Something Isn’t Right-And There’s a Reason

You don’t need to be glued to the television—cable news, streaming, or whatever your poison of choice is—or to be doom scrolling your social media feed to pick up on it: something isn’t right with the world. There’s a tension in the air, a heaviness you can almost feel in your bones. It doesn’t take a prophet or a conspiracy theorist to know it. It’s just… there.

Sure, your personal life might be fine and dandy. Maybe you’ve got a steady job, your relationships are healthy, and your health is more or less where you want it to be. If that’s the case—seriously—kudos. I’m not here to begrudge anyone their blessings.

But zoom out for just a moment. There’s abject poverty. War. Entire families fleeing their homes with nothing but the clothes on their backs. Mass shootings that barely make the news anymore because we’ve grown numb. The unthinkable horror of sex trafficking. Rampant drug addiction. Violence. Corruption. And don’t get me started on how divided and suspicious we’ve all become of one another.

You get the point. As a species, humankind is slowly—and sometimes not so slowly—strangling itself.

Now, here’s where I take a turn. If you’ve read any of my past posts, you know I’ve wrestled with depression and hopelessness. I’ve done my fair share of shaking my fists at fate—though these days it’s only one fist, thanks to my right arm being out of commission since the accident. Life has a way of humbling you, sometimes with a sledgehammer.

But this isn’t just a post about doom and gloom. Because despite the darkness I see in the world—and that I’ve experienced personally—something changed in me. And that’s what I really want to talk about.

I’ve been thinking for a while about what to say here, and to be honest, even a couple of years ago, this is the last thing I would have considered writing. Time has a way of shifting priorities. Pain has a way of clarifying things you thought you understood but didn’t.

I’m concerned about the planet, sure. But more than that, I’m concerned about people—individual, living, breathing souls. People trying to find their way in life, often blindly, and often with a hole in their hearts that they can’t quite name. I know that feeling, because I lived it.

I remember the ache of meaninglessness, the quiet moments when the noise died down and I was left with my thoughts—and my thoughts weren’t friendly. I remember the loneliness of feeling like even if I explained it, nobody would understand.

But now? Now I have peace. Not because I’ve “figured out life” or have some bulletproof self-help system to sell you. No, it’s because I know where I’ve been, I know where I am, and I know where I’m going.

That kind of confidence doesn’t come from positive thinking or a five-step plan. It comes from building your life on a foundation that doesn’t crack when the storms hit. For me, that foundation is my faith—“of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire” (1 Peter 1:7).

I know, I know—you probably suspected this was coming. But this isn’t a sales pitch. I’m not trying to manipulate anyone. I’m grateful you’re still reading and letting me share my story.

When I was 18, I prayed what’s often called “the sinner’s prayer.” I told God I was sorry for my sins—the things I’d done and the ways I’d failed Him—and I asked Him to forgive me. I knew even at 18 that I wasn’t perfect. If you’re honest, neither are you. Scripture says, “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23). That levels the playing field. Nobody’s too good to need grace, and nobody’s too far gone to receive it.

When I prayed that prayer, something happened. Peace—real peace, the kind I’d never experienced before—washed over me. I didn’t suddenly become flawless or live a trouble-free life. Far from it. But I knew I had been forgiven, and that knowledge anchored me.

Over time, though, I made a serious mistake. When I moved to a new town, I didn’t seek out a new church or a community of believers. I tried to go it alone. And slowly, without even realizing it, my faith weakened. Life pulled me in other directions. God never left me, but I drifted away from Him.

That’s the thing—God didn’t design us to live in isolation. He made us for connection—with Him and with one another. The Christian faith isn’t just “me and Jesus.” It’s also “us and Jesus.” We need each other. That’s how we were created to function.

It took years—and a life-altering accident—for me to see that I needed to come home, spiritually speaking. I needed to rebuild my life, not on the shaky foundation of self-reliance or the shifting sands of cultural trends, but on the unshakable rock that is Jesus Christ.

If you’re reading this and you feel that something’s missing—if you sense that hole in your heart—it might be because you were made for more than this world can offer. The unrest you feel when you see the news, or the emptiness you feel when the distractions fade—that’s your soul’s way of telling you that you need the One who made you.

This isn’t about religion for religion’s sake. This is about a relationship with the living God through His Son, Jesus Christ. He isn’t waiting to scold you or shame you. He’s waiting to welcome you, to forgive you, to give you life and peace and hope.

I can’t know exactly what you’re carrying right now. But I do know this: nothing you’ve done puts you beyond the reach of His grace. And nothing this world offers can compare to the peace He gives.

If you’re ready to take that step—to turn from doing life on your own and place your trust in Him—you can do it right now. You don’t have to wait until you “get your life together.” None of us ever does. You just have to be honest with Him and mean it from your heart.

Here’s a simple prayer you can pray:

Lord Jesus, I know that I am a sinner and that I cannot save myself. I believe that You died on the cross for my sins and rose again to give me new life. I ask You now to forgive me, to come into my heart, and to be my Lord and Savior. I trust You with my life and my eternity. Thank You for loving me, for saving me, and for giving me hope. I pray in your precious name. Amen.

If you prayed that prayer sincerely, welcome to the family of God. Your life may not become perfect overnight—in fact, it won’t—but you will never walk alone again. Find a Bible-believing church. Surround yourself with others who love and follow Jesus. And start building on the rock, one day at a time.

Because while the world is still broken, you don’t have to be.