Eighteen years ago this month, I stepped into an unexpected opportunity to fill a vacant staff role at the very church where I had been serving as a volunteer.

It was my dream come true. I had waited for what felt like my whole life to be part of a church staff team, leading a youth group!

I was clueless, honestly. But I was eager and hungry. I devoured books, prayed hard, and jumped in with both feet. And along the way, I made countless mistakes—mistakes the Enemy has tried to use, time and again, to distract me, disarm me, and convince me I didn’t belong.

I wish I could say those early years were the hardest. That would’ve been a gift, actually—a quick uphill climb followed by steady ground. However, the truth is that the years that followed only grew more challenging. Still, those first few years were the most formative, and I’m deeply grateful for the people who gave me the chance to lead, to fail, and to figure things out.

Remembering that season, I can’t help but picture a rubber band. I was stretched thin, being pulled to my limit, straining to hold everything together. Trying to keep a tight grip on my life, my calling, and all the things I treasured close to my heart. The tension, the give and take, the constant pull—it felt necessary, like if I just held on tight enough, it would all stay intact.

But underneath it all, there was so much insecurity. I was terrified of what might happen if I let go—if I loosened my grip even a little. It’s dangerous to lead from that place, to run at that pace, fueled by fear of failure and the haunting question of whether I’d finally be found out. I thought if I could just hold it all together, I’d prove I was enough: that I was capable, that I belonged.

If I could sit across from that insecure young leader today, this is what I’d tell her:

The rubber band will break, and you will still make it.

Because when it did—when everything I tried so desperately to hold together finally snapped—I discovered a truth that changed everything. God met me right there, in the middle of the mess I was so afraid of. In the places where I felt most exposed, uncertain, and unqualified, He proved that His grace was more than enough.

He’s been so faithful to rebuild what I couldn’t hold together, to heal what I tried so hard to hide, and to teach me—slowly, gently—that my security was never meant to come from my own tight grip, but from His unshakeable hands.

And eighteen years later, I’m still learning to trust Him with the pieces I can’t hold, the questions that remain unanswered, and the weight of leading people I care so deeply about.

If any of this sounds like you or is relatable to you—if you’re afraid of what might happen when the rubber band finally breaks and you’re found out—I want you to know there is Hope for you today. A Hope that doesn’t rest on your ability to hold it all together, but on a God who holds you.

I’m praying for you as I write this. I’m praying this prayer from Paul, in Philippians 4:7, “And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” May the peace of God that not only protects your heart and mind but also washes over you right now. That His peace would loosen the grip of insecurity, anxiety, and the fear of the unknown, even as you dare to loosen yours.

There’s hope for you today.