Hey there, my friend.

Some seasons of life feel a lot like walking through fog. You know the road exists—you’re standing on it—but you can’t see very far ahead. The next step may be clear; the one after that is a blur. You’re moving forward, but you’re not entirely sure where you’re going or how it will work out.

I am not a biblical scholar. Like many, I’m the product of people who invested in my knowledge of Christ—parents, pastors, Sunday school teachers, friends—and then my own reading and research over the years. The Scriptures I return to most often are the ones that were first handed to me by others and then tested in the foggy streets of my own life.

That image has stayed with me through much of my writing, especially in Black Fog, the prequel to the On The Wings Of Angels series. Elizabeth Bowmar walks the literal fog-drenched streets of 1618 London, accused of a crime she didn’t commit, trying to make sense of a world that suddenly doesn’t make sense at all.

In Black Fog, trust in God is not about feeling spiritually serene; it’s about moving forward when you “can’t see around corners.”

One of the verses that steadies both of us is:

“Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. 

 In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.” — Proverbs 3:5–6 (KJV)

In this post, I’d like to linger with that verse for a bit: where it comes from, what it may have meant to the people who first heard it, and how it shapes both Elizabeth’s journey in Black Fog and our own “black fog” seasons today.

Elizabeth Bowmar’s Black Fog Trust

Elizabeth is many things—a midwife, a daughter marked by trauma, a woman of quiet but stubborn faith—but she is not foolish. When she realizes she’s standing in the middle of a deadly accusation, she doesn’t march out alone to prove her innocence by sheer willpower. She knows she needs help.

In Black Fog, that help comes in part through Tristram, a Virginia natural and mentor who has walked his own hard roads. He is as close as a brother to her: steady, observant, and willing to walk beside her into places most people would avoid. Elizabeth wants to test her mettle, and she leads the investigation, but she is also deeply aware of the weight of asking others to share the risk. Like those who serve in the military or as first responders, she feels the responsibility of other lives pressing on her choices. She fears for Tristram’s safety even as she leans on his support.

As a woman in 1618 London, Elizabeth is private with her faith. There are no public sermons from her lips, no long theological debates in taverns. Instead, she struggles and prays quietly, turning over passages she has learned—Proverbs 3:5–6 among them—and using her understanding of Scripture as a foundation beneath each decision. Trusting God, for her, is not a feeling; it is a series of steps:

– choosing to walk into danger to protect the innocent, 

– choosing to act when doing nothing would cost someone else far more.

When I wrote those scenes, I often thought of people who carry heavy responsibility for others—soldiers, firefighters, police officers, paramedics, nurses—and of the weight that comes with knowing your choices may affect someone else’s life.

After my father’s stroke, which left him partially paralyzed, I walked my own foggy streets of hospital corridors, unknown prognoses, and questions no one could answer. Proverbs 3:5–6 did not make those days easy, but it did give me somewhere to lean when my own understanding wasn’t enough.

Elizabeth doesn’t quote this verse out loud in every chapter. She doesn’t need to. It’s the kind of Scripture that lives under the skin—quiet, insistent, asking in every scene: Will you lean on your own understanding, or on Mine? Will you stand still, or take the next step even when you can’t see around the corner?

Living Proverbs 3:5–6 Today

I don’t know what your particular “black fog” looks like right now. It might be a diagnosis, a family situation that keeps you up at night, a job that has shifted beneath your feet, or a loss that still hurts in ways you can’t put into words. You may not be walking the alleys of 1618 London, but you know what it is to put one foot in front of the other when you’re not sure where the path leads.

Trusting in the Lord with all your heart rarely looks like having all the answers. Most days, it looks like taking one small, faithful step: making the phone call, showing up for the appointment, offering the apology, saying the prayer you barely have words for.

Perhaps this week you will find yourself on your own foggy street—a moment when you can’t see very far ahead and you feel that old tug to lean on your own understanding. I pray that in that moment you remember Proverbs 3:5–6, and in God you find the strength to move forward. Not because you know exactly how it will all turn out, but because you know Who is walking the road with you.

If Elizabeth’s journey and this verse speak to you, I’d be honored if you’d walk with me. When you join my newsletter, you’ll receive the free e‑version of Black Fog plus gentle updates about Sinful Oath, Family (coming January 2026), and future books in the On The Wings Of Angels series.