You only get a few real chances in life. I don’t mean that to frighten you; I mean it to free you.

Most of us spend the precious hours we have calculating. We weigh the odds, rehearse the worst-case scenarios, wait for more clarity, more certainty, more of a guarantee that the risk will pay off. And while we’re waiting, the window quietly closes. I’ve watched it happen. I’ve almost let it happen to me, more than once.

I grew up in India a child of church planters. My South Indian parents had relocated our family to the North, where we were outsiders on almost every front. We were poor foreigners—and Christians, no less—all eight of us crammed in a tiny apartment, scraping together what we needed to survive. I can still remember the shame of being called out in class because our school fees hadn’t been paid.

You learn early, in circumstances like that, that life requires endurance. Like many kids in my position, my great hope was America. In time, by the grace of God, I got my wish. It took many years…a long green card process with my father going first, then my older brother, who sent money back to my mom and the rest of us to clear a path.

At 19, I finally arrived…in the Bronx.

This was not the America I had imagined. The family car got stolen almost immediately. I watched someone get shot on the street in front of me. Fear was just part of the weather. Once again, I was poor and out of place. The dream hadn’t delivered; it had just handed me a different version of the same hard life.

I graduated high school many years behind my peers and ended up at a small city college while everyone else seemed to be moving on to bigger and better things. My spirit ached for clarity: What am I doing here? Should I just go back? Going home to India would have been familiar at least.

I almost chose it, more than once, but I didn’t. My innocent, sincere faith and the example of my parents kept me on the path. You don’t always get to see the destination before you take the step.

I’m in my mid-50s now. My kids are grown, and I lead Open Eyes, a ministry working in some of the hardest, most overlooked places on earth. It’s clear to me, looking back, that I am where—and who—I am because of my challenges.

Here’s what I wish I could go back and tell my younger self, the kid eating shame for breakfast and wondering if God had lost track of him:

You are not behind. The timeline you’re comparing yourself to isn’t the one God is focused on. Wall Street and Ivy League and “on time”—those are man’s measures. I worked on Wall Street eventually, by the way, alongside people with credentials I could never dream of having. But the paths that look prestigious aren’t always the ones that lead somewhere meaningful. Be patient. Persevere. You’re being prepared, not forgotten.

Your feelings are not the final word. Feelings are real, but they are not reliable narrators. I felt disqualified from life for years. Late, lost, out of place. Almost every one of those feelings was lying to me. God’s hand was on my life during the hardest years of my life, and every time I’ve said yes when my instincts said wait, I ended up exactly where I was supposed to be.

God wastes nothing. Not the hunger, not the shame, not the years that felt like they’d entirely fallen off course. I can trace a direct line from a cramped Bronx apartment to the life I’m living now. It’s not a line I could have drawn myself, but looking back, it’s unmistakable.

Maybe you’re in one of those seasons right now—uncertain, restless, wondering if you’ve already missed your moment. I can promise you, you haven’t. Whatever the Lord is tugging at your heart to do, do it. Don’t wait until it’s all clear, because it probably never will be. Say yes now, take the step, and trust that the God who brought you this far isn’t finished with you yet. In the end, the risks are much smaller than they look, and the rewards are far greater than you can imagine.

You’ll look back one day and see it. I promise you will.