What to do When You’re Doubting God

I stood at the window. My hand on my swollen stomach. Tears trickled down my face as I held the phone to my ear. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know why I called her, but I felt something familiar…

Grief?

No.

Shock?

Probably.

But it wasn’t just that.

Disappointment. That’s what it was. A deep aching, hurting, feeling of utter disappointment, but it was familiar. Like I had felt all of this before, just not on this level. A thought came into my mind and seared itself into my memory, “I never thought something that good could happen to me anyway”.

How many times in my life had I been disappointed? My hopefulness shattered.

I was resigned. I went from hearing myself scream “no!” as I fell to the floor, fumbling with my phone in an attempt to call my husband, to complete resignation.

He was gone. There was nothing I could do.

So I let him go and I surrendered without a fight.

Now I’m here pondering. Why did the death of my son feel so familiar? Why?

I’m used to not getting what I want. It’s been a part of my life for as long as I can remember.

As a little girl I watched in confusion when things I asked for were denied me, but then given to a sibling.

I was hurt when over and over again, I approached a parent with an open vulnerable heart, hoping to be heard and understood only to have my words twisted and thrown back in my face. My heart crumbling at the sound of, “You don’t make any sense.”

As I grew older I watched as my friends several years younger than me got married. My own life was so strictly controlled that the hope of ever living outside the confines of my family home faded more and more each day.

I spent the majority of my childhood and young adulthood trying desperately to get the same approval from my parents as I saw some of my siblings getting, but their standards seemed to work like a social media algorithm and I, never seemed to play my cards right.

I hoped that they would finally see who I was, that they would finally approve. I was disappointed.

I prayed that something would change. I was disappointed.

I thought that they would finally see me, understand me, fight for me. I was disappointed.

What do we do in the face of grievous disappointment, or any disappointment? Do we give up? Do we fight? Do we throw a fit? Or do we resign?

There was a time when I would have fought. I would have said it wasn’t fair. I would have asked, “why?”. But today, I didn’t. I knew there was no point. I didn’t understand how it could happen, but I didn’t feel the need to fight. It just was what it was.

Had He finally broke me? Was His plan all along to beat me into submission, to break my will?

These fears erupted from within me. This also felt familiar. I had been forced into submission before. I had been broken down before.

But in the middle of my ruminations over a broken childhood that had left me with trust issues in my relationship with God, I started to see another side to the story.

Through my sons death He showed me how strong I was.

He had met me with peace in the middle of a horrendous storm.

I had I finally come to see myself for who I really was. Strong. Brave. Courageous.

A strong, whole, unwavering person. Through all of it, my faith has remained strong, My marriage hasn’t fallen apart. I have been angry, bitter, depressed, hopeless at times, but I haven’t given up. I haven’t been destroyed.

How other people see my journey is of no importance. They couldn’t possibly understand everything that had happened as hard as they might try.

He repeatedly told me,

“I asked you to walk this, not them. Quit worrying about what they might say or think of you. Let me work in you what I need to work in you. Nothing else matters”.

And it doesn’t.

And the disappointment? When we’ve been wronged so many times in our lives by people we’ve trusted, it becomes natural to doubt. It becomes like second nature to put our guards up and expect that no one wants good for us. Sometimes the things that He allows don’t make sense. They feel like something else we’ve experienced.

Sometimes it feels a lot like… Like He does us dirty.

Maybe you’ve been taught that you should never say something like that about God. That you shouldn’t even think such a thing of God… But the problem with that is, or rather, the problems with that are,

1. God already knows what we think, and He knows the doubts we have.

2. If we don’t speak them out, how will He ever show us otherwise? Or worse, if we never admit them to ourselves how can WE ask that He show us otherwise?

3. If God is our Father, wouldn’t He take supreme pleasure in answering the questions that plague our minds?

Wouldn’t any good father take that kind of pleasure in showing love to his children?

So I ask for answers to the things that I can’t understand.

God, what did you want? Did you want to break me?

Because God, there is a part of me that feels like that strong-willed rambunctious child that required extreme discipline before I could learn my lesson.

And God, sometimes I feel shame. Shame that makes me want to drop my head and never lift it up again.

Like maybe, you love the others more than me. You know, the ones that have the babies sitting in their laps, the ones that are surrounded by their beautiful, happy families.

One more thing God, thank you that I can bring all of these questions to you and that you never shame me or belittle me for letting doubts cloud my vision. Thank you for never leaving me in my doubts.

Why I’m Here

Hi Friends! Thanks for visiting my blog. I thought I’d get started by telling you a little bit about myself.

I first knew I had a desire to write when I was around 15. Funny, because I rarely took the time to even journal, much less write about anything that someone would want to read. I always knew that fiction writing wasn’t for me. I never enjoyed reading fiction.

I grew up reading stories about Christian heroes, people who were persecuted for their faith and went through horrible tragedies. I also loved missionary stories. These stories shaped my beliefs about God, what it means to be a woman and what it is to have unwavering faith.

I don’t know for sure what this blog will be about, but I hope that sharing my story with you will encourage you the same way those stories encouraged me as a teenager.

I grew up in a very religious home. I didn’t know it then, but the impact that this religion had on me would be something I’d have to work out and heal from years down the road. I didn’t know it back then, but I was being emotionally, spiritually and psychologically abused every day and even those stories that I loved were becoming less and less of a comfort and a means to escape the reality I was living in.

I was 23 by the time I was able to get out from under the control that my parents had on me, but it wasn’t until the loss of my son in 2020 when I was 25 years old, that I finally decided to step away from the negative influence altogether.

It was a huge step for me. It was a painful step, but one I know God was telling me to make.

This blog is somewhere for me to process and share the things I’ve learned.

There are many people that I grew up with and others that I’ve recently met who are working out the same things. I hope this will be a place we can connect, share our stories and encourage each other.

Healing is difficult and hard and no one should have to walk through it alone.

If you’ve read this far, please leave a comment and let me know you’re here! If there is something here that you relate to, I’d love to have a conversation with you in the comment section!