The morning drives are a time for reflection, with thoughts cascading and wavering according to the mood of the day. It is often the only time when I have some quiet reflection and even get to enjoy my own thoughts.

This particular day was no different. I was secretly grateful for the traffic jam; it slowed me down long enough for my spirit to catch up. In the background, some gospel music was rolling: CeCe Winans – Alabaster Box. Her expressive voice was both powerful and rich.

The opening matched my mood perfectly—anxious about the future as a single parent with young children, stressed about the mortgage, and weighted down by a relentless pile of bills. The burden felt suffocating. Every late-night calculation and every empty space at the dinner table amplified the loneliness. Most of all, I was filled with a deep, private shame—a feeling that I had somehow failed to secure the life I was supposed to have. I felt desperately lonely and afraid of what the next year might bring.

The traffic jam held me captive, forcing me to listen to CeCe Winans. As her voice soared, I recognized the central theme of the song: it was about breaking open a precious, private box and pouring out the costly contents. The song rolled on to the next stanza as the cars edged forward ever so slightly. My mind wandered, deep in the pit of worry, convinced that I was fighting a losing battle against circumstances too big for me.

My Alabaster Box Moment

Just as the car rolled past a singular tall building, the early morning sun’s rays shone through, warming my skin and casting some much-needed brightness on my path. The physical warmth contrasted sharply with my internal coldness, momentarily forcing a pause in my catastrophic thinking.

It was in this brief, sunlit reprieve that I caught a new thought, sharp and penetrating: “But what has changed, really?”

I was so consumed by the potential loss and the future struggle that I had completely overlooked the present stability. Despite my wallowing, I realized I was thriving in a very fulfilling job. My employer was phenomenal, a people- and family-centered entity that actively supported all employees to meet not just work goals but personal development ones. My children were healthy, vibrant, and smart. They were my true, undeniable blessing. And the mortgage, though intimidating, was being paid; it was edging along, month by month, against all my self-imposed drama. The truth was, my foundation was solid, even if my anxiety was not.

A slight breeze wafted through my open car window and with it, a whisper. Remember the book of Philippians 4:6: “Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God.”

In that moment, I felt a wave of shame—shame for forgetting the basic instruction that I had known my entire life. I quietly whispered the verse. The tears came out fast, furious, and hot. This time, though, the relief was instant. The release of that bottled fear, that private shame—the costly contents of my own alabaster box—felt like a physical weight lifting off my chest.

The Voice of Steadfastness

The Voice was clear and loud. What is all this FEAR about? Why do you forget what FEAR truly stands for?

FALSE EVIDENCE APPERING REAL.

My mind had been creating a reality based not on the facts of my life, but on imaginary worst-case scenarios.

As with other times, then and now, God had spoken. His voice is always steady and calm. Sometimes I hear Him with a hint of a smile; other times He booms with laughter, often at my occasional foolishness or dramatic flair.

His Presence has taught me to hold steadfast. To be of unwavering Faith. Above all, I always know that when I am weak, He carries me. The challenges come, but I have learned to see them as merely a matter of timing. Because in His time, the problems get sorted. This means shifting my perspective from, “I need this solved right now,” to, “I need to hold tight until the appointed time.”

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Still Listening: The Unseen Comfort

Fast forward many years later, the mortgage is paid, and the children are grown. Am I still afraid sometimes? Yes, fear is a part of the human condition. But when that worry creeps back, I lean into the comfort that only unwavering faith provides.

Faith, I realized, is much like those radio waves that brought the gospel music into my car that day. They are unseen and intangible; you cannot touch them or hold them, yet you rely on their ever-present power to deliver sound and message clearly. Likewise, God is an ever-present reality for those who believe. Though I cannot see His hand, I know the signal is strong and the connection is unbroken.

I always dial in and listen for the voice, the breeze, or just the warming sunshine.

In each instance, I know I am safe.