Broken Plan, Still Faithful | #010 | Not A Perfect Christian

Episode 10 — Broken Plans, Still Faithful

Ten episodes.

When I started Not A Perfect Christian, I never imagined that the tenth episode would be the most personal and difficult story I had shared.

I spent months preparing for my first full marathon and planning what I believed would be one of the happiest trips of my life. Instead, I arrived in San Francisco with an injured knee, deferred the race until next year, experienced painful misunderstandings, and came home with a heart that was still trying to process everything.

This special milestone episode is about more than a marathon or a road trip. It is about grieving the future we imagined, learning to release the plans we cannot control, and choosing to trust God while we are still hurting.

I did not come home with a medal.

I came home with a lesson:

Our plans can fail, our bodies can fail, and relationships can become uncertain—but God’s faithfulness never fails.

Thank you for walking with me through the first ten episodes of this journey. I am still learning, still healing, and still figuring it out—but I am grateful that God has remained faithful through every chapter.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18

Still learning. Still growing. Still figuring it out.

Transcript

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Have you ever prayed so hard for something only to watch it slowly fall apart? Not all at once. Just little by little. One disappointment after another, one unexpected moment after another, until one day you realize you're grieving something that never even happened. I think that's what this week felt like. Welcome back to Not Perfect Christian. If this is your first time listening, I'm really glad you're here. This isn't podcast hosted by a pastor. I'm not a Bible scholar. I'm just someone who's trying to know Jesus a little more every week and sharing what he's teaching me along the way. Usually I finish every episode by saying, I'm just taking one step closer to God. But this week, if I'm being honest, I didn't feel like I was taking a step closer. I just felt lost. For months I looked forward to this trip. This wasn't just a vacation. This wasn't just another road trip. This was supposed to be one of the biggest weekends of my year. My very first full marathon, driving the Pacific Coast Highway, watching the sunset in Big Sur, exploring San Francisco, making memories with someone I cared deeply about. I spent months preparing for it, training before work, running when I was tired, planning every stop, every hotel, every scenic viewpoint. If you know me, you know I love planning. I'm a civil engineer. Planning is basically part of my personality. Sometimes I think I make backup plans for my backup plans. I imagine crossing the finish line, taking the medal, looking back at moments of hard work and saying, I did it. But sometimes life doesn't follow the itinerary we created. One week before the marathon, I twisted my knee. At first, I wasn't worried too much. I keep telling myself it recover. I've still got a week. God please let it heal. I believed everything would be okay. So I still packed my bags, I still drove to San Francisco. I was holding on to hope, but when I got there, my knee still hurt. Then came one of the hardest moments of the whole trip. I walked into the Marathon Expo. If you'd ever been at the Marathon Expo, it's full of excitement. People are smiling, taking pictures with their race bibs, buying race shirts, taking about race day. Everyone is counting down the hours until Sunday morning. I should have been one of those people. Instead, I walked to the registration desk and asked to defer my marathon until next year. That was one of the hardest signature I've ever written because it wasn't just a signature, it was letting go. Letting go of something I had carried off in my heart for months. I remember standing there watching every celebrate and quietly thinking that should have been me. I walk out of the expo without a race bib, without excitement, just with a heavy heart. I keep asking God why now? Why after all those months of training there was no answer, just silence. Then I remember something from Proverbs sixteen nine. In their hearts human plans their curse, but the Lord established their steps. I've read that verse before. I've even shared it with other people, but it's amazing how differently scripture speaks when you're the one who's hurting. Maybe God wasn't changing my destination. Maybe he was changing me. But honestly, at that moment I couldn't see it. All I could see was another dream sleeping away. And little did I know the hardest part of this trip hadn't even started yet. Before we even started driving the Pacific Coast Highway, we had an argument. I don't even remember every word anymore. I just remember the feeling. It felt heavy. I remember sitting there thinking, this trip might not go the way I imagined. Part of me wanted to believe everything would be okay. Maybe once we started driving, maybe once we saw the ocean, maybe once we laughed a little, everything would reset. So we got in the car and we started driving. If you've never driven the Pacific Coast Highway, it's one of the most beautiful roads in America. Ocean on one side, mountains on the other side. Every turn feel like a postcard. It had been on my bucket list for years. I should have been excited. I should have been enjoying every mile, but honestly, I barely remember the views. Not because they weren't beautiful, but because my heart wasn't there. Sometimes life can place you in the most beautiful place you've ever seen, while your soul is carrying one of the heaviest burdens it ever felt. The person I was getting to know came on the trip with me. She had fear and experiences in her life that made her value safety, certainty, and detailed planning. And I completely understand that. Trauma changes people. It teaches them to prepare for things other people might never think about. I never wanted to dismiss that. I wanted her to feel safe. I wanted her to enjoy the trip. I genuinely wanted her to be happy. I'm a little different. I like having a plan. But I also like leaving room for the unexpected. Once I know where I'm going, I'm comfortable figuring out the small details along the way. If we find a restaurant we didn't expect it, great. If we discover a new viewpoint, even better. For me, that's part of traveling. But for her, detail brought peace. Not knowing created anxiety, neither one of us was wrong, we were simply different. And sometimes different can be harder than we expect. While I was driving, she would remind me to leave more space between cars. She wanted to make sure we were safe. I know her heart wasn't trying to criticize me. She was trying to protect us. But I'm the kind of person who became quiet when I'm driving. I focus, I listen. Too many conversation while I'm behind the wheel make it harder for me to concentrate. The more instructions I heard, the more distracted I became, the less relaxed she felt. It became a cycle. I was trying to be to help her feel safe. She was trying to help us stay safe. Yet somehow we were both becoming more anxious. Then came the parking situation. A friend had arranged a place where we could park near our hotel. He knew someone who worked there. He told me everything would be okay. I trusted him, but I could tell she still wasn't comfortable. She wasn't demanding that I go downstairs. She never told me I had to. I made that decision myself, because I love bringing peace into situation. I thought if I ask security myself, maybe she'll finally feel relaxed. So I went downstairs. I asked. And that's when everything became more complicated. Security told me that our plan wouldn't work. By asking, I accidentally brought attention to something my friend had hoped would stay simple. When I told him what happened, he became upset. I remember sitting there thinking, I was only trying to help. I was trying to create another problem. I wasn't trying to make anyone upset. I simply wanted someone I cared about to feel safe. But sometimes good intention still lead to painful outcomes. That was hard for me. As the trip continued, small things keep piling up. Little misunderstanding, little frustration, little disappointments, none of them seemed big on their own. But together they became heavy, very heavy. The hardest part wasn't that we were arguing. The hardest part was realizing we were both trying. She was trying, I was trying, and somehow we still keep missing each other. That reminds me of Ephesians 4 2. Be completely humbled and gentle. Be patient, bearing with one another in love. I wish I could tell you I did that perfectly. I did it. I wish I could tell you we understand each other. We didn't. I wish I could tell you I always responded with patience. I didn't. That's why this podcast is called Not a Perfect Christian. Because following Jesus doesn't mean we always get relationships right. Sometimes following Jesus means admitting. Lord, I still have so much growing to do. As we keep driving, I look out at the ocean, and one thought keep coming back to me. This isn't the trip I've been praying for. My knee hurts, my heart hurts, the marathon was gone, the relationship felt heavy. And for the first time during the entire weekend, I stopped asking God, why is this happening? Instead, I asked, Lord, what are you trying to teach me? I didn't receive an answer that day, but looking back, I think that question was the beginning of healing. Because sometimes God doesn't immediately change our situation. Sometimes changing our heart. Sunday morning came. I wish I could tell you everything suddenly became okay. It didn't. The sadness was still there. My knees still hurt, my heart still hurt, and I was tired, not physically, emotionally. You know, there's a different kind of tire. The kind that sleep can't fix. The kind where your mind keeps replaying everything. Every conversation, every mistakes, every what if that was me. At some point that day I couldn't keep everything inside anymore. I've always been the quiet person. If something hurt me, I usually keep it to myself. I don't like becoming a burden. I don't like making people worry about me. So I carried things. Sometimes I carry them longer than I should. But that day I couldn't anymore. I opened my heart, I told her how I had been feeling throughout the whole trip. I told her how disappointed I was, how much I had looked forward to this weekend, how much it hurts to defer the marathon and how much everything had become. And I cried. I don't cry very often, especially in front of someone. But I cried. Not because I wanted sympathy, not because I wanted her to feel guilty. I cried because I finally admitted I was hurting. I think that's an important difference. I wasn't crying because someone hurt me. I was crying because I finally stopped pretending I was okay. In Psalm 34 18 says, The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. I've read that verse before, but this time I wasn't reading it for someone else. I needed it for myself. Because for the first time in a long time I felt brokenhearted. I told her something that came from my heart. I said, I still wanted to continue. Because I don't believe relationships are supposed to end the moment life becomes difficult. Relationships aren't perfect. People aren't perfect. I'm not perfect. She's not perfect. Love requires patience, grace, forgiveness, and choosing each other even when things become difficult. I still believe that, I still do. But I also knew something else. Sometimes love isn't enough to heal wounds that are still open. Healing takes time. Trust takes time. And something space isn't about giving up. Sometimes is about allowing both people to breathe again. So we decided to give each other space. Not because we hated each other, not because everything we shared was fake, but because we were both hurting. And hurting people need time to heal. I remember the drive back to Orange County. Something felt different. We weren't arguing anymore. She became more patient. I became more patient. We talk, we even laugh a little. It wasn't like everything was suddenly fixed. But there was peace. Not because our problems disappeared, but because we finally stopped trying to win. We simply tried to understand each other. Before we went our separate ways, we thanked each other. Thank you for the memories. Thank you for the laughter. Thank you for trying. Thank you for allowing me to know you. And honestly, that might have been one of the most matured conversation I've ever had. Because we didn't live with hate, we left with gratitude. Romans 12 18 says, If it is possible as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. That verse stayed with me because peace doesn't always mean everything works out. Sometimes simply means chosen kindness even when your heart is breaking. As I reflected on everything, God slowly showed me something. I had spent months preparing for my body for Marathon, but I wasn't prepared for disappointment. I knew how to run through physical pain. I didn't know how to run through emotional pain. And maybe that's what God was teaching me. Maybe faith isn't only trusting him when you're crossing the finish line. Maybe faith is trusting him when you never even get to start the race. Isaiah 55 says for my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are you ways my ways, declares the Lord. If I'm honest, I still don't understand why this trip happened the way it did. I don't understand why my knee had to get injured one week before. I don't understand why someone I cared about and I struggled so much to understand each other. I don't understand why one of the trip I look forward to the most became one of the hardest weekend of the year. But maybe maybe faith is continuing to trust God even when nothing makes sense. I keep thinking about something. The Pacific Coast Highway is one of the most beautiful roads in America. Millions of people dream of driving it. I did too. But I learned something on that road. Sometimes you can be surrounded by incredible beauty while your heart quietly breaks. And maybe someone listening today knows exactly what that feels like. Maybe your family doesn't know, maybe your friends don't know, maybe everyone thinks you're okay because you keep smiling. But inside, you're exhausted, you're grieving, you're disappointed. If that's you, I want you to know something. You're not alone. God sees the tears that Nobody else sees. He hears the prayer you never say out loud. And he stays even when everyone else goes home. Maybe that's what I needed to learn this week. Not that life always goes according to plan, but that God present doesn't leave when my plans fall apart. Broken plans, faithful God. When I finally got home, the house felt quiet. Almost too quiet. I unpack my bags. I look at my marathon gear. I shut that never crossed the finish line. A trip I had imagined for months was over. And honestly, I didn't know what to feel. Part of me felt disappointed. Part of me felt relieved that the tension was over. Part of me was still hoping one of it had happened. Grief is strange. It doesn't arrive one emotion at a time. Sometimes it brings sadness, gratitude, confusion, and hope all at once. Over the next few days I keep replaying the weekend in my mind. Could I have communicated better? Probably. Could I have listened more? Probably. Could I have been more patient? Definitely. But I also realized something. Growth begins the moment we stop asking. Whose fault was it? And start asking, Lord, what are you trying to change in me? That question changed my perspective. In James 1 two to four says, Consider it pure joy. Whenever you face trial of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. I'm going to be honest, I don't like that verse. Yeah. Because if I'm being honest, I rather grow without pain. I rather mature through peaceful vacations instead of heartbreaks. I rather learn patience without having my patience tested. But that's usually not how God's work. Sometimes our greatest growth comes through our greatest disappointments. Then I started thinking about the marathon again. For months I believed the finish line was where God wanted to teach me something. Maybe the lesson wasn't waiting at mile twenty six. Maybe it was waiting at the expo. At the moment I signed the paper to defer, at that moment I admitted I can't do this right now. Because sometimes humility looks like knowing when to stop. I also keep thinking about her. If she's ever hears this, I hope she knows something. Thank you. Thank you for the conversation. Thank you for the laughter. Thank you for believing in me during different season. Thank you for challenging me. Thank you for showing me part of myself that still needs to grow. I'm sorry for the moment I failed to understand you. I'm sorry for the moment I made you feel unhurt. I know I wasn't perfect. I know neither of us was, but I genuinely prayed that God continues healing your heart. That He give you peace, that He gives you joy. And wherever life takes you, I hope you know meeting you change me in a good way. In Romans 8 28 says, And we know that in all things God's work for a good of those who loves him. Notice, it doesn't say all things are good. This weekend wasn't good. My injured knee wasn't good. The misunderstanding weren't good. The tears weren't good. The uncertainty still isn't good, but God can still bring something beautiful out of broken things. That's what gives me hope. There's one sentence I want to leave with you today. Maybe someone listening needs to hear it. You can grieve the life you imagine while still trusting the God who is writing your real story. Because faith isn't pretending you're okay. Faith is saying, Lord, I don't understand. My heart hurts. This isn't what I wanted, but I still trust you. Second Corinthians twelve nine says, My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. This week I felt weak emotionally, spiritually, physically, and maybe that's exactly where God wanted to meet me. Not when I was strong, not when I crossed the finish line, but when I finally admitted I can't carry this by myself anymore. Let's pray. Heavenly Father, thank you for never leaving us when life doesn't go according to plan. Thank you for staying close when our hearts are broken. Thank you for every dream you've allowed us to have, and even for the dreams that don't happen the way we expected. Lord, today I surrender everything to you. The marathon I didn't run, the trip I didn't experience the way I imagined, the relationship I don't understand, the tears I cried, the question I still have, I place them all in your hands. Please continue healing my heart. Continue healing her heart. Teach both of us that you want us to learn during this season. Remove bitterness, replace it with compassion, remove pride, replace it with humility, remove fear, replace it with peace. Lord, for everyone listening today, some are grieving relationship, some are grieving dreams, some are grieving people, some are grieving a future they thought they would have. Would you remind them that you are still close to the brokenhearted? Help them trust you. Even when they cannot see what you're doing. Thank you because your plans are still good even when ours falls apart. We loved you in Jesus' name. Amen. Before I end today's episode, I want to leave you with one last thought. I didn't come home from San Francisco with a marathon medal. I came home with lesson. I learned that plan can fail, my body can fail, relation can become uncertainty, but God faithfulness never fails. The marathon was postponed. The relationship is uncertain. My heart's still healing, but Jesus is still faithful. Maybe that's enough for today. Thank you for spending this time with me. If this episode spoke to your heart, share it with someone who needs it. And if you're going through a season where everything feels like it's falling apart, I hope you remember this. Your story isn't over yet. I'm still not a perfect Christian. I'm still learning, I'm still growing, and I'm still taking one step closer to God. I'll see you next week. God bless.