My holidays have a way of slowing time down, at least a little. Lights glow softer, calendars feel less urgent, and we’re invited to reflect on where we’ve been and how we got here. This season, as I look back on my life and my work, one truth keeps resurfacing: becoming a math educator was a gift from God.

For years, I tried to calculate my future on my own. I planned. I adjusted. I recalculated when things didn’t add up. Like many of us, I believed that if I just worked harder, learned more, or followed the “right” path, everything would fall neatly into place. But God’s math doesn’t always follow the formulas we expect.

Proverbs 3:5–6 reminds us:
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight.”

As a math person, that verse used to make me uncomfortable. Lean not on your own understanding? Understanding is literally my job. I teach students to analyze, problem-solve, and make sense of what feels confusing. Yet, over time, I realized that faith doesn’t cancel out logic. It completes it.

Looking back, I can see how God showed up in the margins of my life. In the detours that felt like failures. In the students who challenged me more than any textbook ever could. In the moments when I questioned whether I was making a difference at all.

I didn’t always set out to be this kind of educator—an academic therapist, a coach for neurodivergent students, an advocate for learners who’ve been told they’re “bad at math.” That role unfolded slowly, almost quietly, like a solution revealing itself step by step. Every experience added a new variable: my training, my faith, my work with students who think differently, and my own moments of doubt.

And somehow, God kept balancing the equation.

Drake’s “God’s Plan” plays in my head when I think about this journey. “I can’t do this on my own, ayy… someone watchin’ this close.” That lyric feels like a modern-day proverb. There were moments I thought I was off track—behind schedule, off pace, or headed in the wrong direction entirely. But what felt like delays were actually divine recalculations.

As a math educator, I see patterns everywhere. Patterns in numbers, yes, but also in people. I see how students light up when they realize they’re not broken, just wired differently. I see how confidence grows when shame is removed from learning. I see how patience, structure, and compassion can transform what once felt impossible.

That’s not just pedagogy. That’s the purpose.

During the holidays, we talk a lot about gifts, what we give and what we receive. My students often think I am the gift to them. But the truth is, teaching math has been one of God’s greatest gifts to me. It’s taught me humility. It’s taught me trust. It’s taught me that not every problem needs to be solved immediately. Some just need time, grace, and the right support.

Faith, like math, requires trust in unseen steps. You don’t always know the answer right away. Sometimes you only know the next step. And sometimes, obedience looks like continuing to show up, even when the numbers don’t make sense yet.

This season, I’m grateful for a God who orders chaos, who finds meaning in complexity, and who uses even our struggles as part of a greater design. I’m grateful that my calling didn’t come wrapped neatly, but unfolded slowly, intentionally, and with purpose.

So as the year comes to a close, I’m choosing to trust the greater equation. To release my need to control every variable. And to remember that when I submit my plans to God, He doesn’t just make the path straight. He makes it meaningful.

Because in the math of miracles, God always shows His work.

Inspired by Drake’s God’s Plan. Watch the video.

Copyright © 2025 by Edna Brown. All Rights Reserved.