Hello friends,
This week I’ve been reflecting on something I’ve had to learn slowly—and honestly, something I am still learning: what it really means to depend on God when life feels heavy and unclear.
I want to share a short excerpt from my new book, It Is Enough: Finding Purpose in Suffering. My prayer is that it meets you right where you are today.
This week I’ve been reflecting on something I’ve had to learn slowly—and honestly, something I am still learning: what it really means to depend on God when life feels heavy and unclear.
I want to share a short excerpt from my new book, It Is Enough: Finding Purpose in Suffering. My prayer is that it meets you right where you are today.
PRESENCE IN DEPENDENCE
Some of the most heart-wrenching questions suffering often brings are, “Where is God right now? Why can’t I feel Him?” Scripture assures us again and again that He is near, yet our hearts often ache with silence. So what is the disconnect?
What I’ve learned over time is that the problem is not God’s absence. It is the barriers we raise between ourselves and His presence—barriers often built from our misguided desire to handle life on our own.
Pain has a way of driving us inward. We unintentionally pull back and shut ourselves off from the very support God placed around us—friends, loved ones, His Word, and His Spirit within us. We slip into survival mode, leaning on self-protection and self-reliance. We think, if I just work harder… if I just figure this out… if I just stay strong… Before long, we stop leaning on the One who has already offered to carry what we cannot.
This pattern is not new. In the Garden of Eden, Eve heard the whisper that she couldn’t trust God and had to look out for herself. That same deception still tempts us today, convincing us that dependence is weakness and that strength comes only through our own effort. And somehow, we continue to believe that lie.
Yet suffering exposes this struggle. The challenge is not only in bearing the pain but in choosing whether we will retreat into ourselves or collapse into God’s care. That kind of surrender can feel frightening and incredibly vulnerable because it requires letting go of control. And if you are like me, letting go does not come easily.
Dependence means trust, the willingness to say, “Lord, I accept what You’ve placed before me, and I trust You to supply the strength I need.” It rarely feels natural. Yet it is often in that very surrender that His presence becomes tangible, and with it, a comfort no human words can fully describe.
I have seen this in my own life. There were seasons when I followed God’s leading while carrying heavy burdens of worry about money, work, and personal struggles. I kept praying and serving even when I felt completely worn out. In those moments when life seemed empty and I had nothing left to give, I laid it all before Him—sometimes hesitantly, often little by little—and that is where His strength met me and carried me through.
If you long to feel His nearness in the midst of suffering, you might begin by asking yourself: Am I holding something back? Am I still depending on myself instead of God? Am I trusting Him with my finances or only what’s left over? Am I giving Him my time in prayer or only the scraps of my energy? Am I looking to His Word each day or just hoping the Sunday sermon carries me through the week?
Dependence is not weakness. It is the humble confession, “Lord, I cannot do this without You,” and the recognition that we were never meant to do so. God’s presence does not always arrive with fanfare; more often, it comes quietly, steadying us, holding us upright when we have no strength of our own.
And let me be clear: dependence does not cancel responsibility. God does not call us to throw wisdom aside or gamble our futures away. He is not hiding behind a lottery ticket or waiting in a casino. He meets us in the small, faithful steps of obedience that rarely make sense at first. That is where He supplies strength that endures and provision that does not run dry.
So, I return again and again to one simple question: Is my suffering drawing me deeper into His arms, or driving me further into myself?
The answer often reveals more than I expect. And in that answer, I begin to see the nearness of God I have been searching for all along. This same closeness with the Great Comforter and Redeemer is available to you as well.
What I’ve learned over time is that the problem is not God’s absence. It is the barriers we raise between ourselves and His presence—barriers often built from our misguided desire to handle life on our own.
Pain has a way of driving us inward. We unintentionally pull back and shut ourselves off from the very support God placed around us—friends, loved ones, His Word, and His Spirit within us. We slip into survival mode, leaning on self-protection and self-reliance. We think, if I just work harder… if I just figure this out… if I just stay strong… Before long, we stop leaning on the One who has already offered to carry what we cannot.
This pattern is not new. In the Garden of Eden, Eve heard the whisper that she couldn’t trust God and had to look out for herself. That same deception still tempts us today, convincing us that dependence is weakness and that strength comes only through our own effort. And somehow, we continue to believe that lie.
Yet suffering exposes this struggle. The challenge is not only in bearing the pain but in choosing whether we will retreat into ourselves or collapse into God’s care. That kind of surrender can feel frightening and incredibly vulnerable because it requires letting go of control. And if you are like me, letting go does not come easily.
Dependence means trust, the willingness to say, “Lord, I accept what You’ve placed before me, and I trust You to supply the strength I need.” It rarely feels natural. Yet it is often in that very surrender that His presence becomes tangible, and with it, a comfort no human words can fully describe.
I have seen this in my own life. There were seasons when I followed God’s leading while carrying heavy burdens of worry about money, work, and personal struggles. I kept praying and serving even when I felt completely worn out. In those moments when life seemed empty and I had nothing left to give, I laid it all before Him—sometimes hesitantly, often little by little—and that is where His strength met me and carried me through.
If you long to feel His nearness in the midst of suffering, you might begin by asking yourself: Am I holding something back? Am I still depending on myself instead of God? Am I trusting Him with my finances or only what’s left over? Am I giving Him my time in prayer or only the scraps of my energy? Am I looking to His Word each day or just hoping the Sunday sermon carries me through the week?
Dependence is not weakness. It is the humble confession, “Lord, I cannot do this without You,” and the recognition that we were never meant to do so. God’s presence does not always arrive with fanfare; more often, it comes quietly, steadying us, holding us upright when we have no strength of our own.
And let me be clear: dependence does not cancel responsibility. God does not call us to throw wisdom aside or gamble our futures away. He is not hiding behind a lottery ticket or waiting in a casino. He meets us in the small, faithful steps of obedience that rarely make sense at first. That is where He supplies strength that endures and provision that does not run dry.
So, I return again and again to one simple question: Is my suffering drawing me deeper into His arms, or driving me further into myself?
The answer often reveals more than I expect. And in that answer, I begin to see the nearness of God I have been searching for all along. This same closeness with the Great Comforter and Redeemer is available to you as well.
PRACTICE WAITING
Waiting is one of the hardest practices of the Christian life. Few things test our faith more than silence and delay.
We pray. We plead. We pace. We check the time, check our hearts, check the heavens—and still, no response. The silence stretches on, and we begin to wonder if anything is happening at all.
If you are like me—and like most people shaped by the convenience of modern life—waiting feels like wasted time. We live in a world wired for speed. Tap a screen, and dinner shows up at the door. Type a question, and AI spits back a response. We are conditioned to expect results now—faster, cheaper, easier. And when our expectations are not met, we grow restless and frustrated.
We may not voice it, but in our minds, we begin to view God more like an on-demand product delivery service than the Creator who holds our lives in His hands.
But that impatience can be dangerous, even poisonous, for the soul. It tempts us to resist surrender, to despise patience, and to assume that God must operate on our schedule. Yet often, the waiting itself is an act of mercy.
Sometimes the delay is God's way of loosening our grip on every false source of confidence—our abilities, our plans, even the people we depend on more than Him. In the waiting, He draws us to rest our confidence in Him. He breaks down the empty securities we try to cling to and feeds us with something far richer than shortcuts to healing. He loves us too much to let us live on substitutes that cannot sustain us.
Waiting uncovers the idols of comfort and convenience we’ve built around ourselves. It strips away the illusion that we are managing life on our own. And in that empty space, it invites us into a deeper faith—a slower, steadier trust in the God who sees what we cannot.
Why does He so often choose waiting as the setting for His greatest work? Because waiting forms us. It quiets the noise inside us. It reveals cracks in our foundation that we never noticed. And most of all, it makes room for dependence on Him.
This is why the Scripture speaks of waiting not as a punishment but as a source of strength. “Wait on the LORD: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart” (Psalm 27:14). “They that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength” (Isaiah 40:31). Waiting may feel like wasted time, but it is training your faith. And that faith helps teach you to stand even when your heart is trembling.
David understood this. He wrote, “I waited patiently for the LORD; and he inclined unto me, and heard my cry” (Psalm 40:1). Those words came from a man who knew what it meant to be pressed by trouble and wearied by sorrow, yet he remained convinced that God had not abandoned him.
When we lean on and put our confidence in God, His presence changes the very nature of our waiting. Panic gives way to peace. Confusion settles beneath His clarity. Strength begins to seep into broken places that we thought were beyond repair.
Sometimes the waiting is His preparation for what lies ahead. Often, it is His reshaping of our character. And it is always an invitation from God to draw nearer to Him. In these seasons, God not only reveals more profoundly what He can do, but He also reveals who He is.
He is not late. He is not absent. He is near.
When the waiting feels unbearable, His nearness is the anchor. It may not take the ache away, but it gives the ache meaning. Because when the silence finally lifts, we begin to see God has been at work all along, doing more in us during the waiting than we ever could have imagined.
RETURN TO ALL BLOGS
We pray. We plead. We pace. We check the time, check our hearts, check the heavens—and still, no response. The silence stretches on, and we begin to wonder if anything is happening at all.
If you are like me—and like most people shaped by the convenience of modern life—waiting feels like wasted time. We live in a world wired for speed. Tap a screen, and dinner shows up at the door. Type a question, and AI spits back a response. We are conditioned to expect results now—faster, cheaper, easier. And when our expectations are not met, we grow restless and frustrated.
We may not voice it, but in our minds, we begin to view God more like an on-demand product delivery service than the Creator who holds our lives in His hands.
But that impatience can be dangerous, even poisonous, for the soul. It tempts us to resist surrender, to despise patience, and to assume that God must operate on our schedule. Yet often, the waiting itself is an act of mercy.
Sometimes the delay is God's way of loosening our grip on every false source of confidence—our abilities, our plans, even the people we depend on more than Him. In the waiting, He draws us to rest our confidence in Him. He breaks down the empty securities we try to cling to and feeds us with something far richer than shortcuts to healing. He loves us too much to let us live on substitutes that cannot sustain us.
Waiting uncovers the idols of comfort and convenience we’ve built around ourselves. It strips away the illusion that we are managing life on our own. And in that empty space, it invites us into a deeper faith—a slower, steadier trust in the God who sees what we cannot.
Why does He so often choose waiting as the setting for His greatest work? Because waiting forms us. It quiets the noise inside us. It reveals cracks in our foundation that we never noticed. And most of all, it makes room for dependence on Him.
This is why the Scripture speaks of waiting not as a punishment but as a source of strength. “Wait on the LORD: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart” (Psalm 27:14). “They that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength” (Isaiah 40:31). Waiting may feel like wasted time, but it is training your faith. And that faith helps teach you to stand even when your heart is trembling.
David understood this. He wrote, “I waited patiently for the LORD; and he inclined unto me, and heard my cry” (Psalm 40:1). Those words came from a man who knew what it meant to be pressed by trouble and wearied by sorrow, yet he remained convinced that God had not abandoned him.
When we lean on and put our confidence in God, His presence changes the very nature of our waiting. Panic gives way to peace. Confusion settles beneath His clarity. Strength begins to seep into broken places that we thought were beyond repair.
Sometimes the waiting is His preparation for what lies ahead. Often, it is His reshaping of our character. And it is always an invitation from God to draw nearer to Him. In these seasons, God not only reveals more profoundly what He can do, but He also reveals who He is.
He is not late. He is not absent. He is near.
When the waiting feels unbearable, His nearness is the anchor. It may not take the ache away, but it gives the ache meaning. Because when the silence finally lifts, we begin to see God has been at work all along, doing more in us during the waiting than we ever could have imagined.
RETURN TO ALL BLOGS
