A Thought I Didn’t See Coming

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord… — Jeremiah 29:11

I didn’t know where to begin…but I knew I had to start somewhere.

During that time, I had more hours in front of me than I was used to.

At first, I didn’t know what to do with them.

But then, somewhere in the middle of those quiet days…
a thought came.

It wasn’t something I had planned.
It wasn’t something I had been working toward.

In fact, it didn’t make much sense at all.

The idea of writing a book.

I had never done anything like that before.
I had never even seriously considered it.

And yet… the thought stayed.

“I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go;
I will guide you with my eye.”
— Psalm 32:8

It didn’t come loudly.
It didn’t demand attention.

It simply returned… again and again.

And then, something else came back to me.

I had once started something…
a long time ago.

Something I had set aside and forgotten.

It wasn’t complete.
It wasn’t developed.
But it was there.

At first, I didn’t think much of it.

But now, in this quiet season…
it didn’t feel like a coincidence.

Looking back, I can see what I couldn’t see then.

What felt like a random thought…
was something that had been there all along.

Just waiting to be remembered.

Time I Didn’t Expect

A season I didn’t understand at the time.

“There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the heavens.” — Ecclesiastes 3:1

There was a season when my world became very small.

Most of my time was spent in one place.
The days felt slower… quieter… different than anything I had known before.

At first, I didn’t know what to do with that time.

I wasn’t used to sitting still.
I wasn’t used to having so many hours in front of me without a clear direction.

It felt unfamiliar.
Even uncomfortable.

I had always been moving, doing, going from one thing to the next.

Now, everything had slowed down.

And I wasn’t sure why.

And somewhere in that waiting, I was reminded:

“But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength…”
— Isaiah 40:31

But looking back, I can see something I didn’t understand at the time.

That season wasn’t empty.

It was being prepared.

What felt like lost time…
was actually time being given.

I just didn’t know yet what it was for.

Walking It Out

Taking the next step forward.

“…let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.” — Hebrews 12:1

There are moments in life when progress doesn’t look dramatic.

It doesn’t come with big milestones or sudden changes.

Sometimes…
it looks like taking a step forward,
even when you’re not sure how far you’ll go.

Today, it was a visit to the hospital.

Not something I would have chosen.
Not something I would have thought twice about before.

But now…
even this meant something.

Just getting there.
Getting out of the car.
Walking toward the entrance.

Nothing extraordinary.

And yet, it was.

Because not long ago, even this would have been difficult.

There are times when even simple things require effort.
When progress feels small… or slow…
and it would be easy to stop.

And yet, I’m reminded:

“In their hearts humans plan their course,
but the Lord establishes their steps.”
— Proverbs 16:9

This season may not look like running in the way I once imagined.

But it is still forward.
Still progress.
Still part of the race.

I’m learning that perseverance isn’t about speed.
It’s about continuing.

And today, I did.

Renewing of the Mind

“And be renewed in the spirit of your mind.” — Ephesians 4:23

There comes a point in a difficult season when something begins to change.

Not all at once.
Not dramatically.
But quietly… steadily… almost without you realizing it at first.

For me, that change didn’t begin in my body.

It began in my mind.

For a long time, progress felt slow.

Too slow.

Days stretched out.
Simple things still required effort.
And it was easy to measure everything by what I couldn’t do yet.

But somewhere along the way, that began to shift.

Not because everything suddenly improved…
but because the way I was looking at it changed.

Instead of asking, “Why is this taking so long?”
I found myself asking, “What is this teaching me?”

Instead of focusing on what I had lost,
I began to notice what was returning.

The first time I went back to the store on my own, it didn’t feel like a small thing to me.

It felt like progress.

Using a walker.
Moving slowly.
Placing items carefully into a basket.

Things that once would have been routine
now carried a different meaning.

Each step mattered.

Each choice mattered.

Shopping independently at a local grocery store in Nicaragua using a walker, carrying items in a basket—representing progress, renewed strength, and moving forward one step at a time.

A simple trip to the store—but for me, a sign that something was changing.

I am not back to where I was.

Not yet.

There is still a long way to go.

But I am no longer where I was before.

And that matters.

“But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength;
they shall mount up with wings as eagles;
they shall run, and not be weary;
and they shall walk, and not faint.” — Isaiah 40:31

That verse used to feel distant to me.

Something to hope for someday.

Now, I see it differently.

Renewed strength doesn’t always arrive all at once.

Sometimes, it shows up in small ways.

In quiet progress.
In steady movement.
In doing today what you could not do yesterday.

I am learning that renewal is not just about getting back to where you were.

Sometimes… it’s about becoming something stronger in a different way.

More patient.
More aware.
More grateful for things that once went unnoticed.

Looking back, I can see that this season has been doing something deeper than I understood at the time.

Not just slowing me down…

but reshaping how I think, how I see, and how I move forward.

I still have a journey ahead.

But I am moving.

And that, in itself, is something I no longer take for granted.

The People Who Helped Me Through It

“Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” — Matthew 25:40

There are seasons in life when you come to understand certain truths in a deeper way than you ever had before.

For me, this was one of those seasons.

When I found myself unable to move around as I once could, I quickly realized how many everyday things I had always taken for granted. Simple routines became challenges. Tasks I had never thought twice about now required help.

And help is exactly what I received.

Not from strangers—but from people I already knew. Neighbors. Friends. People who had been part of my everyday life, but whose kindness and compassion I had never fully seen until that moment.

There were many times when I needed help with even the most basic things—getting into bed, getting up again, preparing for the day. Things that are easy to overlook when you’re able to do them on your own.

And yet, they were there.

Not just once, but day after day.

Not with reluctance, but with patience.

Not out of obligation, but with genuine care.

Neighbors helping me move safely onto the bed during my recovery—an everyday act of care I will never forget.

What they gave me during that time was more than assistance.

It was presence.
It was consistency.
It was kindness shown in quiet, practical ways.

And through them, I began to understand something I had read many times before—but had never experienced quite like this.

“For all the law is fulfilled in one word, even in this; Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.” — Galatians 5:14

During that season, I saw that verse lived out in front of me.

Not in words—but in actions.

They didn’t just offer help when it was convenient. They stepped into my daily life in a way that required time, effort, and patience. They gave of themselves in ways that made a real difference.

Looking back, I realize how much those moments mattered.

Not just because I needed the help—but because of what it revealed.

It showed me what it truly means to care for one another.
It reminded me that we are not meant to walk through difficult seasons alone.
And it made me grateful in a way that is hard to fully put into words.

I would not have chosen that season.

But I will always be thankful for the people who walked through it with me.

When Life Slows You Down on Purpose

“Be still, and know that I am God.” — Psalm 46:10

There’s something about being forced to slow down that changes the way you see everything.

When I couldn’t move around like I was used to, the days felt longer. Quieter. At times, even frustrating. I was used to being active, independent, and able to take care of things on my own. Suddenly, that was no longer the case.

At first, it felt like time was working against me.

At my desk during recovery, turning to Scripture and preparing to write.

But in that stillness, something began to shift.

I started noticing things I might have missed otherwise. Small things. Moments of quiet. Time to think. Time to reflect. Time to pray in a way that wasn’t rushed or distracted.

And somewhere in that quiet, I found myself writing again.

Not with a clear plan. Not with a finished story in mind. Just putting thoughts on paper—reflections, ideas, pieces of something I hadn’t fully understood yet.

I began to realize that slowing down wasn’t just something happening to me—it was something that might actually be for me.

Patience doesn’t come naturally to me. I’ve always been someone who prefers to keep moving, to solve problems, to make progress. But during that season, I had no choice but to wait.

And in that waiting, I began to learn.

I learned that not everything needs to be controlled.
I learned that it’s okay not to have all the answers.
I learned that faith often grows the most in uncertain moments.

Instead of asking, “Why is this happening to me?”
I found myself asking, “What can I learn from this?”

That question changed everything.

It shifted my focus from frustration to purpose.

And writing became part of that shift.

What started as simple reflections began to take shape into something more. Ideas connected. A story began to form. What had once been set aside slowly came back to life.

I began to trust God in a deeper way—not just when things were going well, but when I didn’t understand what was happening. Not when I felt strong, but when I felt completely dependent.

And maybe that was the point all along.

Looking back, I wouldn’t have chosen that season. It was difficult, uncomfortable, and at times discouraging.

But I can see now that it was shaping something in me that I needed.

Sometimes strength doesn’t come from moving forward quickly.
Sometimes it comes from being still long enough to grow.

What felt like being stuck…
was actually where the real growth began.

Strength for the Journey: How Faith Turned a Setback into a Story

Steve writing along the coast of Nicaragua, reflecting on faith and perseverance.

“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” — Philippians 4:13

Living and writing here in Nicaragua has taught me something I didn’t fully understand before—strength doesn’t always come when things are easy. More often, it shows up when you’re not sure how things are going to work out.

A few months ago, I had never written a book before. I had thought about it. I had even started one. But like many unfinished ideas, it ended up buried somewhere deep in the files of my computer.

Then life changed.

I fell and fractured my leg. Suddenly, I was confined to my room for months. I had a choice. I could sit there feeling sorry for myself, or I could pass the time with distractions that would leave me no better off than before.

Instead, I decided to revisit that old manuscript.

What started as something forgotten became something worth pursuing. I began refining it, shaping it, and asking myself a simple question: Why not?

I had already spent years writing spiritual devotionals. Why not try something different? Why not tell a story—one that reflects perseverance, growth, and hope?

That question led to the creation of The Little Chef—a story about a young girl who faces obstacles in her life and grows into the person she hopes to become.

With the encouragement of a friend, I finished that first book.

Now, there are two in the series. And I’ve already begun work on another story, with more to come.

Looking back, what felt like a setback became the very thing that pushed me forward.

Sometimes strength doesn’t come from having everything go right. Sometimes it comes from choosing what to do when things go wrong.

And for me, that choice made all the difference.

Steve R. Hartwig is the author of The Little Chef series, inspired by life and faith in Nicaragua. You can explore his books here.: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Steve-R-Hartwig/author/B0GDXF6MSR