Putting My Hope in God Instead of the Provision

Putting My Hope in God Instead of the Provision

I woke up around two in the morning in a full panic.

Not just worry. Panic. My chest was tight. My thoughts were racing. Bad dreams that don’t really stop when I wake up. My mind goes straight to the same place every time. I don’t have what I need yet to get back and forth to work until my first paycheck comes. If I can’t get to work, I lose the job. If I lose the job, I can’t pay rent. If I can’t pay rent, everything falls apart.

Fear is really good at running those loops. It just shows up and starts stacking worst-case scenarios until it feels like the ground is falling out from under you. And when that happens in the middle of the night, it feels even heavier.

As I sat with God in all of this, something became really clear to me. The fear wasn’t just about money or transportation or timing. It was about where my hope had landed.

This feels like part of the quiet return I wrote about earlier, where faith slows down, and obedience matters more than momentum.

Putting my hope in the provision.

I didn’t say that out loud. I didn’t mean to do it. But it showed up in how afraid I was. The job became the thing everything depended on. If the job worked out, I’d be okay. If it didn’t, I wouldn’t. I wasn’t putting my hope in God. My sense of safety was tied to that job, not to God.

And fear rushed right in to fill the gap.

Scripture talks about this kind of thing in a very simple way. It says not to put our trust in things that can’t actually save us.

“Do not put your trust in princes, in human beings, who cannot save” (Psalm 146:3).

I wasn’t trusting a prince. I was trusting a paycheck. But the effect was the same. I had placed my hope on something that could disappear, and fear followed right behind it. I’ve been learning that more clearly in seasons when faith feels uncertain, and trust has to be chosen without clarity.

Putting my hope in God means paying attention to moments like this, when fear shows me what I’ve been leaning on.

What really got me was noticing how my prayers had changed. I wasn’t really praying, “God, I trust You.” I was praying, “God, please let this job work.” There’s a difference. One was putting my hope in God. The other puts hope in the outcome.

Jesus talks about this kind of divided trust when He says we can’t serve two masters. We can’t live like God is our source while acting like something else is.

“You cannot serve both God and money.” (Matthew 6:24).

Here, money isn’t just wealth. It’s provision. Security. Control. It’s the thing we think keeps us alive. And when fear gets loud, it usually means our hope has slipped onto something temporary.

The truth is, I need the job. I’m not pretending I don’t. Scripture doesn’t shame us for needing food or shelter or stability. Jesus even says that God knows exactly what we need.

“Your heavenly Father knows that you need them all” (Matthew 6:32).

The problem isn’t having needs. The problem is letting my hope settle on the thing instead of on God.

Putting my hope in God doesn’t mean I stop going to work or stop trying. It means the job stops being my savior. It becomes something I do, not something I worship. God is the source. The job is just one way provision might come.

“My God will supply every need of yours according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:19).

That verse doesn’t say how or when. And that’s the part my fear hates. I want timelines. I want guarantees. I want to know how this all works out before I relax.

But faith doesn’t work that way.

Right now, I don’t have control. I can’t force the timing. I can’t fix everything. And that’s exactly what’s being exposed in me. I’ve always felt safer when I could manage things.

But this season isn’t letting me do that. So putting my hope in God right now looks like letting go of control I never really had in the first place.

It looks like waking up afraid and choosing to pray instead of spiraling. Not perfectly. Not calmly. Just honestly.

“When I am afraid, I put my trust in you” (Psalm 56:3).

Not when I stop being afraid. When I am afraid. 

That verse has been helping me because it doesn’t pretend fear won’t show up. It just tells me what to do when it does.

The anxiety hasn’t magically disappeared. I still wake up. I still feel it. But now, when it hits, I can see it for what it is. Fear showed me where my hope drifted. And I can gently bring that hope back to God again.

That’s something I’m learning about return. It’s rarely a one-time decision. It’s usually a lot of small course corrections made under pressure. This is one of those slow steps on the road back.

Putting my hope in God right now looks like trusting Him even when the numbers don’t work yet. It looks like reminding myself that God carried me before this job existed and that He isn’t suddenly less faithful because things feel impossible.

Fear keeps telling me that if this falls apart, everything falls apart. Faith pushes back and says God is still God either way.

“Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you” (1 Peter 5:7).

Casting anxiety means letting go of the thing I’ve been gripping for safety. For me, that grip had tightened around the job instead of around God. Letting go feels uncomfortable. Vulnerable. But that’s usually where trust starts growing again.

I don’t know yet how this will work out. I don’t know where the provision will come from or how the timing will land. But I do know that my hope can’t live in something temporary. Jobs change. Circumstances change. God doesn’t.

“Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength” (Isaiah 40:31).

So today, I’m choosing again to put my hope in God. Not bravely. Not confidently. Just honestly. Even in the face of the fear that is still hanging around.

This isn’t the end of the struggle. But it is a shift in where my hope lives.

A Short Prayer

Lord,

You know how afraid I’ve been, especially in the quiet hours of the night. Your Word tells me not to put my trust in what cannot save, but to put my hope in You (Psalm 146:3). Forgive me for placing my hope in the job instead of in You.

Help me to put my hope in You again, especially when fear feels louder than faith. You know what I need, and You care for me (Matthew 6:32). When I am afraid, I choose to trust You (Psalm 56:3).

Teach me to wait on You without panic and to rest in Your faithfulness while I walk this road back to You.

Amen.