Walking in obedience to God is never an easy road. If anything, it is the kind of path that challenges everything you thought you knew about faith, trust, and surrender. At a recent event, Elevate 2025 by Inspiring Greatness, the keynote speaker shared something that struck me deeply: “A lot of us pray for the rain but never prepare for the mud it comes with.” That one line lingered in my spirit, forcing me to pause and reflect. How many times had I cried out for the floodgates of heaven to open? And yet, with every answered prayer came a deluge I had not anticipated.

You can study the Bible, learn from the lived experiences of other Christians, and even receive divine warnings—whether through dreams, visions, or prophetic words—but when obedience to God’s instruction manifests in reality, it rarely looks how we expect. More often than not, it coincides with an onslaught so intense that you could easily miss God’s hand in it all. We have been conditioned to think that the manifestation of God’s goodness should resemble smooth sailing in calm seas. But that is not always the case.

When the rain you prayed for arrives—only to bring mud and rising floods…

I found myself reflecting on the season when I completed my masters program. Taking a leap of faith I had prayed to God that I would only apply to jobs that aligned with a prophetic word I had received. It was a process but in the end I finally landed my dream role. It was everything I had worked toward, a milestone that should have filled me with certainty and joy. And yet, instead of clarity, I found myself at a crossroads, burdened by overwhelming thoughts—loss, lack, and the relentless weight of life due to some personal challenges. I had reached a pivotal moment in my life where the dreams I had prayed for were unfolding, but so was a season of immense uncertainty.

That’s the part no one tells you about growing older. Eventually, no one else can make the decisions for you. The best they can offer is prayer, advice, and if you’re fortunate, their lived experiences to help you weigh your options. But when the moment comes, the choice is yours alone.

With no roadmap for the life-changing decisions ahead, I admitted something that was difficult for me to say: I lacked the knowledge and confidence to determine how I’d live for the decades to come. As someone who is typically rational and methodical, I did something completely out of character—I chose to escape. Not just mentally, but physically. My first solo trip. March 2015.

Journeying Into the Unknown

After careful consideration, I booked a trip that felt both exciting and safe—Singapore, with a stopover in Wuhan, China, to visit a familiar face. I had no clue what the journey would reveal, but I was willing to find out. Was I nervous? Without a doubt. Fearful? Completely. I even toyed with the idea of backing out at the last minute—but the money I had already spent triggered the economist in me to follow through.

In Wuhan, I experienced my first major culture shock. The bustling city was a fascinating mix of modernity and deep-rooted traditions. Navigating its streets, dining in unfamiliar restaurants, and being reliant on my good city guides taught me something valuable. It was that while my world felt like it was on pause, the rest of the world kept moving.

Lessons learnt in Wuhan

• Time Waits for No One

I realised how easy it is to become trapped in a single season of life—fixated on a crisis, a disappointment, or a perceived lack—allowing it to overshadow everything else. But just because one area is on fire doesn’t mean you open the doors and let the flames consume everything. Instead, you have to become a firefighter, guarding with diligence what remains intact. While God is faithful to bring beauty from the ashes, not all ashes are born from divine refinement—some are simply the result of earlier choices we made, ill preparation, stubbornness, pride or neglect (it can be a long list but you get the drift).

This wasn’t just a lesson for that season; it’s something I’ve come to understand even more as I’ve matured. There will always be one department of life in crisis, stretching you in ways you never expected. The key is learning how to let that stretch happen without letting it consume the areas that are still blooming. Growth isn’t about waiting for life to be perfectly balanced it’s about stewarding what is flourishing while trusting God to restore what is burning.

• Growth Happens When You Step Into the Unfamiliar

Watching my brother and his friend—both from Zimbabwe—speak fluent Mandarin after only a short time in China was a revelation. I had always admired the idea of mastery, of deep knowledge. But this experience showed me something just as powerful: adaptability. We often long for permanence and stability, but life is inherently transient. The ability to embrace change, to learn new ways of being, and to navigate different spaces with confidence is a skill to continually invest in.

• Being Present Is the First Step to Clarity

For the first time in a long while, I slept deeply in Wuhan. Not the restless, mind-racing kind of sleep, but a real, restorative pause. The whirlwind of emotions and thoughts I had been running from finally caught up with me, aligning with my physical presence. By the time I boarded my next flight, I was no less imperfect, no less scarred by life’s upheavals, but I was present. And for the first time in a long time, I was ready. Ready to sit with myself, to reflect, and to sift through the questions I had long postponed.

Who am I? What do I stand for?

And most importantly—what am I living for?

Next Stop: Singapore—The City That Stole My Heart

When I landed in Singapore late at night, exhaustion weighed on me. The moment I stepped out of the airport in Singapore, I was met with an overwhelming heat and humidity that would become a recurring theme of the trip. The air was thick, pressing against my skin. It was intense and inescapable, much like the emotions I had been attempting to navigate internally. But despite the sweltering conditions and internal turmoil, I instinctively slipped into my “girl scout mode.” I collected tourist maps, food guides, and brochures and found my way to the taxi stand. Everything was pristine, efficient, and beautifully structured. My taxi—a sleek black Chrysler—pulled up to the hotel, where a warm reception awaited.

As I settled into my room, I followed a ritual that has since become second nature—I prayed over my space, inviting the presence of God to stand guard. Then, I unpacked, took a hot shower, and ordered my first meal: nasi goreng. That plate of fragrant, spicy fried rice didn’t just satisfy my hunger—it awakened something in me.

I had left home seeking an escape, but somewhere between Wuhan and Singapore, I had found something better. I had found a moment of stillness. A chance to breathe. A glimpse of who I was becoming.

Reflections from Singapore

I methodically planned my time in this beautiful city. From unguided walks through the lush Gardens by the Bay to guided explorations of Little India and Chinatown, I immersed myself in every corner of Singapore. One of the highlights was a cooking class, where I was introduced to the city’s vibrant foodscape—flavors that spoke of culture, history, and the beauty of blending old traditions with modern influence.

It was the perfect mix of structure and unstructured freedom, much like the journey I found myself on in life.

As I wandered through Orchard Road—the seemingly endless stretch of shopping centres—I couldn’t help but draw parallels to my own internal journey. The sheer volume of choices, the glimmering storefronts, the bustling energy—it reminded me of the thoughts, emotions, and dilemmas I had been trying to process.

Something fascinating began to happen. As I physically navigated unfamiliar spaces, I found my inner world responding in kind. Each new discovery, each small act of courage—whether trying an unfamiliar dish or navigating the MRT train system—felt like a mirror to my internal growth. My surroundings ministered to me in ways I had never anticipated.

And then there was the silence. The kind of silence that is only possible when you intentionally unplug. Before this trip, I had stepped away from social media, intending to take a short hiatus. What began as a few months turned into a couple of years—an extended season of reorientation, balance, and rediscovery. It was during this time that I truly understood why I needed the space. I needed to redefine my why and my who and in the process I needed to regain perspective in a way that was unfiltered and independent from people but dependent on God and the pillars of wisdom around me.

Conclusion: Find the Consistency of God in the Messiness of Life

Looking back, I now see that my first solo trip wasn’t just about escaping. It was about making space to grow, to listen, and to realign with God’s purpose for me. Sometimes, delayed decision-making isn’t procrastination—it’s wisdom. It’s recognising that some answers aren’t meant to be forced—they are meant to unfold, and what you need is the grace to step away, gain perspective, and return with clarity.

I also learned something deeply valuable: the messiness of life does not negate the goodness of God. His faithfulness remains, even when obscured by the chaos. His love is constant, even when we feel lost in the fog. It is easy to get caught up in the struggle, to be so focused on the mud that we forget the rain was always meant to bring growth. But when we pause long enough to reflect, we realise that His goodness never ceases or changes. And for that, I am grateful.

Would I have found my way without this trip? Perhaps. But I do know that without taking that leap, I wouldn’t have discovered the power of stillness, the beauty of embracing the unknown, and the confidence to build a life beyond my comfort zone.

Sometimes, it’s in the waiting that we find exactly what we need.

So, if you’re in a season of uncertainty, facing an onslaught after an answered prayer—take heart. Sometimes, the best thing you can do is pause. Step away. Gain perspective. Allow yourself to navigate the unfamiliar. And trust that, in God’s perfect timing, clarity will come.