If I close my eyes, I can still plant myself at the beginning of the 2020 pandemic. The world was shutting down all around us. No one had any idea what was happening. We were trying to figure out how to wash boxes of cereal we bought at the grocery store. The streets were full of people suddenly taking up the hobby of afternoon walking. We were all being diligent– two weeks to flatten the curve.

I was nine months pregnant. New York had just removed partners from the delivery room. We didn’t know if Lane would be with me while giving birth to our daughter. I remember staying up late– 1am, 2am– scrolling and scrolling and scrolling. I think that’s where my need for unplugging truly manifested.

I was addicted to 24/7 news coverage, and it was leaving me in an anxious spiral. Like many people, I thought if I could just consume more news stories, maybe somewhere during the consumption, there’d be a solution—a golden ticket that would get us all out of this mess.

Those four weeks before our daughter’s birth were spent in isolation. We were a diligent team: my husband, mom, our puppy Tuesday, and Chuck Bass.

In terms of faith, I felt helpless to fight forward. I felt lost and confused. But I remember falling into this sweet rhythm with God I’d never experienced. I felt incapable of doing any extensive Bible study during that time. My brain could handle maybe 15 minutes at a time of focusing.

For so long, I’d told myself the story that 15 minutes wasn’t enough time to give to God. Please tell me I’m not the only one who has done this before: placed all these limitations on themselves and/or how they define quiet time. 

I learned that it was more than enough in that season. God started meeting me so powerfully—15 minutes at a time—and my faith began to swell and surge in that season of unknowns.

I would sit in my big chair by the window. I would start the same way daily: huffing and puffing at God and bullying myself for not having the strength to stay optimistic during a global pandemic.

But then I would pray—no big, mighty prayers. I would simply tell God I was stuck in the pit, drop him a pin for my exact location, and then ask him for one thing: for the next rung on the ladder—just the next rung so I could start climbing out.

That small ask—becoming a sturdy little rhythm in my prayer life—was how the peace began to pour in through the cracks, how the fog started to lift, and how I started to see hope where I’d previously only seen darkness. It was my little clearing amid what felt like dark woods.

The prayer wasn’t illustrious, but it worked. It sprawled in the dark like a mustard seed planted in the thick of dry soil. The little prayer worked so long as I kept returning to the same place, day after day, and asking for the next rung on the ladder.

Maybe that’s you today. Maybe you feel like you’re in the pit. You’re tired or depressed or you’ve found yourself in a space that feels darker than you ever imagined. You’re at the bottom of the ladder, looking up and thinking, “How will I climb my way out?”

Let me tell you some truth for your Monday:

We think we need to conquer the whole ladder because that’s how the world talks—with big anthems of productivity, slaying, and measuring results. But I love that faith can live and thrive in a realm of BOTH/AND.

Both the mountains moving and the offering of two coins.

Both the sea parting and the washing in the Jordan River.

Both the resurrection and the visiting of a tomb.

Both the fighting of a giant and the touching of the hem of a garment.

So let’s talk about today. Just today. Just this moment. Just the next ladder rung—the next thing—the littlest truth to carry us into the next day.

It’s possible your job today isn’t to conquer the whole ladder. Your job isn’t to look at someone else’s ladder and wonder why you feel so far behind. Just ask for the next rung. Your next rung. Your next small step. One day at a time. And don’t feel defeated if your next rung looks like standing still today and knowing Someone is fighting on your behalf. That’s movement. That’s growth. You can stand still and show huge faith, all in that one posture.

Please give grace to yourself in all this chaos. It’s been a really, really tough season, and you’re doing the thing. You’re here. In today’s world, that counts for something. You’re remaining in the thick of it. You’re doing unspeakably hard things, and it matters.

Ask for the next rung. Just start there.