I passed them one by one as I left home that morning. Dodging people in every form—on bikes, skateboards, pushing strollers—each of us negotiating the tight spaces of the Provo Canyon Trail. To be honest, I felt it: that transactional irritation. If I ride early, the trail should be mine. If I stay in my lane, they should stay in theirs.

It’s so easy to see others as furniture in our personal room, arranged for our convenience. Even God can become part of that arrangement, expected to deliver outcomes for our good behavior. As A Course in Miracles warns, the ego isolates us, casting everyone else as props in our solitary play.

Then something caught my eye.

A man had stopped to help. He pointed directions for a couple dressed in black, their toddler bouncing at their side, eager for the park. The man wasn’t in a rush. He was steady, patient, shepherding this small family toward their goal.

It shifted something in me. Out of a hard-driving, transactional mode and into a deeper awareness of relationship. Faces of strangers softened into people again.

That thought stayed with me as I climbed—gravel, then dirt—with fewer and fewer people, until I was essentially alone. What had begun as my aim now felt almost too quiet, even lonely. I chided myself for my self-seeking spirit. My mind followed the twisting trail, winding between how I had left home and where I was headed—away from people, yet appreciating the connections waiting for me at lower altitudes.

Twisting my mind toward faith.

Lately, I’ve been wondering if faith follows the same path.

A young father, gone in a sudden medical collapse.
A pregnant mother, lost in the frantic hours of emergency surgery.
These losses ripple through a community, scattering quiet questions in their wake.

For some, faith feels transactional: I do my part, God does His. When tragedy strikes, it feels like a breach of contract. What did I miss? Why would God allow this? Was the deal not kept?

But there’s another way.

Faith as relationship. No guarantees of smooth paths, but the assurance of presence. God not as a fixture in our room, but as the Companion who journeys with us.

Jared Halverson often says, faith isn’t the absence of questions — it’s what you do with them.
A friend of mine, David, and I were talking about this very tension — how faith holds up (or doesn’t) under pressure.

He recommended I look into Halverson, who’s something of a subject-matter expert on faith crises.
What struck me wasn’t just Halverson’s words, but that it was David who pointed me to them — a friend guiding a friend through a difficult thought.

And it reminded me that relationships have a durability that transactional expectations simply don’t.

When the deal breaks down, it’s the relationship that holds.

Steven Covey described human growth as moving from dependence to independence, and finally, to interdependence. I see this in faith, too:

• Dependence expects God to carry us.

• Independence tries to carry ourselves.

• Interdependence recognizes the shared journey—God with us, and us with one another.

What can I expect from God? If I think transactionally, I expect fairness: my effort, His reward. But life doesn’t work like that.

If I think relationally, I expect something better. Not answers, but companionship. That God stays with me, even when the sky clouds over.

And what does God expect from me?

Not my flawless performance, but my trust. Not contract, but conversation. Relationship restores God as living presence and helps me see others not as furniture in my story, but as fellow pilgrims on the same hard road.

I don’t pretend to know which is better. (Or maybe I do.)

But I have compassion for both.

It’s human to hope our efforts will shield us from grief. And when the contract feels broken, the ache is real.

But from higher ground, I see it differently. The climb grows steep for all of us, no matter how well we followed the rules below.

Adam S. Miller wrote that faith is not a tool for securing divine intervention. It’s a way of learning to live gracefully with whatever comes. That kind of faith doesn’t depend on control. It depends on companionship.

What carries us, I believe, is not the transaction, but the relationship. The quiet knowing that we are not alone, even when the way narrows, even when companions fall away.

And I will get my wiggles out—grateful for this form of renewal—and turn back toward home, more eagerly waving, nodding, and smiling at others trying, like I am, to move along the trail.

After all, we’re not so different from one another.

We may take different paths, move at different paces, but isn’t home where we’re all headed?

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• A Course in Miracles (Foundation for Inner Peace). acim.org

• Jared Halverson – @jhalverson | YouTube: Unshaken Saints

• Adam S. Miller – Original Grace, Letters to a Young Mormon | AdamsMiller.org

• Stephen R. Covey – The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People | Franklincovey.com