Bless the Fog

Finding Peace in Times of Uncertainty

There are times in life when the path is clear, the direction is strong, and momentum carries us with a sense of energy and purpose. Then there are other times — times when the way forward feels hazy, confusing, and uncertain. These “foggy” seasons, as I’ve come to call them, can be some of the most disorienting … and yet, if we’re open, they can also become sacred.

Cracks in the Path

Around twelve years ago, the church I was leading at the time was thriving — growing beyond 5,000 people attending each weekend. While it was an exciting time, the pace and pressure of leading such a dynamic community had quietly taken its toll on me. I didn’t realise it at first. I thought I was managing just fine. But inside, I was what Eugene Peterson described as experiencing “a tiredness that regular holidays wasn’t fixing.”

A trusted mentor, Keith Farmer, gently encouraged me to take a sabbatical. I resisted at first. I thought I could push through, like I always had. But one day, walking through a local reserve near our home, something shifted.

I was on a familiar path when I stopped in my tracks. The ground beneath me — eroded from years of heavy rain — was cracked and worn. And in a moment I still recall vividly, I sensed God whisper, “This is your soul.”

That simple image hit me hard. I was looking at an outward picture of my inward life. Eroded. Weathered. In need of repair.

In the years leading up to that moment, there had been a series of storms — personal griefs and pressures that had slowly accumulated. The sudden death of my beloved mother-in-law. A serious car accident involving our teenagers. Health scares with both my father and a close ministry colleague. Each of these events had worn me down in ways I hadn’t fully acknowledged.

That cracked pathway was an invitation. Not just to slow down, but to heal. I finally accepted the need for a sabbatical — a three-month pause that became a lifeline. It didn’t magically fix everything, but it was a deep drink from a well I didn’t know I needed. And I’m forever grateful to the leaders around me who supported that decision.

A Mist

Part of my hope for the sabbatical was that it would bring clarity — not just personal refreshment, but a fresh vision for the church. At the time, we had come to the end of a fruitful, focused season called Vision 2010. The congregation was understandably eager to know: What’s next?

But the truth is, I came back rested … yet directionless. In fact, in the final week of that sabbatical, I seriously considered quitting ministry altogether. I was that exhausted.

One morning, shortly after returning, I looked out over the valley near our home. A thick mist had rolled in. You couldn’t see more than a few metres ahead. Then, just as suddenly, the mist cleared. Then it returned again.

I took a photo and stood there, quietly reflecting. And once again, I sensed God speak — not in words, but in that deep way the soul recognises as sacred.

“This is where you are right now. In the mist. And that’s okay.”

I realised something important that day: when you’re in a fog, you can’t force your way through it. You can’t yell at it or will it away. You simply have to wait. Clarity will come — but in its own time.

That insight helped frame the season we were in as a church. I shared the image of the mist with our leadership team and congregation. I told them, honestly, that we were in a foggy season — and that was okay. There was no need to rush ahead with a new vision just for the sake of clarity. We needed to wait. To seek. To trust.

And eventually, clarity came. A renewed sense of identity and direction emerged — not overnight, but gradually.

Bless the Fog

So often, we want instant answers. We crave clarity. But human life — much like nature — moves in rhythms and seasons. There are times for vision, and there are times for waiting.

If you’re in a season of fog right now, here’s what I’d say to you: Bless the fog. Don’t resist it. Don’t panic. Don’t try to force clarity before its time. The fog may be hiding what’s ahead, but it may also be revealing what’s within.

Perhaps, like me on that cracked path, there is a truth your soul has been longing for you to see.

And when the time is right, the mist will lift. The way ahead will become clear again. But in the meantime, know that even in the fog — especially in the fog — you are not alone.

Trust the season. Bless the fog. And be gentle with yourself.