Maybe it's just that time of the month for me, but the ceiling is oddly pensive these days.
There’s this fan, spinning like always. Quietly, giving me just enough breeze to feel okay in the heat. Probably watching Final Destination as I grew up, but I had a thought that the thing could fall one day. I mean, if it was lying on the floor spinning like that, we’d run the other way. It would be terrifying and dangerous.
But somehow, hung up there on the ceiling, it becomes something comforting. We sleep under it every night without a second thought. We trust it.
And this tiny act, lying under a spinning fan without fear, says something about how we live. About how we trust. About faith.
The fan’s job is to make us feel better. But it could hurt us too. And yet, we lie beneath it, night after night, not worrying about the what ifs. Isn’t that what faith looks like? Trusting in something we can’t control. Trusting in the unseen. In the one who sees it all.
It’s not that the risks aren’t real. It’s that we choose to trust anyway. Belief doesn’t promise a life free from danger or doubt. It just offers a different way to live through them. A way where we don’t have to carry every fear ourselves, because someone greater is holding it all together, even when we don’t see how.
That's how God is.
Always working quiet in the background. We don’t always notice, but when we pause, He is there. Steady, kind and reliable.
And yes, life can be risky and unpredictable. There’s no sugarcoating that. But maybe trust isn’t about pretending everything’s fine. Maybe it’s about saying, “Even when I don’t know how things will turn out, I believe there’s meaning in it.”
We trust the fan because it was made to work. It was designed that way. And somehow, we know life was designed too, by Someone who knows what He’s doing.
And maybe that’s the reminder in all of this: just like the fan keeps turning without us doing a thing, God’s mercy continues, whether we’re paying attention or not. It doesn’t demand constant notice to be present. It just is, always.
May we all learn to rest under His care the way we rest under that quiet fan, knowing we’re being held.
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