“Where do you see yourself in the next five years?”

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How many times have we all heard that one? It’s one of those typical interview questions almost everyone gets asked at least once. And yet somehow, sitting across from an interviewer, we’re supposed to confidently explain exactly where our life is headed. We try to talk about our goals, our career, or our undying dedication to whichever company sits across from us holding our fate, and paycheck, in their hand.

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But if we’re being truthful, most of us don’t even know what the next five weeks will look like—let alone the next five years.

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James asks us to confront that reality: You don’t even know what tomorrow will bring.

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That raises some uncomfortable questions. ‍

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What if my plans don’t work out?
What if something happens that I never expected?
Why did God allow this?
Where was God when I needed Him?
What am I supposed to do next?

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I think that we as Christians can feel pressure to have all the answers. We think faith somehow equates to certainty, and if we have questions, fears, or even doubts, something must be wrong with our faith. Or worse, us.

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But the Bible doesn't hide from hard questions.

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David asked God, “How long, LORD? Will You forget me forever?” (Psalm 13:1). Habakkuk asked God why He allows injustice. Job spent chapter after chapter wrestling with suffering he didn’t understand.

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Christianity never intended us to avoid difficult questions. In fact, Scripture invites us to bring them to God.

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James 4:14 confronts us with one of life's biggest uncertainties: tomorrow. If you are anything like me, that's uncomfortable because we like knowing. We make plans, schedules. We answer five-year questions as though we can see around the corner. We want to know how the relationship will turn out, whether we'll get the opportunity, whether our family will be okay, or whether the thing we're praying for will ever change.

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And James essentially says, “You don't know.”

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At first glance that might not sound very encouraging.

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But keep in mind, James isn't telling us that life is meaningless because it's short. He's reminding us that we're not God.

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Our lives are like smoke. You see it for a moment, and then it's gone. We don't control tomorrow, and we were never meant to carry the weight of pretending that we do.

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And strangely enough, there's freedom in admitting that. ‍

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“I don't know” can actually be an expression of faith.

I don't know what tomorrow holds.
I don't know why God allowed this.
I don't know when this situation will change.
I don't know exactly what God is doing. ‍

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But I know who God is.

That's where restoration begins.

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Restoration Life doesn't mean a life without unanswered questions. It means God meets us in the middle of our questions and begins restoring what uncertainty, disappointment, pain, and fear have damaged.

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God is strong enough for your questions because our hope isn't built on our understanding everything; it’s built on Jesus.

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Bring God the doubt you've been afraid to admit. Tell Him you're confused. Tell Him you're frustrated. Tell Him you don't understand.

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Then remember this: You may not know what tomorrow will bring, but you know the One who will be there when tomorrow comes.

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James reminds us that life is short—not so that we'll live afraid, but so that we'll stop wasting today trying to control tomorrow. Planning for the future isn't wrong. James isn't telling us to throw away our calendars, cancel our goals, or answer the interview question with, “Who knows?” He's challenging the illusion that our plans equal control.

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So maybe there’s a better question than, “Where do you see yourself in the next five years?”

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Maybe it's: ‍

“God, how do You want me to faithfully live today?”

What question have you been afraid to bring to God—and what would it look like to trust Him with it today?