Selah Ember
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Despondent, why, because I let the devil fool me into returning to a dead end situation and now I am struggling, fighting myself to crawl out. Depressed because 😭😔😔, I can't believe I did this again, yeah the third time is the charm, but this time when I get free I won't allow myself to get sucked back in, I think that my weakness is that I am afraid to be alone, but that is better than what I am going through right now. Donna E.
Nobody prepares you for the sheer silence after you’ve screamed until your throat is raw. You’re told from the time you’re small that if you pray hard enough, if you have enough faith, if you stay good, the floor won't drop out from under you. And then it does. The door stays shut. The diagnosis doesn't change. The person still leaves. The grave still gets dug. And you’re just left sitting on the cold floor of a quiet room, staring at the ceiling, feeling this heavy, suffocating rage. The worst part isn't even the anger. It’s the isolation that comes with it. Because the moment you admit you're furious with God, the people around you get uncomfortable. They try to patch you up. They drop cheap phrases like "He works in mysterious ways" or "He won't give you more than you can handle" as if a neat little cliché can stitch up a heart that's been torn completely open. They’re so afraid of the dark that they try to force the lights on before you're even ready to breathe. So you stop talking. You smile, you nod, and you carry this toxic secret or toxic positivey around: that you feel completely betrayed. ’m not writing this to tell you it’s all going to make sense tomorrow. I’m not going to give you three steps to get over it or tell you that everything happens for a reason. Sometimes things just break. Sometimes life is just brutal, unfair, and utterly exhausting, and you are allowed to sit in the ashes and just be furious about it. Job didn't have a neat resolution while his life was burning down around him. He just sat in the dirt, scraping his skin, cursing the fact that he was ever born. He didn't want a sermon. He just wanted to hurt. If you’re sitting in that pitch-black space right now where you don't even know how to pray because every word feels like ash in your mouth you don't have to fix it today. You don't have to apologize for how deeply it hurts, and you don't have to pretend you're strong. I’m not asking for your answers or your silver linings. But if you’re in the dark right now too... you don't have to sit in it entirely alone. Reach out . No explanations needed. Just let it exist. Let me sit with you
I’ve been thinking about something. We often say, “God is silent.” But I wonder how often what we really mean is: God is not answering me in the way I expected. We look for the open door, the unmistakable sign,or the verse that practically jumps off the page and says, “YES, THIS IS ABOUT YOU.”And sometimes… nothing. No thunder. No miracle .No perfectly timed answer. Just ordinary days. But Scripture has always interested me because God does not seem committed to being predictable. Sometimes He speaks through fire, prophet, and through circumstances. In Elijah’s story, God was not in the wind, the earthquake, or the fire but afterward came the quiet. Maybe silence is not always God withholding Himself. Maybe sometimes He is teaching us how to recognize His voice without needing Him to shout. And maybe there is an uncomfortable question hiding underneath all of this: If God gave me no sign, no emotional reassurance, and no immediate answer… would I still trust what I already know about His character? I don’t think faith means pretending uncertainty doesn’t exist. I think sometimes faith is sitting in the uncertainty and saying, God, I cannot see what You are doing. So I’m curious: When God feels silent to you, what do you do? And have you ever discovered later that He wasn’t actually silent at all—you just didn’t recognize the answer yet?
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