Sacred Ambiguity
When You’re Not Supposed to Know Yet
We’ve been conditioned to treat clarity like oxygen.
If we don’t have it, we panic.
We spin. We grasp.
We reach for language, for insight, for someone who seems more “sure” than we are—because we were never taught how to sit with tension without turning it into performance.
But there are things you’re not supposed to know yet.
There are answers that would destroy you if they showed up before you were ready.
There is wisdom that only opens when your nervous system slows down enough to hold it.
There are assignments that can’t be understood until your capacity to carry them has been built in the dark.
This is what sacred ambiguity is for.
It’s not confusion.
It’s not failure.
It’s not being “out of alignment.”
It’s refinement.
And it’s uncomfortable on purpose.
“For now we see through a glass, darkly.” (1 Corinthians 13:12)
If the answer were clear, you wouldn’t need discernment.
If the path were obvious, you wouldn’t need obedience.
If the thing you’re waiting for showed up right now, you’d run it through the same broken patterns you’ve been trying to outgrow.
So no, you’re not being blocked. You’re being trained.
This is where most people short-circuit.
They panic in the space between death and resurrection.
They don’t know how to stay still.
They don’t know how to not speak.
They don’t know how to hold grief, uncertainty, or spiritual quiet without immediately turning it into content, clarity, or control.
So they jump the gun.
They give themselves a label.
They assign meaning prematurely.
They call it a breakthrough just to feel like something happened.
They build something they were never told to build.
They launch movements without being moved themselves.
They declare legacy when it’s just fear dressed up in strategy.
They announce what God never spoke.
And then they wonder why it doesn’t hold.
Because anything you build just to escape ambiguity will collapse.
Not as punishment—but because it wasn’t real.
“It is the glory of God to conceal a matter.” (Proverbs 25:2)
If you’re in that stretch of silence right now—where God isn’t confirming anything, where the next move isn’t obvious, where nothing feels certain—that doesn’t mean you’re lost.
It doesn’t mean you’ve regressed.
It doesn’t mean you’re being tested for punishment.
It means something is being formed.
Not in front of you.
In you.
And it’s not going to arrive on your schedule.
You don’t get to force it.
You don’t get to earn it with performance.
You don’t get to rush it with declarations.
You have to sit in it.
The maturity you think you want requires ambiguity.
The intimacy you say you want with God requires ambiguity.
The discernment you claim to value?
It only sharpens when the way forward isn’t obvious.
So sit in it.
Don’t name what isn’t clear.
Don’t move because you’re tired of waiting.
Don’t grab a shortcut just to feel something.
Let it press you.
Let it strip the performance reflex.
Let it recalibrate the part of you that still thinks you need to prove that you’re “on track.”
God doesn’t rush what’s real.
And if you’re being held in the tension of not knowing, there’s a reason for it.
The question isn’t just whether you’ll wait.
It’s whether you’re willing to be remade while you do.