What troubles us today may, in time, reveal its place in the pattern.
As humans, we obsess over certainty. We want certainty about our future, our family’s future, and the countless things over which we have little control.
We want clear answers. We check reviews before we buy something. We seek out experts. We track our metrics, sometimes obsessively.
But most things—I’d argue the vast majority of the important things in life—are uncertain.
As a hospice volunteer, I regularly visit a patient who is clearly in the last chapter of her life. When I walk into her room, I’m never quite sure how the conversation will unfold. I’m not even sure whether she remembers our last visit. Sometimes I’m surprised by how lucid she can be. The other day, she looked at me and said, “You weren’t here for two weeks.”
My presence with her is not built on certainty. Our conversations, her health, and even our connection are tenuous. Yet I keep showing up. As I’ve grown closer to her and become more emotionally invested, I’ve had to learn to move toward the uncertainty rather than away from it. When I leave her, I get a little emotional, asking myself if this will be my last visit with her. Sometimes, I think, what if we carried that sentiment with everyone we value?
Uncertainty is built into mediumship. I have no idea which spirit will come forward. I don’t know what will be communicated to me. I receive fragments—an image, a memory, a feeling—and through those fragments I try to piece together a puzzle that points to the continuity of life.
Much of what I communicate means very little to me in the moment. It becomes meaningful only through the experience of the sitter and their relationship with the person in spirit. I try to work with humility and gratitude: humble because I don’t know everything, and grateful that I can serve as a bridge between spirit and the person sitting across from me.
People sometimes come to readings with questions about their relationships in this world and, perhaps, their relationship with the spirit who has come forward. I share what I receive, but I always add an important caveat: I am not omniscient.
More often than not, the person sitting across from me already possesses an intuitive sense of the situation. They have lived with the relationship, wrestled with the decision, and felt the tension long before they walked through my door. My role is not to replace their judgment or dictate the future. Sometimes, it is simply to help surface feelings that are already there.
Many people seek certainty in psychic readings, but some of the most meaningful moments come from discovery. We all avoid difficult truths from time to time. We all carry fears, hopes, and intuitions that we struggle to acknowledge. Sometimes, just saying them aloud allows us to see them more clearly.
So I try to remain present with uncertainty, almost like an old friend. Whatever comes, whatever will be, I will accept it—and, if possible, learn to love it. German philosopher and writer Friedrich Nietzsche called this amor fati: the love of one’s fate.
I think we need to lean into uncertainty rather than resist it. Embrace it. Trust that things will ultimately unfold as divine providence intends.
Life is a bit like a mosaic. Each piece, viewed on its own, can seem random, mysterious, and sometimes unsettling. But with time, patience, and enough distance, the larger picture begins to emerge. Ancient philosopher Seneca advised that “we should always allow some time to elapse, for time discloses the truth.” What troubles us today may, in time, reveal its place in the pattern. Until then, perhaps our task is simply to remain present, to love well, and to trust that the picture is still being assembled.
