Never settling for crumbs

Never Settling for Crumbs

I’m proud of myself. Not in the loud, boastful way. In the quiet, bone-deep way that comes from looking back at the road behind me and realizing I didn’t quit on myself.

For years, the world tried to feed me crumbs. Crumbs of love. Crumbs of opportunity. Crumbs of respect. And there were moments I almost convinced myself that crumbs were enough. That wanting the whole loaf made me selfish, or unrealistic, or too much.

But there was always a voice inside. Not the anxious one. Not the fearful one. The other one. The still one. The one that sounded a lot like home. Every time I was ready to settle, ready to shrink, ready to say “this is good enough,” that voice would stir: Keep going. This isn’t it. You weren’t made for this.

So I kept going. I walked away from tables where I was only offered scraps. I left rooms where my presence was tolerated but not valued. I chose lonely nights over cheap company. And I won’t lie: sometimes the road was empty. Sometimes keeping going looked a lot like standing still while everyone else sped past.

I’m still not where I should be. My life doesn’t look finished. There are prayers I’m still waiting on, promises I’m still holding, versions of me I haven’t met yet. If you saw me on paper, you might think I lost. But I know better now.

Because I’ve learned what real faith is.

Real faith isn’t Sunday mornings. It isn’t a perfect attendance record at church, or the right words at the right time. Real faith is when you live your life knowing God is with you in the Tuesday mess, the Wednesday waiting, the 2 a.m. doubts.

Real faith is knowing you have God within you to guide you when you can’t see the path, to protect you when the storms hit, and to pick you out of the ashes when you’ve been burned down to nothing. I’ve been in the ashes. More than once. And every time, I felt the Hand. Not always lifting me out right away. Sometimes just sitting with me in the burn, until I was ready to rise.

The Bible isn’t meant to sit on a shelf or stay trapped in Sunday language. For me, it’s a living translation. It breathes. It walks with me to the grocery store. It sits with me when the bills are due. It whispers keep going when the inner voice and His voice sound like the same thing, because maybe they always were.

I’m proud because I listened. I’m proud because I didn’t take the crumbs. I’m proud because I learned that the delay isn’t denial, and the ashes aren’t the end.

I’m not where I should be yet. But I’m not who I was. And the God within me isn’t finished.

That’s enough to keep going.