TASTE AND SEE

Twenty-two years ago today, God stepped into my life and changed everything. At the time, I didn’t fully understand what was happening—I just knew something shifted. I was in a small apartment, face pressed into the carpet, crying in a way that only someone who has reached the end of themselves can cry. I had already made up my mind. I was done. The weight of everything—every disappointment, every emptiness, every failed attempt to find purpose—had become too much.

And in that moment… God met me.

Not with force. Not with condemnation. But with gentleness. With presence. With a love that I had never experienced before.

Looking back now, I can see that it wasn’t just the moment my life was spared—it was the moment my life was redeemed. Not just redirected, but completely transformed in identity, purpose, and perspective.

God didn’t just save me from taking my life…He saved me for a life. Before that moment, I was searching—like so many of us are. Chasing things I thought would finally satisfy something deep inside me: success, validation, money, popularity, material things, control.

But none of it filled the void. If anything, it made the emptiness louder. And then, God began to show me something different—not all at once, but slowly, patiently, gently. The way only He can. What I’ve come to realize over these 22 years is this:

Salvation wasn’t the finish line—it was the beginning of a relationship.

In the early years of my walk with God, I misunderstood something fundamental. I thought I had to earn His love. I wanted to read my Bible enough so that He would be pleased with me. I wanted to go to church consistently so He would be proud of me. I wanted to be generous, forgiving, disciplined—so that somehow, I could secure His presence in my life. But now, looking back, I realize…I was striving for something I already had.

Twenty-two years later, my walk looks very different. It's quieter now. Less striving. Less performing. More resting. More…being.

Being with Him in the ordinary moments. Being aware of His presence in the stillness. Being grounded in a love that doesn’t fluctuate with my performance. Because now I know this truth in my soul:

"For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord" — Romans 8:38–39

His love is not something I earn. It's something I live in. There’s a verse that has taken on a deeper, more personal meaning over the years:

“Taste and see that the Lord is good…” — Psalm 34:8

For a long time, I knew about God. I could talk about Him. I believed in Him. I understood scripture. But there is a difference—a profound difference—between knowing about God and experiencing Him. Tasting and seeing requires something more. It requires encounter. And over the last 22 years, my faith hasn’t just been built on belief—it’s been built on moments.

There have been nights where I’ve been alone, deep in prayer, and I could feel His presence fill the room. Not in a way that’s loud or overwhelming—but in a way that is unmistakable. A stillness. A peace that settles your soul. A gentle weight that shifts your focus from everything around you…to Him.

There have been moments where I didn’t know what to say, what decision to make, or how to move forward—and in that quiet space, I heard His voice. Not audible. Not forceful. But gentle. A whisper in my spirit. The right word at the right time. Exactly what I needed. That’s what it means to taste and see. And once you experience Him like that…you can’t go back to surface-level faith.

Over time, I’ve realized that many people stop short of this. They know about God—but they don’t pursue Him. They hear about Him—but they don’t seek Him. They believe in Him—but they don’t expect Him to move. But scripture doesn’t call us to observe. It calls us to engage. To draw near. To experience. And that requires intention. It requires slowing down. It requires being still. It requires choosing Him—not out of obligation, but out of desire. And the beauty of it all is this: None of it is earned.

"Even so, we know we cannot become right with God by obeying the Law. A man is made right with God by putting his trust in Jesus Christ…” — Galatians 2:16

My relationship with God isn’t built on what I’ve done. It’s built on what Christ has already done. And that truth removes the pressure to perform and replaces it with the freedom to pursue. That pursuit leads to transformation.

“I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me…”

— Galatians 2:20

This isn’t just a verse anymore—it’s a reality I’m growing into. Following God isn’t about becoming perfect. It’s about becoming different. Letting go of old patterns. Old ways of thinking. Old identities. And allowing Him, gently and patiently, to shape who I’m becoming.

Even after 22 years… I’m still growing. Still learning. Still being refined. But one thing is certain: I’ve experienced too much to go back.

“Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on…”

— Philippians 3:13

That’s my posture now. Forward. Always forward.

Let me challenge you: Don’t settle for just knowing about God. Press in. Get alone with Him. Be honest with Him. Sit in His presence—even when it’s quiet. Because when you do…You’ll begin to taste. You’ll begin to see. And when you do—everything changes.

Twenty-two years later, I’m overwhelmed with gratitude. Grateful that God saved me. Grateful that He met me in my lowest moment with gentleness instead of judgment. Grateful that He didn’t walk away when I struggled. Grateful that His presence has remained steady, even when I wasn’t.

And I’m still chasing Him. But now I understand something I didn’t back then: I’m not the only one chasing. He’s been pursuing me all along.

† let the light in †