Yesterday I wrote about my small irritation with how we, middle-agers, are treated. As if we have everything figured out. As if our moment has passed. As if we have shriveled up and been quietly folded away like a stretched-out T-shirt.

If you have time, it’s worth reading.

Because what I tried to say there is this: we are not finished. We are still becoming. Still growing. Still changing. Still discovering ourselves.

And today I want to add something to that.

I am still discovering God, too.

I’ve said before that Catholicism has freed me in a strange way. It has allowed me to simply have faith in God. Not defend Him. Not explain Him. Not package Him neatly. Just believe.

It feels like I’ve been peeling back my faith like an onion, trying to get to what I actually think, feel, and believe about God.

One layer was my intellectualized Christianity. This was the realm of apologetics. I could debate. I could spot bad doctrine from a mile away. I could correct misuse of Scripture. And if I’m honest, there was a quiet pride in that. It felt good to be right.

But something was missing. Something loving. Something kind.

At the end of the day, I would rather someone feel cared for and loved by me than proven wrong.

Another layer told me that good things would come my way because “He knows the plans He has for you… plans to prosper you and not to harm you.” This was the layer of “Won’t He do it?” (and of course the response: “Won’t He will.”)

That layer came crashing down.

First when my nephew died by suicide. Then through a long, heavy season of depression. And finally when my husband was diagnosed with an aggressive form of prostate cancer.

When the fog eventually lifted, I peeled that layer off and shoved it down the garbage disposal.

I still believe God is good, loving, and merciful. But sometimes He does not do what we want Him to do, no matter how hard we pray. I don’t know why. I just know that it is.

So I kept peeling.

Layers about God’s purpose for people. Layers about what real devotion looks like. Layers upon layers. It was a big onion.

And somewhere along the way, I noticed something unsettling.

The God of the Bible looks very different from the God I had learned to expect at church.

I was trying desperately to get Him focused on my family. My happiness. My life.

And He was sending Jonah to Nineveh.

Allowing Satan to afflict Job.

Meeting Hagar on the road after she fled Abraham’s house.

Listening to a woman weep in the temple while Eli misunderstood her.

Healing Peter’s mother-in-law.

Knocking Saul off his horse.

He just didn’t seem to be listening to all of my requests, no matter how confidently or incorrectly I prayed them.

And maybe that was the point.

Because what I’ve discovered, at the center of the onion, is this:

God is not manageable.

But He is discoverable.

And now, instead of trying to pin Him down, I delight in looking for Him.

Often in unlikely places.

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If this post spoke to you…

Share it with someone who might need it, too. Whether it’s a quiet encouragement or a new way of seeing things, these reflections are meant to be passed along.

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Martina Griffin is a Catholic convert, writer, wife, and mother of four. She writes about faith, motherhood, beauty, books, and the quiet ache of transformation. A lover of popcorn, deep questions, and old classics, she shares her heart at Big Bowl of Popcorn—one post at a time. Instagram | Facebook | Email Me

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