Devotional: God is in the Cloud

In the chaos of life, we often search for God in the clarity. In the answered prayers. In the breakthroughs. In the “everything finally makes sense” moments.

But what if He’s just as present in the fog?

In Exodus 13:21, we read:
“By day the Lord went ahead of them in a pillar of cloud to guide them on their way...”

Not a beam of sunlight. Not a glowing sign. A cloud.

A cloud was what God chose to lead His people through the wilderness. Something misty. Obscuring. Untouchable. And yet, it was unmistakably Him.

God didn’t wait until the skies were clear to guide them. He met them in the middle of nowhere and wrapped Himself in a cloud—close enough to follow, but mysterious enough to require faith.

That’s the paradox of our walk with Christ. He doesn’t always give us clarity. But He always gives us Himself.

The Comfort of the Cloud

We tend to think of clouds as hindrances—blocking the view, casting shadows, dampening moods. But in Scripture, clouds often signify divine presence:

• At Mount Sinai, God met Moses in a thick cloud (Exodus 19:9).

• At the Transfiguration, the disciples heard God’s voice from a cloud (Matthew 17:5).

• When Jesus ascended, He was taken up in a cloud—and we’re told He’ll return the same way (Acts 1:9-11).

Clouds are not absence. They’re intimacy veiled in mystery.

Sometimes God hides more of Himself in the fog so we’ll stop looking for answers and start looking for Him.

Walking by Cloudlight

We want high beams. God gives us a lamp.
We want a forecast. God gives us faith.
We want clarity. God gives us a cloud.

And yet—He is faithful. His presence is steady. His love does not lift with the mist.

So if you're in a season where the fog hasn’t lifted, take heart. You may be exactly where God wants you to be: walking by trust, led by a cloud.

You don’t need to see the whole path. You only need to follow the Presence right in front of you.

Journaling Prompt

“Where have I seen God in the cloudiest seasons of my life?”

Think back to a time when you felt lost, but God was quietly faithful. What did He show you in the fog that you couldn’t have learned in the light?

Devotional Prayer

Lord,
Thank You for being a God who leads—even in the cloud. When I can’t see the way forward, help me remember that You are still with me. Teach me to follow, not with certainty, but with trust. Let the cloud remind me that I don’t need answers—I just need You. Thank You for being closer than the air I breathe, even when Your ways are hidden. I choose to follow Your Presence, even when the path is unclear.
Amen.

Welcome to the Fog

We don’t always recognize the fog right away.

Sometimes it rolls in slowly—after a series of disappointments, sleepless nights, or prayers that feel unanswered. Other times, it crashes into our lives like a storm, leaving us breathless, disoriented, and desperate for light. Either way, we find ourselves standing in a place where clarity has vanished, control has slipped away, and all we can do is whisper, “God… where are You?”

This blog series was born from that place.

It began on a rainy day in the Buffalo Forest of Arkansas, where I found myself literally lost in the fog. Coyotes howled. Thunder cracked. Darkness fell. And I clung to the trunk of a tree, soaked and sobbing, completely undone. That night, I let go of the illusion that I could figure it all out on my own. I surrendered—not with eloquent words, but with desperate, guttural cries: “I surrender! I surrender!”Prologue-The Forest-Mar…

In that raw moment, something shifted. Not the storm. Not the fog. But me.

This 30-day series is for anyone walking through their own fog right now—whether it’s the fog of anxiety, perfectionism, grief, or identity. It’s for the woman who feels unseen, the mom who feels overwhelmed, the leader who feels unworthy. It’s for those of us who’ve clung to control, only to be stripped of it… and found something sacred underneath.

What Is “the Fog”?

The fog can be emotional. Spiritual. Relational. It can feel like confusion, fear, burnout, or numbness.

But it’s not a sign that you’ve failed. It may just be the place where God is inviting you to see differently—to walk by faith and not by sight.

Sometimes the fog isn’t punishment. It’s a pause. A holy covering. A tender invitation to slow down, get quiet, and finally listen.

In this space, we’ll reflect. We’ll breathe. We’ll invite Jesus into the unknown, the unfinished, the unspoken.

And step by step, we’ll find our way—not because the fog vanishes all at once, but because we no longer have to walk alone.

Journaling Prompt

“Where am I currently experiencing fog in my life?”

Write about one area—big or small—where you feel unclear, overwhelmed, or out of control. Invite God into that space. You don’t have to fix it. Just name it.

Devotional Prayer

Father,
Thank You for meeting me in the fog. I don’t have to pretend here. I don’t have to perform. I can come with trembling hands and questions and tears—and You still receive me. Help me trust You in the places that feel uncertain. As I begin this 30-day journey, open my eyes to see You in the mist. Teach me to breathe deeply, listen closely, and walk gently with You, one step at a time.
Amen.

The Fog of Losing Control: Learning to Breathe When Life Hurts

There’s a particular pain that comes when life stops obeying your plans. When the career shifts. When the diagnosis hits. When someone you love spirals. When the future you built unravels. The control you once clung to like a lifeline slips through your fingers—and all that’s left is fog.

I’ve lived in that fog.

I’ve lived it in a broken marriage.
I’ve lived it in a hospital waiting room.
I’ve lived it on the trail in the Buffalo Forest, when all I could do was cling to a tree and whisper, “I can’t do this anymore.” Illegal No More by Maria Anderson

Losing control doesn’t just disorient your steps—it disorients your identity. Especially when you’ve built your life around keeping it all together.

When Control Was My Comfort

For most of my life, control was my safety blanket. I organized, anticipated, performed, perfected. I believed if I was careful enough, spiritual enough, hardworking enough, I could protect myself and those I loved from harm.

But control is an illusion. And when it shatters, we face the truth we’ve avoided: we were never in charge to begin with.

That truth hurts. But it also heals.

Because when we release the myth of control, we begin to breathe again.

When the Fog Settles In

Losing control often leads to panic. The fog presses in. We grasp for answers, for timelines, for reassurance. And when they don’t come, we despair.

But the fog can be holy ground.

It’s in the fog that we learn to trust God—not because we see where we’re going, but because we’ve finally stopped trying to lead.

Like the Israelites wandering the desert, led by a cloud by day and fire by night (Exodus 13:21), we’re invited into a trust that doesn’t depend on visibility, but on presence.

Learning to Breathe Again

When you lose control, the temptation is to hold your breath—bracing for impact, for grief, for chaos. But God invites us to exhale.

To surrender what we can’t manage.
To release the outcome.
To let Him be the anchor when our plans dissolve.

Psalm 46:10 says, “Be still, and know that I am God.”
Not Be strong. Not Be productive. Just… be still.
That’s how we breathe again.

Devotional Prayer

Lord,
I confess that I’ve clung tightly to control, believing it could protect me. But now, in this fog of uncertainty, I’m realizing I never had control—I only had You. Teach me to rest in that truth. Calm the panic within me. When I feel lost, remind me that You are near. When I can’t see the path, help me trust Your heart. I lay down my expectations, my fear, and my need to manage outcomes. I choose to breathe again in Your presence.
Amen.

Journaling Prompt

“What am I trying to control right now that I need to surrender?”

Write about an area of your life where you feel anxiety from lack of control—whether it’s your health, relationships, work, or family. Then write a prayer of surrender, asking God to help you trust Him with what’s uncertain.

The Blessed Fog: When Clarity Is Found in the Cloud

There are seasons in life when the path forward disappears. The job ends. The relationship cracks. The diagnosis comes. The children struggle. And suddenly, like fog settling into a forest, our vision is obscured. We can’t see what’s ahead, and we’re not even sure which way is forward.

I found myself in such a fog on a rainy March evening in the Buffalo Forest of Arkansas. What began as a peaceful hike turned into a disorienting nightmare as nightfall and storm clouds rolled in. My surroundings vanished into a dense mist. Coyotes howled in the distance. Thunder cracked overhead. My footing felt uncertain. I clung to a tree—the only stable thing I could find—and sobbed.

“I can’t do this,” I whispered to my friend. And she said something I’ll never forget: “You don’t need to see the whole path. Just the next step. Trust that God is guiding you. Source: Illegal No More by Maria Anderson

That moment became a metaphor for my life.

When Fog Is a Gift

We often see fog as an obstacle—something to escape or wait out. But what if it’s actually a gift?

In Scripture, God’s presence is often associated with a cloud or mist. He led the Israelites through the desert by a pillar of cloud (Exodus 13:21). When Jesus was transfigured on the mountain, a bright cloud enveloped Him and the disciples heard the voice of God (Matthew 17:5). Clouds are not always a sign of confusion—they can be signs of God drawing near.

The fog forces us to slow down. It humbles our need for control. It invites us to stop striving and simply trust. In the forest that night, I had to stop demanding a five-year plan from God and start asking for enough light for the next step. And slowly, as I surrendered control, the fog began to lift—not all at once, but just enough to move forward. Source: Illegal No More by Maria Anderson

Fog Is Where Faith Grows

Faith doesn’t grow best on the sunny mountaintops of certainty. It grows in the fog—when we can’t see but choose to walk anyway. It’s in the whisper of “I surrender” in the storm, in the trembling step onto the uncertain path, in the silence that follows a broken prayer.

If you’re in a fog right now, you’re not alone. And you’re not lost. You’re being led.

You may not know exactly where you’re going, but you are known by the One who does. Psalm 119:105 says, “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.” A lamp doesn’t illuminate the whole journey—it gives you just enough light for the next step.

Lean In, Don’t Push Through

Here’s what I’ve learned to do in the fog:

1. Pause and pray – Even when you don’t have words, a surrendered heart is the most powerful prayer.

2. Look for the next step, not the whole map – Trust that God will illuminate just enough.

3. Remember what’s true in the light – Don’t let fear rewrite the truth God has already spoken over your life.

4. Cling to community – Sometimes, like my friend Teresa in the forest, we need someone to remind us to trust.

5. Trust the transformation – The fog may be hiding the path, but it’s revealing something deeper in you.

From Fog to Foundation

That night in the woods didn’t end with instant clarity. It ended with surrender. And in that surrender, I found peace. Not because the storm was over, but because I wasn’t carrying it alone anymore.

As I took trembling steps forward, I eventually found my way back to the trailhead. Not because I saw it clearly, but because I trusted God enough to move one step at a time. Source: Illegal No More by Maria Anderson

And I believe the same is true for you. The fog in your life may feel suffocating now, but it is also sacred. Let it draw you close to the Father. Let it deepen your faith. Let it teach you to walk by trust, not sight.

You don’t have to see the whole path.

You only need to take the next step—with Him.

Devotional Prayer

Heavenly Father,
In the moments when life feels unclear, when the fog settles thick over my heart and I can’t see the next step, help me trust You more than I trust my own understanding. Teach me to let go of control and lean into Your presence. I surrender my fears, my plans, my striving. Be my vision when I cannot see. Whisper Your truth into my confusion, and let Your peace settle over the storm in my soul. Help me remember that You are not the author of fear but the giver of light—even in the fog. I believe You are near, even when You feel far. I choose to walk forward with You, one faithful step at a time.
In Jesus’ name,
Amen.

Journaling Prompt

“What fog am I currently facing in my life—emotionally, spiritually, or circumstantially? What would it look like for me to surrender control and trust God with just the next step?”

Take a moment to describe what your personal “fog” looks like. Is it a decision you can’t make, a relationship that’s unclear, a fear about the future? Then write a letter to God, offering up your fears and asking Him to lead you through the mist, one step at a time.

The Fog of Anxiety: When Peace Feels Out of Reach

There’s a particular kind of fog that doesn’t roll in from the mountains or rise up from the riverbed. It settles silently over the soul—unseen by others, but suffocating just the same. It’s the fog of anxiety.

Unlike the physical fog I once experienced in the Buffalo Forest, where I could name the danger—darkness, coyotes, disorientation—the fog of anxiety is harder to name and even harder to navigate. It wraps itself around your chest, tightens your breath, and whispers lies in your ear. You’re not safe. You’re not enough. You’ll never get through this.

I’ve known this fog intimately.

It’s hit me in moments that should have felt joyful. It’s followed me into meetings, into motherhood, into ministry. It’s crept into quiet nights when the world is asleep but my mind won’t rest. Anxiety doesn’t need a reason. It just arrives. And suddenly, peace feels a thousand miles away.

When Your Mind Is the Storm

Sometimes we think anxiety is only about what’s happening around us. But more often, it’s what’s happening within us. It’s the unspoken fears, the weight of expectations, the racing “what ifs.” It’s the urge to control what we can’t and the shame that follows when we feel we should be “stronger by now.”

But here’s the truth I’ve learned through tear-streaked prayers and sleepless nights:

Anxiety doesn’t make you faithless. It makes you human.

Jesus didn’t rebuke the disciples for their fear in the storm—He met them in it. And He still meets us today.

Leaning into God, Even in the Fog

The fog of anxiety can make us question everything. But it can also become the place where we discover the nearness of God in a new way. When our own strength runs out, we finally make room for His.

Psalm 94:19 says, “When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought me joy.”

Notice: it doesn’t say anxiety disappeared overnight. It says God met me in it.

His consolation is not always the absence of fear—it’s His presence in the midst of it.

And often, like in the forest that night, clarity doesn’t come all at once. It comes one step at a time. Peace comes slowly, like mist lifting at sunrise.

You’re Not Alone

If you're walking through a season of anxiety right now, I want you to know this: You are not broken. You are not less spiritual. You are not failing.

You are being held—even if you can’t feel it yet.

The fog is not your forever. It’s just part of your journey.

Keep breathing. Keep praying. Keep taking the next step. You don’t need to see the full path. You just need to trust the One who walks with you.

Devotional Prayer

Jesus,
I confess the weight of anxiety has been heavy. My thoughts spin, my chest tightens, and I feel like I’m losing my grip. Help me remember that I don’t need to have it all together to come to You. You are not repelled by my fear—you draw near to it. Calm the storm inside me, even if the waves outside still rage. Remind me that Your love is not based on my performance, but on Your presence. I give You my anxious heart, and I ask for just enough peace to take the next step.
Amen.

Journaling Prompt

“What is the fog of anxiety telling me right now—and what does God’s Word say instead?”

Make two columns. In the first, write down the anxious thoughts you’re battling. In the second, write a truth from Scripture to counter each one. Let God’s promises be the light that begins to cut through the fog.

The Fog of Perfectionism: When Performance Replaces Peace

For years, I believed that if I could just be good enough—smart enough, polished enough, hardworking enough—I would finally be okay. I didn’t call it perfectionism back then. I called it “doing my best,” “trying hard,” “being responsible.” But beneath it all was a desperate hunger for approval. I wasn’t chasing excellence. I was chasing worth.

Perfectionism doesn’t always look like straight A’s or a spotless kitchen. Sometimes it looks like never letting yourself rest. Like apologizing for things that aren’t your fault. Like hiding the messy parts of your story so no one can use them against you.

Sometimes it looks like performing for love that was never meant to be earned.

When Performance Becomes Identity

I remember sitting in second grade again after our move back to Kansas, surrounded by younger classmates, ashamed and determined to prove myself. I remember in fifth grade practicing flute until my lips went numb, not because I loved it—but because I couldn’t stand to be second chair. Source: Illegal No More by Maria Anderson.

I wasn’t trying to be excellent. I was trying not to be rejected.

That kind of pressure isn’t sustainable. Perfectionism may earn you applause, but it never gives you peace.

Eventually, the image cracks.

In my case, the crash came in the form of a failed marriage, an affair, and a moment on my knees in the middle of a stormy forest, gripping a tree and screaming into the night, “I surrender!” Source: Illegal No More by Maria Anderson. Not exactly the picture of someone who had it all together. But it was the beginning of healing.

The Lie of “If I Just Try Harder…”

Perfectionism whispers that if you just try harder, you can fix it all. It tells you to hustle your way out of shame. But the gospel tells a different story.

Jesus didn’t die for the perfect version of you. He came for the messy, exhausted, burnt-out you. The you who forgets appointments and yells at your kids and cries in the closet and still shows up anyway.

The freedom of the gospel is this: You are fully loved right now. Not when you meet the goal. Not when you drop the weight. Not when you heal the marriage. Right now.

Grace doesn’t say “perform.” It says “come home.”

What I’m Learning Now

I’m still tempted to perform. But I’ve learned to pause and ask: What am I trying to prove? Who am I trying to please?

If it’s not God—and if it’s not from a place of joy—it’s probably perfectionism sneaking back in.

God is not impressed by your performance. He’s moved by your surrender.

And ironically, it’s in that surrender that real strength is found.

Devotional Prayer

Father,
Forgive me for the ways I’ve tried to earn what You already freely give. I lay down my need to be perfect, to be polished, to be impressive. I give You the masks I wear and the fear that keeps me striving. Teach me to rest in Your grace. Remind me that my worth isn’t in my performance but in Your presence. Help me choose connection over image, rest over striving, and grace over shame.
In Jesus’ name,
Amen.

Journaling Prompt

“Where in my life am I striving for perfection instead of accepting God’s grace?”

Write a list of areas where you feel pressure to be perfect—at home, work, in your faith, or relationships. Then write a prayer releasing each one to God. Ask Him to replace the pressure with peace and the striving with trust.

The Fog of Needing Validation: When Approval Becomes the Air We Breathe

I was eight years old when I first felt the weight of needing to prove myself. After returning from Mexico, I was placed in a lower grade at school in Kansas. Surrounded by younger children, struggling to keep up, I learned something quickly: if I could just perform well enough—if I could get the grades, be the best, smile through it all—maybe I’d be worthyChapter 3-Growing up in….

That lesson followed me through every chapter of life.

It followed me into the classroom, where I earned straight A’s not for the love of learning, but for the fear of disappointing my parents.
It followed me into the office, where I strived for promotions and praise like my worth depended on it.
It followed me into relationships, where I bent myself to be whoever someone else needed me to be—just so I wouldn’t be left.

The need for validation became the fog I lived in.

When Affirmation Becomes Addiction

The fog of validation is tricky. It doesn’t scream like anxiety or paralyze like fear. It whispers.

“Say the right thing so they’ll like you.”
“Don’t mess up—they’ll think less of you.”
“Keep it together or they’ll see the real you and leave.”

It starts with innocent desire: to be seen, to be affirmed. But left unchecked, it becomes a hunger that can never be satisfied. Every compliment becomes oxygen. Every silence becomes rejection.

And the scariest part? We lose ourselves in the process.

The Soul-Tiring Consequences

The fog of needing validation doesn’t just exhaust our hearts—it distorts our identity. We start to measure our value by other people’s responses instead of God’s truth.

It makes us:

• Say yes when we want to say no.

• Hide parts of ourselves to keep the peace.

• Apologize for existing too boldly.

• Fear rejection more than we pursue obedience.

But here’s the hard truth that sets us free: Approval is not the same as love. And validation is not the same as belonging.

God doesn’t love us because we perform. He loves us because He created us—on purpose, for a purpose.

Breaking Through the Fog

There is a moment when we come face to face with this fog and realize: I don’t want to be known for being impressive. I want to be known for being real.

For me, that moment came slowly—after years of exhaustion, broken relationships, and striving for perfection. But one day, deep in the Buffalo Forest, when the fog around me mirrored the fog in my spirit, I finally cried out, “I surrender!”Prologue-The Forest-Mar…

And in that moment, I felt something shift. I no longer wanted to be enough for everyone else—I wanted to be whole in Christ.

That’s where the fog begins to lift.

Devotional Prayer

God,
You know how deeply I crave affirmation. You know the places where I’ve confused approval with love and applause with worth. I surrender my hunger for validation. Help me anchor my identity in who You say I am—not in the opinions of others. Remind me that I am chosen, accepted, and loved, not because of what I do, but because of what You’ve done. Teach me to breathe freely outside of performance, and let my soul find rest in Your truth.
Amen.

Journaling Prompt

“Where in my life am I seeking validation more than I am seeking God’s voice?”

Reflect on recent decisions, relationships, or moments where you felt the pull to prove yourself. What were you hoping to gain? What does God say about you in those same spaces? Write a response from Him to your heart.