t shake the excitement—the feeling that this might just be the answer to my prayers. It was almost surreal how a series of coincidences seemed to be working together to bring us to this moment.

On Sunday after church, I ran into a brotha I see almost every week with his family. Over the years, we’d discovered that we attended the same college, though he graduated two years before I arrived. But our interactions had never gone beyond brief pleasantries. Then, in December, while waiting outside, we struck up a conversation, and he casually mentioned that he was looking for a new challenge. We exchanged contact information, but with the holiday rush, we both forgot to follow up.

Two months later, we found ourselves standing together with our kids, once again exchanging contact information—this time with a real commitment to connect. The very next day, I made the call. And now, it feels like we just might be on the brink of something big.

Last week at this time, my daughter Olivia had her first scheduled pitch meeting with a vendor interested in stocking her candle products. For the past few years, she’s participated in a student-led business fair through her school, and it’s been incredible to watch her grow—not just in business acumen but also in confidence as she builds her own brand.

Before she went inside, I took a moment in the car to remind her just how proud I am of her work ethic. “Have fun, enjoy this moment. I know you’ll do your best, and it’ll be great.” When she walked out afterward, triumphant, I realized I had been more nervous than she was. She told me how she had to pivot when her computer froze. Luckily, she had memorized her pitch the night before after practicing with me. She also mentioned how grateful she was for her ability to read the room, picking up on subtle nonverbal cues to keep things flowing. The whole presentation lasted just ten minutes, and now she’s waiting to hear back about the next steps.

Who knows? This might just be a pivotal moment in her own journey.

And that’s the thing—we don’t know how either of our stories will ultimately unfold. We’re just doing our best, moving forward from faith to faith.

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on this a lot as a parent to both older and younger kids. When I was growing up, the adults in my life seemed so certain, and I appreciated their steadiness. Being around my grandparents, especially my great-grandmother, always made me feel grounded. I remember believing that things would always work out, that there was some kind of formula for success. God is in control, they would say. I didn’t fully understand what that meant, but everyone around me was so sure of it—how could it not be true? Saying it almost seemed to lift the weight of worry off their shoulders.

That belief has stayed with me, even as life and experience have revealed the messiness of certainty. I’ve come to realize just how much I needed that sense of assurance in my formative years. It gave me the structure and stability I needed to make sense of the world. But, like anything that grows, I eventually outgrew the boxes of my childhood faith. As an adult, and especially as a parent for the past 15 years, I’ve come to embrace a more complex version of faith, one where questions hold more weight than answers.

And yet, as a father, I recognize that we’ve still given our daughters their own set of boxes to grow within. Like the small structures placed around young plants to help them grow tall and straight, we’ve surrounded them with familiar faith traditions to help them make sense of the world. We’ve done this knowing full well that, one day, those structures will no longer serve them. It’s not a matter of if, but when. That’s how things grow.

Hopefully, as they watch us evolve, they’ll see a path for their own growth. And as I reflect on this, I realize I’ve never actually asked my parents about their own spiritual journeys. Maybe it’s a conversation I should have. How did my mom summon the faith and courage to keep going after her life fell apart, raising my siblings and me on her own? How did my father find his own reconciliation? Do they, even now, have more faith questions than answers?

If I asked my mom today what she thinks will happen for me or Olivia, I think I already know her answer. She’d probably say she’s praying for us and that she knows God is in control. It’s wild to think about, because that phrase, so foundational to my childhood, carries a completely different meaning for me now than it did back then.

SDW3