Trusting the Road You Cannot See Yet

Hey you, it's me.

I want to thank you for walking with me over the past sixteen days. It has meant so much to me. We're getting close to the end of this part of the journey, but I really hope we keep walking together.

I'll be sharing my days on Instagram and TikTok at @justjennboard, with daily posts, pictures, little moments, and talks from the trail.

Sharing this journey with you has become part of the journey itself. I hope something I share along the way encourages you, strengthens your faith, or simply reminds you that you're not walking through your own season alone.

And I'm not disappearing from Just Jelly. The Hey You notes will still be here. I will try to write when I have WiFi.

Please keep writing to me, as well. I love reading your letters and hearing what's on your heart. We may be walking different roads, but we can still walk them together. Thank you for trusting me with your letters.

The song in the car

Today, I was already planning to write to you about trust.

Then, when I got into the car, Oceans started playing.

There is a line in the song that asks God to take us deeper than our feet could ever wander, and today it landed differently. Probably because I am literally on my way to board a plane for the Camino, a trip I have spent months preparing for.

I have sung that song so many times. And maybe you have too.

We sing the songs, say the prayers, and ask God to take us deeper, stretch us, use us, and lead us somewhere we could not reach on our own.

Then, when He does. We freeze.

That thought stayed with me because trust has never been easy for me. I have been let down. I have felt rejected. I tell myself it will be okay if I can plan enough, check enough, and think far enough ahead; maybe I can keep something from hurting me or catching me off guard. Does trust come easy for you? I have learned in midlife that our stories shape how we show up. It has affected my confidence, my voice, and my mindset.

It is something I work on continuously.

So, if trust feels hard right now, you're not alone. When anxiety rises, I pause and take a slow breath. Then whisper whatever prayer you have.

Mine is: God, I give You what I cannot control. Walk with me through this part of the road.

And if you don't have the words to pray, that's okay too. Sit quietly for a moment. Breathe. Give yourself space to listen.

Sometimes trust starts that small. One breath. One prayer. One moment of releasing what you were never meant to carry all at once.

What I used to think trust meant

This morning, Proverbs 3:5–6 keeps coming back to me: trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.

I used to hear that verse and think trust meant I would somehow feel calm and certain.

I do not think that anymore.

I think sometimes trust looks like doing everything you know to do, and then getting to the edge of what you can control and realizing the rest was never yours to carry alone.

For me, that shift started when I really began to believe that He knows me. All of me.

I discussed this on the podcast episode last season when I shared the story of the woman at the well. Jesus knew her story before she ever told Him. He knew the relationships, the mistakes, the messy parts, and all of it. There was nothing she needed to explain or hide.

And He still sat down with her. I love that.

Because there is something about knowing you are fully known and still fully loved that makes it a little easier to trust. He is never asking us to be someone else or measure ourselves against anyone else.

He knows me better than I know myself. There are no secrets between us. He knows where I have messed up, where I am afraid, and where I still struggle to let go. And yet, He still loves me. He forgives me when I ask. He still calls me His daughter.

Maybe that is where trust really starts.

Not because I know what will happen next.

Because I know who is going with me.

I have planned this trip as thoroughly as I know how. Now all I can do is pray, walk, and trust.

Peter, and the moment the storm got bigger

And maybe that is the harder part of trust. It is one thing to believe God knows me and loves me. It is another thing to actually move when I cannot see what comes next.

Because eventually trust asks something of us.

Sometimes, it encourages us to loosen our hold. Other times, it urges us to stop waiting for perfect readiness. Often, it calls us to take the next step.

I often think of Peter.

Jesus said, Come, and Peter stepped out of the boat.

Some of us struggle right there, in the moment we feel called. We feel the pull. We know the next step, but we hesitate because we want God to show us the whole plan first.

I can relate to Peter. He took the first step. He got out of the boat. But then he looked at the wind and the waves. The storm got his attention; he took his eyes off Jesus, and he began to sink.

I think I understand both parts of that story. Sometimes I struggle to take the first step. Other times, I take it and then let everything happening around me make me question whether I should have stepped out in the first place.

Do you struggle with taking the first step or staying focused once you do? Maybe you're like me and can relate to both.

Fear grows stronger as chaos surrounds us and our thoughts wander. Before we notice, we are looking at our environment rather than focusing on the One who leads us forward.

Peter didn't start sinking because he stepped out of the boat. He started sinking when the storm became bigger in his eyes than Jesus.

Maybe that is one reason the Camino has been calling to me so deeply.

It offers quiet.

It's not about perfect silence or escaping life, but about creating enough space to notice what competes for our attention. Enough room to reconnect with God and refocus. I'm realizing you don't have to be on a pilgrimage or far from home to find this quiet. A few minutes in your car, kitchen, or over your morning coffee can be a small refuge to pause and listen. Perhaps today you can carve out a moment, however brief, to breathe and invite stillness. These small spaces become meeting places with God, helping us remember what truly matters.

Camino History

For centuries, the Camino had no single starting point.

There was no bus to a trailhead. Pilgrims could walk out of their own front doors, in France, Germany, England, or somewhere else entirely, and begin from wherever they lived. Their Camino started where they started.

Which meant they could not see the whole road ahead. They knew where they were trying to go, but there was only the next town, and then the town after that.

They knew roughly where they were going.

They could not see how they would get there.

More of the route research and logistics I leaned on is collected in the Camino Chronicles.

Preparation has a stopping point

I think I needed that reminder today.

Trusting God does not mean I failed to prepare.

It means preparation has a stopping point.

I can do my part, and then I have to release what was never mine to control in the first place.

I don't know what the next thirty-one days will bring. I hope my luggage gets picked up in the mornings and arrives in the evenings. The bikes: I hope I know how they work, and the ride is smooth. I pray we will have nice weather; I don't do well in the rain. I hope my body surprises me in good ways. That I meet new people I was meant to meet and notice all the little things along the way.

And if something goes wrong, I hope I remember this morning.

I hope I remember the prayer I prayed for deeper understanding. I hope I remember Peter stepping out of the boat. I hope I remember that I don't need to see the whole road clearly to take the next step.

Sweet friend, that's where I am this morning. I'm on my way to the airport, nervous and hoping everything goes as planned. I'm still learning how to trust when I don't know exactly what comes next.

But I'm going anyway.

Today's Reflection

Read it slowly today. Where are you leaning on your own understanding because not knowing feels unsafe? What would it look like to trust God with the part you cannot see yet?

Camino Challenge

Take a few quiet minutes and ask yourself: what am I still trying to control? Where have I felt God tugging me forward, but stood still because I could not see how it would all work out?

Then ask one more question: where is God calling me right now?

You do not need the whole map today. Maybe you need the courage to take the next step.

Prayer

Before We Go

Tomorrow is the final letter in this part of our journey.

Eighteen days of preparing our hearts before I ever take the first step on the Camino.

Today I am carrying this with me: I do not need to know exactly how the road will unfold to trust the One walking it with me.

Maybe you need that reminder too.

You do not need the whole map today.

Take the next step.

Where is God calling you right now? Write me back below. I read every one.