What obedience actually looks like

I obeyed God and started the businesses. Launched Keep Going Journals. Designed t-shirts. Hosted poetry showcases. Started two podcasts—Naked and Exposed and Yup, We Said It with my Texas pastor. Self-published two poetry books: It Hurts to Heal and But Healing Does Come. Ran a branding and design business. Sold on eBay. Opened a digital product store. Built a YouTube channel. Started this Substack. Applied to jobs—some with well-known referrals inside the company. Still nothing. Or “we went with another candidate.” At least these companies are sending me proper rejection letters. Invested money. Watched as everything I started in faith go nowhere, my savings dwindle, my car got sold, and no one hired me.

This is year three.

I admire the Instagram posts about obedience—the ones that say “God said start the business” with step-by-step breakdowns on how to build God’s way. But what they don’t show you is the middle. The part where you did everything right, and it still looks like failure from the outside.

It’s naptime. My daughter is asleep. My husband just left for the gym. The house is quiet, and I’m sitting here with a few dollars to my name from a part-time job that gives me 5-10 hours a week, depending on the load. No car in the driveway. No client emails to respond to. Just me and the silence.

And the thought that slips in: When is it my turn?

I hate that I even think it. It feels selfish. Entitled. Nothing is promised, and I know better than to compare my timeline to someone else’s perceived blessing. I can only be faithful to my own conviction around what I believe God is showing me. Eventually, I’ll understand the long pause or the redirection. But when you’re in it—when you step back to reflect—it’s a little frustrating.

Actually, it’s more than a little.

But here’s what’s different now: I don’t condemn myself for feeling it. I sit in the frustration. I let it be what it is. And each time it shows up, it gets a little easier to pivot—to remind myself of what God’s done and is doing, despite what I expected. The “get to” mindset isn’t something I mastered overnight. It’s a practice. A choice I’m learning to make faster each time the question creeps back in.

The truth no one wants to say out loud: entrepreneurship is hard. Obedience is hard. And doing both at the same time while life is falling apart? That’s the kind of middle that makes you question everything.

I’m approaching year three of not having a traditional job. One interview in all that time—led nowhere. A handful of clients until the crickets started. I could list all the ways God has kept me—marrying my husband when I did, having the mom I have, an aunt who’s taking a chance on me to do part-time work, the roof over my head—because without those things, I don’t know where I’d be. But this isn’t a testimony about provision wrapped in a neat bow. This is me telling you I’m still in it. Still waiting to see the reward of obedience. Still learning to be still.

And it’s not as uncomfortable as it once was.

I can navigate the day-to-day with gratitude and joy. I focus on the “get to.”

I get to be at home, hands-on, with my daughter in her formative years as I scale back to the basics of what I’ve always desired before design and adulthood made the view cloudy.

Writing.

Before the fancy position statements and opinions of people telling me to go with what made money over leaning into what God planted inside of me. I get that nothing is wasted, and your purpose is backed by many different assignments. Purpose is the big picture. It’s found in the daily tasks. It’s deciding to do what you can with what’s presented. Make a plan. Stick to it. Adjust as you walk. With each step, make a minor adjustment based on the clarity you receive along the way.

Nothing wasted.

This is what obedience looks like when no one’s watching. When there’s no testimony yet. Just the quiet middle where you decide if you still believe what you said you believed when it felt easier.

If you’re in year three—or year one, or year five—of obedience that looks like failure, I see you. You’re not crazy. You didn’t hear God wrong. You’re just in the middle. And the middle is where faith actually gets built.

May you still find the courage to obey,
Janae Carlee