I Didn’t Know What to Ask, But I Knew Where to Turn
The night before October General Conference, I wanted to ask Heavenly Father a question.
I wanted to go into conference with something on my mind, something I needed help understanding, something I could listen for. But as I sat down to pray, I couldn’t think of what to ask.
I knew I needed guidance. I wanted to feel seen, supported, and reminded that I wasn’t navigating life on my own. But I couldn’t put my needs into a question.
I found myself frustrated. I wanted to receive something from conference, but I didn’t even know how to ask for it.
So I told Heavenly Father exactly that.
I admitted that I didn’t know what I needed to know. I told Him I wanted help and asked Him to inspire me to recognize whatever He wanted me to hear. I hoped that as I listened to the speakers, something would stand out.
By the second talk, Sister Tamara W. Runia’s message, “The Sculpting of Our Souls,” spoke directly to me.
She said:
God is shaping us into something only He knows we can become.And one day, when all the suffering and loneliness have ended and our pain is gone, we will be able to step back and look into the mirror of our own soul. Then we will “stand all amazed” and feel to fall at the Savior’s feet and thank Him. We will thank Him for all of it—the molding, the shaping, the pain, and the adversity that have helped us become more like Him.
I felt as though Heavenly Father was reminding me that He knew where I was, understood what I was carrying, and knew what I was capable of becoming—even when I couldn’t fully articulate what I needed.
I hadn’t entered conference with a thoughtful question or a clear understanding of what I needed to hear. I had simply been honest with God about where I was.
And that was enough to begin.
When I No Longer Felt at Home
That experience was especially meaningful because I had been struggling with something else in my life: my relationship with church.
As an empty nester, I found myself having a different experience than I had when I was going to a family ward with my family. I missed the sense of connection I had once felt in family wards. I struggled to find meaningful relationships, opportunities to serve, and the feeling that I was part of a community that felt fulfilling in our exchanges.
Church had begun to feel heavy.
I wasn’t experiencing the same spiritual connection I remembered. I didn’t feel at home, and I found myself struggling to want to attend.
I didn’t like feeling that way. I knew what the gospel meant to me, and I didn’t want my difficulty connecting with a particular experience to become a reason to disconnect from something that truly mattered to me.
But I also didn’t want to pretend everything was fine.
I wanted to understand what was happening. Was there something about this stage of life that I hadn’t figured out? Were my expectations different? Was there something I needed to change? Were there things I needed to better understand?
I didn’t have the answers. And I didn’t want to assume that I did.
What Was I Bringing to the Experience?
As I thought about what a meaningful church experience looked like to me, I began considering the different responsibilities involved in creating one.
The Church provides the gospel of Jesus Christ, ordinances, structure, and resources that help us come unto Him.
Leadership cultivates an environment of welcome, spiritual nourishment, and meaningful contribution.
And those who attend help bring the community to life through participation, service, and care for one another.
I wanted to consider all three.
I didn’t want to place every responsibility on the Church or its leaders while overlooking my own role. I also didn’t want to dismiss the importance of good leadership, a welcoming environment, or meaningful opportunities to connect. Those things matter, too.
A church experience isn’t simply something we receive from an organization. It is also something we participate in creating, alongside the people who make up that community.
I began thinking about what an ideal experience might look like, from the top down, and what I could do to help create it.
I didn’t want to arrive expecting connection to be handed to me on a silver platter. I wanted to be willing to participate, serve, build relationships, and care about the people around me. I wanted to contribute to the very things I was hoping to find.
That didn’t mean I had figured everything out. It meant I was willing to look at my experience differently.
Before visiting a single ward, I prayed that Heavenly Father would help me approach it with an open mind. I asked Him to help me be receptive to the Spirit, gain understanding, and remain curious about what this kind of ward might offer me.
I wanted to see what I might have been missing—not just in the Church or in other people, but in my own understanding and approach.
I wasn’t going to pretend my struggles weren’t real. I was simply willing to consider that there might be more to the story than I could currently see.
When I Felt the Answer
My experience moving forward and attending the single ward turned out better than I ever could have hoped for. Everything I wrote down as what a meaningful experience would look like became a prayer that was answered.
I felt the Spirit strongly. I smiled and laughed. I connected with the messages, testimonies, and comments. I appreciated the way people interacted with one another and the sense of connection I could feel around me.
The leadership felt amazing—light, genuine, and real. People seemed comfortable being themselves. There was authenticity without a loss of reverence, and individuality without the experience becoming distracting. I enjoyed the energy of the room and the way people seemed to engage with one another.
I left feeling happy, joyful, and deeply grateful. The Lord had seen me and embraced me within His church.
After struggling for so long to find a sense of connection and spiritual nourishment, I had experienced something I hadn’t anticipated. I felt inspired. I felt welcomed. I felt that I had found a community where I could grow and contribute.
I can’t explain every part of why that experience was so different. I don’t know what the future holds or whether every Sunday will feel the same. I don’t need to turn one good experience into a promise about what every experience will be.
But I had prayed for help, asked to be open to understanding, and taken a step into an experience I might otherwise have approached with hesitation.
And I left feeling that Heavenly Father had helped me find something I needed.
I felt His love in a way that was personal to me—not because everything in my life had suddenly been resolved, but because I had been reminded that He knew where I was and could help me take the next step.
“Not Understanding Is Not the Same as Not Believing”
Looking back, I see a connection between these two experiences.
Before General Conference, I didn’t know what to ask God.
Before visiting the ward, I didn’t know how to understand my struggles or what I would discover by approaching the experience differently.
In both situations, I had reached a point where I couldn’t resolve everything through my own understanding. I could have continued trying to figure it all out before turning to God.
Instead, I brought Him my uncertainty and asked for help.
Sister Runia expressed something in her talk that has stayed with me:
“I don’t understand why this happened. I don’t. But let me be clear: Not understanding is not the same as not believing.”
I think we sometimes place an unnecessary burden on ourselves by believing we need to understand before we can trust.
We want to know why something is happening, what it means, what we should do, and how everything will turn out. When we cannot answer those questions, we may begin to wonder whether our faith is strong enough or whether we have somehow missed what God is trying to tell us.
But uncertainty doesn’t have to mean the absence of faith.
In the Book of Mormon, Nephi declares, “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded” (1 Nephi 3:7). He acts without having every detail of the outcome in hand.
The scripture continues and promises us that we can trust He will provide a way, “for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them.”
And in Doctrine and Covenants 122:7, the Lord tells Joseph Smith, “All these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good.”
Neither passage suggests that we will always understand our circumstances as we experience them. They remind me that we can keep moving forward while our understanding is still developing.
I also recognize that not every question receives an immediate answer. Not every prayer brings the clarity we hope for. Some seasons remain difficult long after we have sincerely sought God’s help. I don’t believe we should assume that every disappointment was necessary or that we can always identify a divine reason for what happens.
But we can remain open to God in the middle of what we don’t understand.
We can ask Him to help us see what we cannot yet see. We can examine our own assumptions without dismissing our legitimate needs. We can take a step in faith without pretending we know where the entire path leads.
And we can trust that our inability to understand everything does not mean God has forgotten us.
The Intimacy of Being Fully Known
There is another part of these experiences that I keep thinking about: the willingness to be vulnerable with God.
I believe intimacy involves knowing someone and being known by them. It means allowing ourselves to be understood beyond the polished version we present to the world.
Timothy Keller expressed this beautifully in The Meaning of Marriage:
“To be loved but not known is comforting but superficial. To be known and not loved is our greatest fear. But to be fully known and truly loved is, well, a lot like being loved by God.”
Although Keller was writing in the context of human relationships, the thought also helps me reflect on my relationship with Heavenly Father.
God already knows me. He knows my questions before I find the words to express them. He knows my frustrations, my disappointments, my hopes, and the parts of myself I am still trying to understand.
Yet I can still find myself approaching Him as though I need to have everything organized before I speak—as though I need to know the right question, arrive at the right conclusion, or present a version of myself that has already figured things out.
But what if part of growing closer to God is learning to stop doing that?
What if I can bring Him the frustration I feel when I don’t understand? What if I can admit that I’m struggling, that I need help, or that I don’t know what to do next?
I don’t have to hide my uncertainty from the One who already knows me completely.
And I don’t have to understand myself perfectly before I allow Him into the reality of who I am.
For me, those two experiences were reminders that I can turn to God without a complete explanation of my circumstances or a perfectly formed request. I can simply come honestly, ask for help, and remain willing to learn.
I Knew Where to Turn
I went seeking for connection, a sense of home, and a place to be inspired and grow, but I didn’t know where to find it.
I didn’t know what to ask God. I didn’t know how to understand my struggles with the Church. And I didn’t know what I would discover when I walked into that ward.
But I knew where to turn.
I brought God my uncertainty. I tried to be honest about what I was experiencing and open about what I might need to change. I asked Him to help me see what I could not yet see for myself.
And I felt His love in ways I hadn’t anticipated.
I know that some of you may be in a season where you have prayed and still don’t have an answer. You may be searching for direction, struggling to feel connected, or wondering why something in your life has become so difficult. You may be doing your best to move forward without knowing whether you are taking the right steps.
I don’t want to suggest that if you pray differently, open your heart more, or try harder, everything will suddenly fall into place. I cannot promise you that. I can only share what these experiences have taught me.
We don’t have to understand how God will shape us to trust that He knows us. We don’t have to see the entire path to take the next step. And we don’t have to put on a mask when we approach the One who already knows us completely.
We can bring Him our questions, our frustration, our uncertainty, and our hopes. We can ask for help even when we don’t know what that help should look like.
I don’t know how or when God will shape every part of my life. I don’t know what I will understand tomorrow that I cannot understand today.
But I believe He sees me, knows my story, and understands what I cannot yet understand.
And I want to keep turning toward Him—not because I have all the answers, but because I trust the One who does.
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