I trust God's timing. I'm a very spiritual person, and a lot of
I trust God's timing. I'm a very spiritual person, and a lot of times, we want things on our time, and we come up with our own plans of what we want to do with our lives, but God be like, 'Haha, you're funny. That's cute. Anyways, this is what you're going to do,' and I've learned to just sit back.
“I trust God’s timing. I’m a very spiritual person, and a lot of times, we want things on our time, and we come up with our own plans of what we want to do with our lives, but God be like, ‘Haha, you’re funny. That’s cute. Anyways, this is what you’re going to do,’ and I’ve learned to just sit back.” — so spoke LeToya Luckett, a woman whose path has been marked by faith, transformation, and grace. In her words, there is both laughter and surrender — a sacred balance of humor and humility before the vastness of divine design. Her voice, though modern, echoes the eternal wisdom of the ancients: that fate, or what they called divine order, unfolds not according to our impatience, but according to the will of the Higher Power who sees what we cannot.
When Luckett says, “I trust God’s timing,” she declares an act of spiritual courage. For to trust is to release control, to walk forward without seeing the full road ahead. The ancients called this faith — not blind belief, but a deep alignment with the rhythm of the universe. The Stoics of old, like Epictetus, taught that peace is found not by forcing events to match our desires, but by bringing our desires into harmony with what the divine ordains. In her own words, Luckett embraces that same serenity. She acknowledges the human urge to plan, to grasp, to rush — and then gently releases it, surrendering to the greater wisdom that guides all things.
Her tone carries a divine humor, for she says that when we plan too tightly, God laughs. This laughter is not mockery, but mercy — the gentle smile of a Creator who knows the limits of human vision. The ancients, too, spoke of this cosmic irony. The Greeks called it hubris when mortals believed they could command the future; the poets warned that fate (moira) always has the final word. Yet in Luckett’s retelling, the lesson is softened by love: God is not wrathful but amused, saying, “That’s cute. Anyways, this is what you’re going to do.” Her words reflect a faith born not of fear, but of relationship — a living trust between soul and Creator, in which even divine correction comes with compassion.
When she says, “I’ve learned to just sit back,” she does not mean idleness, but acceptance. To “sit back” is to rest the anxious heart, to loosen one’s grip on what cannot be controlled. The ancients practiced this, too, though they named it differently. The philosopher Lao Tzu, in the East, spoke of wu wei — effortless action, the art of letting things unfold according to their natural flow. In this way, Luckett’s modern faith unites with the timeless understanding that true strength lies not in constant striving, but in surrender to divine rhythm.
Her wisdom did not come without trial. As one who rose to fame, lost her place, and found it again through faith and reinvention, Luckett has lived what she teaches. She knows that life does not always follow the script we write. The ancients, too, saw this truth in the story of Joseph, sold into slavery yet destined to rule, or in Job, who lost everything only to be restored in faith. These stories — old as time — teach that the delays and detours of life are not denials, but preparations. The divine plan often requires time for the soul to mature, to become worthy of the blessings it seeks.
In her laughter and calm surrender, Luckett offers not resignation, but freedom. For those who cling to control, life becomes a battle; for those who trust in divine timing, it becomes a dance. The ancients would have called this living in harmony with the cosmos — the surrender of the small will to the greater order. It is not passivity, but peace; not indifference, but deep faith that what is meant for you will come, and what is not will pass.
So let this teaching be carried forward: Trust the timing of the divine, even when it feels delayed. Do not curse the waiting; use it to grow. Make your plans, but hold them lightly, for they are drafts of a greater story written by a wiser hand. When your path changes, smile as LeToya Luckett does, and hear the loving laughter of the heavens saying, “That’s cute — but here’s what I’ve prepared for you.” Sit back. Breathe. Let life unfold as it must. For the ancients knew, and she reminds us now: those who trust in divine timing never arrive late — they arrive exactly when they are meant to.
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