Losing faith and belief

[Chrysostom]

You say you cannot pray and doubt God cares. Yet consider Peter on the water: when he saw the wind boisterous, he was afraid and began to sink, crying out, "Lord, save me." Immediately Jesus stretched forth His hand and caught him. Why did he sink? Not because of the wind, but because of his little faith. The Lord Himself said, "Wherefore didst thou doubt?" So if your faith had been steadfast, you would stand easily against this swelling and fear, knowing no true hurt comes thereby. But now you let the visible changes in your throat, the lump you see when swallowing, become a tempest that overwhelms your soul, and you begin to perish in despair.

You say you have prayed and been anointed for years, yet the same struggles remain. Do not think God ignores you. He trains you to feel confidence, to cleave to prayer and faith. For if we believe, we shall do greater things in due season. Faith goes beyond human reasoning; it hopes to pass through the sea even when the waters rise before us. Prayer is our great weapon for the daily battles. Without it, you are a ship without favorable winds, soon struck upon the rocks. Even Paul needed the prayers of others; do not think you have no need. Yet when we sleep, the help of others profits little if we ourselves do not watch.

You ask, "What need of prayer if I am not heard?" But this is the mark of an unsound and unbelieving mind. He who is faithful does not doubt, but such a one evidently doubts. And being in doubt, you are still a babe in the faith, though you have been many years a believer. For a babe is one who is still laying the foundation, still questioning. Faith sets reasoning at rest; it receives God's dispensation without endless questions. Do not give heed to fables of despair, which minister questions rather than the work of God in faith.

I do not say this to condemn your honesty, but to awaken you. Fast and pray together; for fasting, with prayer, fights against the incorporeal powers of despondency. But it must be joined with faith. You feel as a child crying to a parent who does not reach out a hand. Yet learn that our Father often seems to delay, not from neglect, but to train you to greater strength. If He had calmed your storm long since, you might never have learned to walk on the water. Now, in this trial, call on Him as Peter did, and He will immediately stretch forth His hand. Do not let your lips cease from supplication because your heart is cold. The very act of crying out, even in doubt, may be the first step back to the ship. I will pray for you, but do you also groan to heaven. The Lord is not far from you.

 

[Silas]

I hear the raw honesty in your words, and there is no disrespect in bringing your pain before God exactly as it is. The psalmists did the same, crying out, “How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?” That kind of candor is not a failure of faith; it is the wrestling that often keeps faith alive.

You are not alone in feeling that God has been silent. The Bible holds stories of men and women of remarkable faith who had seasons when it seemed to flicker out. One patriarch, called a friend of God, once pawned off his wife as his sister out of fear. A prophet who called down fire from heaven later ran for his life and hid in a cave, convinced he was finished. Their faith was real, and yet there were lapses where it did not operate as we would expect. Faith is not a constant, unshakable force. It ebbs and flows, and God does not turn away from us in the ebbing.

What you are experiencing is not a sign that you never had faith, or that God has abandoned you. The same Scripture that commends those who “through faith subdued kingdoms” and “stopped the mouths of lions” goes on to speak of others, equally faithful, who were tortured, destitute, and afflicted. Faith does not guarantee immediate relief from every trial. The promise is not that we will never suffer, but that in the suffering we are never outside the reach of God’s love.

You said you cannot keep believing in someone who ignores you. That comparison to a parent watching a child cry rings deep. On the cross, Jesus Himself cried out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” He knows what it is to feel abandoned by the Father. Yet that cry was not the end of the story. Even in the silence, God was working the greatest rescue ever known. I do not say that to minimize your pain, but to point out that His silence is not always absence, and His delays are not always denial.

Sometimes faith sits passive, a quiet knowing that God can do something, without the certainty that He will do it now. That passive faith is not failure. The woman who touched the hem of Jesus’ garment had that passive faith for years, until the moment came when it was ignited into active trust, and she reached out. What if your act of posting here, your honest reach, is like that outstretched hand? You are not demanding a healing on your terms; you are saying, “I want to believe, help my unbelief.” That whisper is itself faith, a grain of living seed, not yet a full-grown tree, but with life in it.

The root of saving faith is not the strength of our grip on God, but the strength of His grip on us. It is a gift, not something we manufacture by sheer will. When Paul asked, “Did you receive the Spirit by works of the law, or by hearing with faith?” the answer was clear: we receive by believing the promise. And that promise centers on Jesus Christ, not on our own performance of prayer or confession. You have been doing those things for years, and that may have worn you down. But your standing before God was never about how flawlessly you prayed; it was about the righteousness that comes by faith in Jesus. That righteousness is a gift, and it holds even when our feelings tell us otherwise.

I am not going to pretend that your thyroid condition is unimportant, or that your years of pleading are insignificant. They matter. But your hope is not anchored in a clean ultrasound. It is anchored in the God who, in Christ, entered our suffering and will one day wipe every tear. That does not make the waiting easy; it makes it bearable.

If you cannot pray right now, that is all right. A groan, a tear, a silent turning of the heart toward heaven is heard. The Spirit intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words when we have none ourselves. And if you feel your faith is barely a flicker, remember that a single mustard seed, small and alive, is enough. It is not the quantity but the quality of a living faith that matters, and even that living faith is sustained by Him.

Do not try to conjure up a feeling of belief. Instead, look again at Jesus. Consider His life, His death, His resurrection. That is the evidence that God has already shown up for you in the deepest possible way. The healing you seek may come, or it may not come in this lifetime. But the greater healing, the forgiveness of sins, the adoption as a child, the promise of resurrection, is already yours by faith. And that faith, even when battered, is counted to you as righteousness, just as it was with Abraham.

Cling to what is true, not only to what you feel. Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. It sees beyond the visible swelling and the long years. It does not mean you never doubt; it means you keep looking to the One who holds you, even with shaking hands. The just shall live by faith, not by perfect prayers, not by unbroken confidence, but by leaning on the faithfulness of God.

You are not forgotten. The same Lord who allowed Thomas to see the wounds and invited him to touch did not cast him out for his doubts. Bring your questions, your anger, your despair. He can handle them. He is not afraid of your unbelief; He is at work even in it, cultivating a faith that is not blind but has walked through darkness and still reaches for the light.

I am praying that you will find, not necessarily a sudden healing, but a quiet reassurance that you are held. That beneath the turmoil, the Seed of living faith is still there, able to sprout again.

 

[hostadmin]

We want you to know how deeply we’ve carried your heart before the Lord these past weeks. It’s not lost on us how heavy this season has been for you—waiting on ###, watching physical changes you didn’t ask for, and wrestling with questions that feel too big for answers. We’ve prayed for your body, asking God to bring clarity and healing where you’re seeing new symptoms. But more than that, we’ve prayed for your spirit, because we know faith isn’t just tested by circumstances, but by silence when we ache to hear His voice.

Your honesty about doubt and disappointment moved us. It takes courage to say, “I don’t know if I believe anymore,” especially when you’ve prayed, confessed, and stood on promises for so long. We don’t offer empty reassurances or quick fixes, because we know this isn’t about fixing—it’s about being seen. So we’ve asked God to meet you in the raw places, to show you in ways only He can that He hasn’t left you, even when it feels like He has. We’ve prayed for glimpses of His nearness, for moments where the weight of your questions doesn’t have to be carried alone.

You’re not wrong to expect love that shows up. A good Father *does* draw near to His children when they cry out. If you’ve felt abandoned, we’ve asked God to help us all understand why that wound runs so deep—and to begin healing it. We’ve also prayed for your ###, for wisdom for your ###, and for peace to guard your heart while you wait. But mostly, we’ve prayed for you to feel the kind of love that doesn’t turn away, even when we do.

If God has answered any part of this prayer—even in small, quiet ways—we’d be so grateful to hear it. And if the silence still feels louder than His voice, we’re not going anywhere. You can post this again, and we’ll keep standing with you, believing that the One who hears you is already at work, even in the not-knowing. May He remind you in this season that you are deeply loved, and that your honesty is never too much for Him. We continue to lift you up in Jesus’ name.