I puzzled at the early morning text. Why is my friend asking if we’re safe?
A text from my neighbor clued me in. “A pine tree fell and damaged your shed and maybe your house.”
My oldest daughter and I were out of the state for a college preview when I received these messages. I had no idea our family back home was in danger. We’d heard hurricane Helene was coming, but we live hundreds of miles from Florida. Our schools had closed, but we assumed it was just a precautionary measure.
I needed to call my family.
Relief washed over me when I heard my husband’s voice. “We’re safe. We’ve been camped out in the hallway for the past several hours.”
He went on to describe a storm unlike anything we’d ever experienced. The wind was so fierce they could feel it in the house with the doors and windows closed. Rainwater came into the living room because the storm blew it under the windowsills. A tree fell on my husband’s car, but thankfully none landed on our house.
My daughter and I finally made it home after several GPS reroutes, and tears filled my eyes as I drove into our city. Billboards stripped of their ads. The side of a building lying on the ground next to a tangle of broken power lines. Cars crushed and houses cut in half by massive fallen pines.
Never had I witnessed such devastation. Oh, I’d seen pictures and videos of hurricane damage before. But this was my city. These were my neighbors. That was our car.
In the days that followed, I experienced a jumble of emotions. Grief for my friends over what they’d lost. Relief that we hadn’t lost much. Guilt over feeling such relief. Shame for being sad and anxious when others had it worse. Gratitude for the hundreds of different ways our community banded together to show love.
As I processed all these feelings in prayer, I sensed God’s Spirit saying to mine, Look for what is constant and anchor yourself there.
Life’s storms will come, both the physical and the metaphorical ones, but I’m thankful God’s heart never changes. In the wake of our storms, we can anchor ourselves to who he is and lean into his gracious presence.
Why should I keep following God when he isn’t answering my prayers?
The unspoken question haunted me. I wished I didn’t feel this way. I told myself I should just keep trusting. For all my trying, though, the uncertainty continued. And with it, accusations against God’s character chipped away at my faith.
God doesn’t really care about you.
He’ll never answer your prayers.
He probably isn’t trustworthy.
With gentleness and grace, God drew near, reminding me he already knew my thoughts. He invited me to bring them into the open. Voice the feelings. Verbalize the doubts. Lay bare my soul before the One who sees me as I am and loves me.
So, I did.
As I poured out my disillusionment and admitted what my head was saying about his heart, I found myself on holy ground. He met me there in a deeply personal way. Rather than bypassing my pain or scolding my lack of faith, he received my questions. With his still, small voice, he asked me a question in return, the same question he’d asked Peter in John 6:67, “Do you want to walk away?”
As I pondered his question, I found myself answering as Peter did, “Where would I go? You have the words of life” (v 68). I remembered the history we’ve shared — how he delivered me from a food addiction as a teenager, how he healed my broken heart as a young adult. I’d tasted of his goodness. I’d experienced his grace. He was as real to me as the people in my own family.
No, I didn’t want to walk away. Despite the pain in my soul, even though he had yet to answer my prayers, he was still the same God. Still loving. Still powerful. Still for me and worthy of my trust.
I left that encounter a different person, not because my circumstances had changed or because he’d promised me they would. On the contrary, he gave me himself. He let me experience his open-hearted welcome, his understanding, and his soul-mending grace.
When our faith is slipping, God offers to be our firm foundation (Isaiah 33:6). He stands ready with open arms to receive us in our brokenness, eager to welcome us home (Luke 15:20). He’ll never reject those who come to him (John 6:37).
If you find yourself in a similar spot, I invite you to make space to pour out your heart before God.
“Don’t blink,” they said. “She’ll be grown before you know it.”
“Soon the moments will be memories.”
In the little years, when the days felt like decades and the nights even longer, those clichés sounded, well, cliché. Yet here we are, embarking on our little girl’s senior year. I’m not sure how we got here this quickly, but ready or not, the school year begins.
I anticipate all the emotions this year (both hers and mine.) We’ll treasure all her lasts as we step into her new firsts. I’ll ache over what’s ending, rejoice over the woman she’s becoming, and worry a little (okay, maybe a lot) over the changes ahead.
And as best I know how, I’ll take these feelings to Jesus.
For 8 ways to pray for our seniors (and all of the kids we love), join me at Bible Study Tools.
What pictures come to mind when you hear the word gentle? A soft breeze? A kid-friendly pet? A woman known for her kindness?
While these images capture some of the word’s meaning, the Bible portrays gentleness in a more audacious way than we tend to assume. For Christians called to “put on hearts of gentleness” (Colossians 3:12), it’s important we understand how the Bible uses this word.
To read about the 4 myths of gentleness I used to believe, hop over to Bible Study Tools.
How can you help someone whose faith is in pieces? When a Christian you love questions beliefs you hold dear, is it possible to walk with them through faith deconstruction?
As someone who experienced the collapse of my faith (and its eventual renewal), I’m deeply grateful for believers who want to come alongside and help. The gift of your presence can make Christ’s love tangible.
If you’ve never walked through deconstruction yourself, however, you may struggle to know just how to help. Understanding the terminology is a good place to begin.
To read more on faith deconstruction and how you can help those walking through it, hop over to
