The Light Still Finds Us

On Resilience, Prayer, and Getting Through What You’re Going Through

Welcome to The Resilient Series—a collection of reflections from wise, faith-filled voices exploring what it means to live resilient in Jesus. Each week, we’ll hear from a different writer—authors, pastors, coaches, neurosurgeons, and everyday disciples—sharing their stories, Scripture insights, and hard-won hope. Whether you’re arriving here at the start or joining partway through, each piece stands alone and invites you to draw near to the God who strengthens us through every season.

As we come to the final instalment of The Resilient Series, I’m grateful to hand the mic to someone whose words have held many of us through our own hard seasons. Tanner Olson has a way of naming what hurts without rushing past it—and of tracing the quiet, stubborn hope that threads through the middle of our ordinary days. In these pieces, Tanner returns to the landscapes that shaped him, the prayers that carried him, and the slow, sacred work of simply getting through what you’re going through. It’s tender, honest, and true—exactly the kind of resilience this series has been pointing toward all along.

Nashville, TN — 2025

We have a plant in our house that refuses to die.

A pothos. Some call it “devil’s ivy,” though I think that’s unfair.

It thrives on neglect. We water it when we remember—maybe every other week.

It sits in the center of our home, surrounded by books we swore we’d read, catching a sliver of

light each day.

And still, it grows.

No matter the week—rain, chaos, quiet—it keeps sending out new vines, reaching for something

unseen.

I am nothing like this plant.

---

Northern Wisconsin — 2013-2016

Before settling in Nashville, I spent a few years living in northern Wisconsin. I was in my mid-

twenties and 1,500 miles from my childhood home in Orlando—this Florida native trying to

make a life far from the life he knew. I worked at a youth camp year-round, doing my best to

endure the long stretches of dark and cold. Wisconsin is nearly perfect in summer and fall. But

winter? Not for me.

It arrived early and lingered long past its welcome. It stole the sunlight and warmth, replacing

them with gray skies and freezing air. And when winter finally left, it felt like it took the last of

my will to live with it.

I was lonely and depressed—tired of pretending I was okay, tired of pretending I still wanted to

wake up. The gray days had seeped into my bones, a cold I couldn’t shake. I wasn’t doing well.

Maybe you know that feeling—

when the world outside is frozen, and so is your spirit,

when you wonder if spring will ever return,

when you just wanted to skip to the end.

---

How did I get through it?

Prayer.

Not the loud kind.

Not the kind that fills rooms or tries to sound poetic.

Just the kind that whispers,

“I’m still here.”

I didn’t have eloquent words—only the ache.

And somehow, that was enough.

I walked with God every day, talking to Him about everything and nothing.

Trampling through the snow, then the slush, then finally the grass.

Stepping from one season to the next, watching the world change with the One who doesn’t.

Prayer became less about saying the right things

and more about simply showing up—

sitting in the quiet,

trusting that God was sitting there too.

Like a plant,

I slowly came back to life.

---

I clung to Scripture—

Matthew 11:28

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

This verse played on repeat in my head for years.

Rest wasn’t what I wanted, but it was what I needed.

I wanted to be on a beach.

I wanted a different season of life.

I wanted to be older, younger—anywhere but where I was.

But God doesn’t always give us what we want.

He gives us what we need.

This is the way of love, the way of growth.

If I boiled down all of my wants and desires, it came down to this:

I wanted to be with Jesus.

Side by side with the one who invites the weary and burdened.

No grand revelations.

No to-do list for healing.

Just presence.

---

Resilience

And it was there, in the dark and cold of winter, that I began to learn what resilience really was.

Resilience isn’t some heroic climb out of the pit—it’s more like waking up on a Tuesday with

your soul held together by the hands of God. God, who offers hope and grace with an extended

hand inviting you into something better.

Resilience is the small, honest Yes you whisper when everything in you wants to hide under the

covers. It’s the way your heart, tired and cracked as it is, still leans toward the light like a

houseplant that refuses to die, believing that light will find you again.

Resilience is the holy, ordinary practice of showing up—to your life, to your people, to God. Not

because you feel strong, but because Love keeps nudging you forward, reminding you that even

here, even now, you are not done yet. It’s not the loud kind that shouts from the mountaintop, but

the quiet kind that prays from the valley. The kind that wakes up when it doesn’t want to. The

kind that waters the soul when it feels dry. The kind that chooses trust—again and again—even

when nothing feels certain.

---

I keep thinking about our pothos—

how it keeps growing, stretching, finding light in forgotten corners.

Maybe that’s what living looks like:

slow, steady reaching.

Trusting that the light will find us, that we are not forgotten.

Even when the air feels cold.

Even when life looks nothing like you imagined.

Even when you’re just trying to get through what you’re going through.

I’ve written a new book of poems and essays titled Getting Through What You’re Going Through. As I wrote the book I continued to wonder how do we get through what we’re going through?

And here is what I’ve learned:

We go through it—with God.

Not around it.

Not above it.

Through it.

Through the questions and the silence.

Through the heartbreak and the healing.

Through the days when all you can do is breathe.

So I’ll keep watering the plant.

Keep praying the small prayers.

Keep tuning my heart to Scripture.

Keep trusting that God is not finished yet.

Because somehow, some way, the light still finds its way in—

helping us get through what we’re going through.

---

Don’t Skip to the End

From my book, Getting Through What You’re Going Through (Website, Amazon)

It’s hard to sit with what is

When what is

is not what you want it to be.

But let’s not skip to the end.

Sit with what is

and continue to let

the light pour in.

Some days I want to jump to the good parts.

I want to skip the line and get on the ride.

I want to hop on the highway and fly through the red lights.

Give me the chance to cut a corner, and I’ll take it.

Even if I know I’ll regret it.

It’s hard to be where you are

when where you are

is not where you want to be.

But I have to believe there is something for us

in the here and now.

In the waiting.

In the praying.

In the trusting.

Maybe I won’t see what that is until I look back.

Most days I cannot wait to look back,

but today I’ll just be right where I am.

I won’t try to hit fast-forward

or skip to the end.

I’ll exhale and wait.

I’ll look up and pray.

I’ll hold fast and trust.

I’ll sit with what is

because even in this

the light is pouring in.

Grab your copy of Getting Through What You’re Going Through here or click on the image below:

Thank you, Tanner, for closing our series with such soft strength, reminding us that resilience is rarely dramatic, often ordinary, and always shaped by the God who walks with us through every season. Your words invite us to stay present, to wait, to breathe, and to trust that even here, even now, the light is finding its way in. May we all keep reaching, like that persistent little pothos, believing that God is nurturing life in us even on the days we feel dormant.

As we close this Resilient Series, I hope you can see the thread that runs through every story and reflection: resilience isn’t about perfection, boldness, or having it all together. It’s about showing up, leaning on God, and trusting that He is at work in the hidden moments—when we feel weak, unseen, or far from free. From naming resistance and building Christlike endurance, to celebrating the small victories and resting in His sight even before we feel victorious, resilience is the quiet, Spirit-empowered persistence that carries us forward. May these reflections encourage you to keep stepping into the next season, knowing that God sees you, celebrates you, and is faithfully shaping a resilient life in you, one step at a time.

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