Finding Purpose in the Chapters You Never Wanted

There are moments in life when the story we thought we were living suddenly changes.

A relationship ends.

A prayer isn't answered the way we expected.

Someone we trusted disappoints us.

A door we were certain God was opening suddenly closes.

And almost immediately, we begin asking:

Why?

Why did this happen?

Why did they do this?

Why didn't it work?

Why did God allow this?

Why didn't they choose me?

Those are very human questions. When something doesn't make sense, our brains naturally look for an explanation. We want to understand what happened because understanding can make us feel safer and more in control.

The problem isn't that we're asking why but asking a question that someone else has to answer.

And they may never answer it.

They may not know.

They may not be willing.

Or there simply may not be an explanation that gives us the closure we hoped for.

That's when our why can become a loop that keeps us connected to something we cannot change.

But we don't have to stop asking why. We can change the question.

Instead of asking a why that requires someone else to give us an answer, we can begin asking questions that help us understand ourselves.

And that kind of curiosity can become the beginning of transformation.

 

WHY: Change the Question

Instead of: Why did they reject me?

Try: Why does this rejection feel so significant to me?

Instead of: Why can't they just love me the way I need them to?

Ask: Why does their inability to meet this need make me question my worth?

Instead of: Why does this keep happening to me?

Become curious: Why might I keep finding myself in similar situations or relationships?

And don't necessarily stop with the first answer.

Keep asking why.

Maybe the relationship ending feels devastating because you feel rejected.

Why does rejection feel so painful?

Because somewhere underneath it is the belief: “I wasn't chosen.”

Why does not being chosen feel so threatening?

Maybe because you've spent much of your life believing you had to perform, achieve, please, fix, or become what someone else needed in order to be loved.

Now we're getting somewhere.

The situation in front of you may have caused real pain, but it may also have activated something much older.

The present experience can be the trigger without being the root. That is why curiosity matters.

When we stop using “why” only to investigate everyone else and begin using it to compassionately understand ourselves, we start uncovering the beliefs, wounds, fears, needs, and patterns influencing how we respond.

And once we can see them, we have something we can actually work with.

 

Sometimes the Pattern Was Once Protection

As we become curious, we may begin recognizing patterns we hadn't noticed before.

Maybe you run when relationships become uncomfortable.

Maybe you people-please because disappointing someone feels unsafe.

Maybe you shut down during conflict.

Maybe you overexplain because being misunderstood feels unbearable.

Maybe you work harder, achieve more, take care of everyone else, or keep saying yes because productivity has become connected to your sense of worth.

These patterns don't usually appear out of nowhere.

At some point, they may have helped us navigate something difficult.

The problem is that what once protected us can eventually keep us stuck.

We can change relationships.

Change jobs.

Change churches.

Move somewhere new.

Start over.

But if we don't understand what we're carrying with us, we may eventually recreate familiar patterns in unfamiliar places. This is why awareness is such an important part of transformation.

We cannot intentionally change what we are unwilling or unable to see.

 

WHAT: What Do I Need?

Once curiosity helps us understand what's happening underneath our reaction, we can move to another question: What do I need?

This is where compassion enters the process.

Maybe underneath…

 The anger is hurt.

The defensiveness is fear.

The chasing is a longing for reassurance.

The people-pleasing is a desire to belong.

The need to control the outcome is a nervous system desperately searching for safety.

When we identify the need, we don't automatically have to make someone else responsible for meeting it.

Instead, we can ask: What do I need in this moment to care for myself well?

Maybe I need space.

Maybe I need to grieve.

Maybe I need reassurance.

Maybe I need a boundary.

Maybe I need to talk with someone safe.

Maybe I need to stop trying to solve the entire future and focus on today.

Maybe I need to sit with God instead of continuing to chase an answer from someone who cannot give me what I'm looking for.

Naming what we need helps us move from automatic reaction toward intentional response.

And there is another powerful what question available to us.

 

What Is This For?

In this week's conversation on It's Your Story to Tell, my guest Tennille Martinez shared a question someone asked her during a painful season of heartbreak.

Tennille had spent so much time asking why.

Then someone challenged her to ask: “What is this for?”

I love this question because it doesn't require us to pretend the painful thing was good.

It doesn't mean God caused every painful experience.

And it doesn't mean we need to immediately find some beautiful purpose while we're still grieving.

Instead, it opens another door of curiosity.

What could I learn here?

What is being revealed?

What might God want to heal in me?

What is He teaching me about Himself?

What is He teaching me about who I am?

What might He be preparing me for?

Sometimes we won't know the answer while we're living through it. We may only recognize it later.

But “what for?” moves our attention from endlessly trying to rewrite the past toward becoming curious about what could emerge from it.

That is a very different posture.

It doesn't ask us to deny what happened.

It asks us to consider that what happened doesn't get the final word.

Faith Doesn't Mean Knowing How the Story Ends

Of course, this is where things get difficult, because we still want the blueprint.

We want the entire road illuminated before we're willing to take the next step.

But Scripture gives us a different picture: “Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light on my path.” — Psalm 119:105

A lamp doesn't illuminate the entire road. It gives enough light for the next step.

And maybe that's all we're being asked to take.

Not ten steps.

Not the rest of our lives.

Just the next one.

 

HOW: How Do I Want to Move Forward?

Once I've become curious about why I'm responding the way I am and compassionately identified what I need or even begun considering what this season might be for I can ask:

How do I want to move forward?

Not: 

How do I make them change?

How do I guarantee this never happens again?

How do I make this pain disappear?

This is where we regain choice.

Maybe moving forward means having the conversation instead of avoiding it.

Maybe it means not sending the text.

Maybe it means setting a boundary without using the boundary to punish someone.

Maybe it means allowing yourself to grieve instead of immediately finding something—or someone—to numb the pain.

Maybe it means asking for help.

Maybe it means forgiving without reopening a relationship that isn't healthy.

Maybe it means staying in an uncomfortable place long enough to learn something instead of automatically running.

Or maybe it means finally walking away from something you've been trying desperately to fix.

The answer will look different for each of us.

The goal isn't perfection. The goal is intentional alignment.

When we pause long enough to engage curiosity and compassion, we create space to choose a response that reflects our values rather than automatically repeating a response shaped by our past. That is how patterns begin to change.

 

Surrendering the Pen

There is another part of this process that may be the hardest of all.

We can become curious.

We can understand our patterns.

We can identify our needs.

We can make intentional choices.

And we still cannot control the ending.

I love the imagery Tennille shared of learning to stop taking the pen out of God's hand.

Because I know what it's like to want to write the ending myself.

But surrender isn't giving up our responsibility. It's recognizing where our responsibility ends.

I am responsible for my healing.

I am responsible for my choices.

I am responsible for how I show up.

I am responsible for taking the next step God places in front of me.

But I am not responsible for controlling another person or guaranteeing the outcome.

That belongs to God.

Maybe surrender sounds something like:

“God, I don't know how this story ends. Help me understand what You're showing me, give me what I need for today, and help me take the next step in alignment with who You're calling me to become.”

 

You Are Still in the Middle of the Story

When something painful happens, it can be tempting to make a permanent conclusion from a temporary chapter.

I'll always be alone.

Nothing ever works out for me.

I ruined everything.

I'll never trust again.

This isn't how my life was supposed to look.

But you're reading the story from the middle.

You don't know what happens three chapters from now.

So perhaps we can stop demanding that this chapter tell us how the entire story ends.

Instead, we can ask three questions:

WHY — What can I learn about myself here?

WHAT — What do I need, and what might this be for?

HOW — How do I want to move forward in alignment with who I am becoming?

Then we take the next step. And the next. Trusting that God can see the pages we cannot.

 

Continue the Conversation

This week on It's Your Story to Tell, I sat down with Tennille Martinez for an honest conversation about what it looks like to live these truths in the messy middle when you don't have all the answers and the story is still unfolding.

If you're learning to trust God with an ending you didn't choose, I hope you'll join us.

Watch this week's episode: Why Did God Allow This Heartbreak? Finding Purpose, Healing, and Faith After a Relationship Ends. (Click Here)