I was still pretty young when I became convinced that I wanted to spend my life serving as a pastor.

I didn’t know exactly what that would look like. I didn’t know which church I would serve, what position I would have, or how God would get me there. But the calling itself wasn’t something I spent much time questioning.

The part I couldn’t figure out was when.

When you’re young and convinced you know what God has called you to do, waiting can feel unnecessary. I wanted to preach. I wanted to lead. I wanted to help people grow in their relationship with Jesus. I was willing to work hard, learn, serve, and do whatever I needed to do.

So in my mind, the only thing missing was the opportunity.

Looking back, I can see how incomplete that perspective was.

There were things I understood about ministry when I was young, but there were also things I couldn’t possibly understand yet. I could study Scripture, learn leadership principles, watch pastors I respected, and gain ministry experience, but some things simply take time.

Maturity is one of them.

There is a kind of maturity you can learn from a book, but there is another kind that only seems to grow through years of making decisions, getting some of them wrong, apologizing, being disappointed, working with difficult people, discovering your own weaknesses, and learning that loving people is usually much messier than leading them from a distance.

I needed that.

The people I would eventually serve needed me to have it too.

That’s something I didn’t understand when I was younger. I thought waiting was mostly about me and what I wanted God to let me do. Now I realize God also cared deeply about the people who would eventually be affected by my leadership.

God wasn’t only preparing an opportunity for me. He was preparing me for the people who would be on the other side of that opportunity.

If God had handed me everything I wanted when I was twenty, I’m sure I would have been excited. I would have worked hard. I would have genuinely loved Jesus and wanted to serve people well.

I also would have carried every weakness into that responsibility. Many of them, I couldn’t see yet.

That’s the frustrating thing about immaturity. You usually don’t know you’re immature in the places where you’re immature. I certainly didn’t walk around thinking, I’m not ready for this. I thought I was ready. That’s why I was frustrated that it wasn’t happening.

Only years later could I look backward and recognize what those years had produced.

I had learned more about people. I had experienced disappointment. I had watched leaders make good decisions and terrible ones. I had made plenty of my own. I had served in different churches, under different leaders, with different kinds of people. I had discovered that ministry involved much more than preaching a sermon or having a title.

Somewhere in all of that, God was growing me.

Not perfectly. I’m still growing.

But that’s one of the uncomfortable things I’ve discovered about waiting. Sometimes God isn’t withholding something good from us. Sometimes there are things that simply cannot be rushed.

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You can hurry an opportunity, but you can’t hurry maturity.

Maybe that’s part of what makes waiting so difficult.

We can see the thing we’re waiting for, but we can’t always see the person we’ll need to become to carry it well.

Maybe you’re waiting for something right now and you’re relatively confident about what you believe God has put in your heart. The question isn’t necessarily what. It’s when.

• When will the door open?

• When will someone finally give you the opportunity?

• When will the relationship happen?

• When will things change?

• When will you finally get to do the thing you’ve spent years preparing to do?

I understand that question because I spent a lot of years asking it.

But looking backward has given me another question that I didn’t know to ask when I was younger.

What if the waiting isn’t only about when God will give you what you’re asking for? What if it’s also about who you’ll be when you receive it?

That question changes the way I read the story of Moses.

Because Moses knew something needed to happen too.

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Moses Was Right About the Problem

There is a moment early in Moses’ story that I think I’ve misunderstood for years.

Before the burning bush, Pharaoh, the plagues, and the Red Sea, Moses was a man who saw something terribly wrong and decided to do something about it.

Moses had grown up in Pharaoh’s household, but the Hebrews were his people. One day he went out and saw an Egyptian beating one of them. The injustice was real, and in that moment, the suffering wasn’t imagined.

So Moses looked around, saw no one, killed the Egyptian, and hid his body in the sand. The next day, Moses discovered that people knew what he had done. Eventually Pharaoh knew too, and Moses ran for his life.

What fascinates me about this story is that Moses wasn’t wrong about Israel needing deliverance. They did. God had heard their cries. God was going to rescue them, and Moses really was going to play an enormous role in that rescue.

Moses was right about the problem. He was even right that something needed to be done. He just wasn’t ready to decide how it should happen. I understand that more than I would like to admit.

I’ve looked at situations in my life and ministry and known that something needed to change. Sometimes I was right. The problem was real. A conversation needed to happen, a decision needed to be made, or something that wasn’t healthy needed to be addressed.

But being right about what needs to happen doesn’t automatically make me right about how or when it should happen.

Moses tried to accomplish through his own strength something God would eventually accomplish through His. Then Moses disappeared into the wilderness.

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Forty Years Is a Long Time to Watch Sheep

Exodus doesn’t spend much time describing what happened next.

Moses fled Egypt and went to Midian. He met a family there, married Zipporah, had a son, and became a shepherd. Then Scripture moves on.

Stephen gives us an important detail in Acts 7. Moses was about forty when he left Egypt, and he was about eighty when God appeared to him in the burning bush.

Forty years.

We can read across those forty years in a few minutes, but Moses had to live every day between those verses.

There were forty summers and forty winters. There were thousands of mornings when Moses woke up and Egypt was still somewhere behind him. He tended sheep, raised a family, and lived a life that probably looked nothing like the one anyone would have predicted for someone raised in Pharaoh’s household.

Scripture doesn’t tell us everything Moses thought about during those years, so I don’t want to pretend we know. I do wonder, though, whether there were moments when he thought about Egypt. I wonder if he replayed what had happened or wondered what became of the people he left behind.

Maybe he thought that part of his life was over. What we know is much simpler. Moses tended sheep.

There is something about ordinary faithfulness that doesn’t photograph very well. Nobody applauds you for another day of getting up, doing your job, taking care of your family, keeping your word, loving difficult people, and following Jesus when nothing dramatic happens.

But those years still count.

Waiting has a way of separating who we are from the things we thought proved who we were.

Take away the title or the opportunity. Take away the relationship you thought would happen by now. Take away the recognition, the plan, or the thing you believed would finally make everything fall into place.

Eventually, we’re forced to confront a much harder question.

Who am I when the thing I thought would validate me doesn’t happen?

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Waiting Has a Way of Bringing Things to the Surface

I’d prefer waiting to produce patience in the same way my coffee maker produces coffee. Put something in, press a button, wait a few minutes, and receive the finished product.

Spiritual formation seems considerably less efficient. Before waiting produces some of the things we want, it often exposes some things we don’t.

I’ve discovered how much I like control. I’ve seen how easily I compare my life with someone else’s. I’ve realized that sometimes my peace wasn’t coming from trusting God nearly as much as it was coming from believing everything was going according to my plan.

I’ve watched this happen in people I’ve pastored too.

Extended waiting changes the questions people ask. At first, we want to know when something will happen. After enough time passes, we start wondering why it hasn’t happened. Eventually, the question can become much more personal.

• What’s wrong with me?

• Did I miss God?

• Has He forgotten about me?

• Can I still trust Him?

Those aren’t questions I think we need to be ashamed of. I’d rather someone bring those questions honestly to Jesus than pretend they don’t exist.

But we should pay attention to them because waiting has a strange way of bringing things to the surface.

The unanswered prayer may not have created the fear, but it can reveal how much fear was already running our lives.

The closed door may not have created our need for approval. It may simply expose it. The delay may not have made us controlling. It may reveal how much peace we’ve been getting from control.

Sometimes that revelation is painful.

But once something has been exposed, we can finally bring it to Jesus.

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The Moses Who Came Back Was Different

Eventually, Moses was tending sheep near Horeb when something caught his attention.

A bush was burning, except it wasn’t being consumed.

Moses walked closer, and God called his name.

“Moses, Moses!” And he said, “Here I am.” (Exodus 3:4)

God told Moses that He had seen the suffering of Israel. He had heard their cries and knew their suffering.

Then God said:

“Come, I will send you to Pharaoh that you may bring my people, the children of Israel, out of Egypt.” (Exodus 3:10)

This is the part of the story that gets me. The thing Moses had once tried to do himself was actually something God intended to do. Israel really was going to be delivered. Moses really was going back to Egypt.

But listen to the response of the eighty-year-old Moses:

“Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the children of Israel out of Egypt?” (Exodus 3:11)

There is certainly a point where Moses’ hesitation goes too far. By Exodus 4, God becomes angry with him. Insecurity isn’t the same thing as humility, and fear isn’t automatically evidence of spiritual maturity.

Still, I can’t get past God’s response. Moses asks: Who am I?

God doesn’t respond by listing Moses’ qualifications. He doesn’t remind Moses that he grew up in Pharaoh’s household or give him a motivational speech about believing in himself.

He says:

“But I will be with you.” (Exodus 3:12)

Moses asks who he is. God tells Moses who will be with him. That is a very different kind of confidence.

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Maybe Confidence Isn’t the Goal

For a long time, I thought spiritual maturity would make me increasingly confident.

In some ways it has. There are things I understand now that I didn’t understand twenty years ago, and there are situations I can walk into today that would have terrified a younger version of me.

Following Jesus has also made me much more aware of what I don’t know.

I’ve made enough mistakes to know my first instinct isn’t always right. I’ve watched plans I was certain would work fall apart. I’ve watched God use circumstances I would never have chosen, and I’ve discovered that experience doesn’t eliminate my need for Jesus.

If anything, experience has made me more aware of it. Maybe the goal isn’t to come out of waiting believing, I’ve got this. Maybe the goal is to know more deeply, God has me.

That’s a different kind of confidence because it doesn’t require knowing what happens next. It doesn’t need every door to open, and it doesn’t fall apart the moment something goes wrong.

It knows where to look when it doesn’t know what to do.

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Waiting Can Produce Endurance

James writes:

“For you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness.” (James 1:3)

I don’t think steadfastness means learning to enjoy difficult things.

Some waiting hurts. Some prayers carry names. Some unanswered questions affect people we love deeply, and there are things I would never tell someone to stop wanting.

Biblical endurance isn’t pretending the pain doesn’t matter.

It’s learning to keep following Jesus while it does.

You continue praying even when you’ve prayed the same thing hundreds of times. You keep opening Scripture when you don’t understand what God is doing. You keep bringing your disappointment to Him instead of slowly allowing disappointment to push you away from Him.

At first, our faith can become deeply connected to outcomes. God opened the door, so God is good. The report came back clear, so God is faithful. The relationship was restored, so prayer works.

Those are wonderful moments, and we should thank God for them. But what happens when the door stays closed? What happens when the report isn’t what you prayed for or the relationship isn’t restored?

Some faith can only survive when prayers are answered. Waiting can teach us a faith that survives when they aren’t.

That doesn’t mean we stop asking.

It means our trust in God becomes deeper than our ability to understand what He’s doing.

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Waiting Can Make Us Softer

There’s something else I’ve noticed after years of sitting with hurting people.

People who have suffered well tend to listen differently.

That isn’t true of everyone. Pain can make us bitter. It can make us suspicious and cause us to build walls so high that nobody gets close enough to hurt us again.

But I’ve also met people whose pain seems to have made more room inside them for somebody else’s.

They don’t rush people through grief. They don’t reach for a Bible verse five seconds after someone starts crying. They aren’t uncomfortable with questions that don’t have immediate answers because they know what it feels like to live in the middle of a story.

Someone who has waited beside a hospital bed hears fear differently. Someone who has struggled financially notices the family quietly worrying about money. Someone who has experienced church hurt notices the person sitting near the back who disappears the moment the service ends.

Someone who has carried an unanswered prayer usually knows better than to promise another person that everything will work out exactly the way they hope.

They’ve learned how to sit beside someone without needing to fix them.

Pain doesn’t automatically make us compassionate. But surrendered pain can teach us how to sit beside someone else’s pain without being afraid of it.

Maybe that’s something God can produce in waiting too.

Not just stronger faith.

A softer heart.

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Waiting Doesn’t Automatically Make Us Better

This is where I think we need to be careful. It would be easy to turn all of this into a formula. Wait long enough, and eventually you’ll become spiritually mature. Scripture doesn’t tell that story.

Israel spent years in the wilderness and frequently became bitter. Saul waited for Samuel, became impatient, and took matters into his own hands. Abraham and Sarah waited for God’s promise and eventually tried to create their own solution through Hagar.

Waiting can produce some ugly things too.

I’ve watched people come through painful seasons with a deeper compassion for others. I’ve also watched people come through pain determined never to trust anyone again.

The difference isn’t simply time.

Time alone doesn’t produce maturity. What we allow God to do with that time does.

James doesn’t simply tell us that suffering automatically makes us mature. He tells us to let steadfastness “have its full effect.”

There is an invitation there.

We may not get to decide when the waiting ends. We may have very little control over whether the door opens or the circumstances change.

But we can pay attention to what is happening inside us while the door remains closed.

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What Is Waiting Producing in You?

Maybe you’ve spent so much time asking God to change your circumstances that you haven’t stopped to notice what your circumstances are doing to you.

Instead of beginning with what you think you’re supposed to be learning, start with what is actually happening.

What comes out of you when someone else receives the good news you’ve been praying for? Where does your mind go when another month passes without an answer? What are you afraid this delay says about you or about God?

Then ask yourself whether waiting has caused you to start forcing things.

There is a difference between taking the next faithful step and trying to write the ending yourself. Sometimes faith means sending the application, making the phone call, having the conversation, or knocking on another door. Other times, those same actions can come from our desperate need to make something happen.

I’ve done both. The difficult part is learning the difference.

I also think it’s worth asking what waiting is doing to the way you see other people. Are you becoming softer or harder? More compassionate or more withdrawn? Can you celebrate someone’s joy without interpreting their blessing as evidence that God has forgotten you?

Finally, ask what surrender looks like today. Not for the next ten years. Today.

Maybe surrender means taking another faithful step. Maybe it means putting your phone down and stopping the constant checking. Maybe it means celebrating with someone who received what you’re still asking God for. Maybe it means talking with someone because you’ve been carrying this alone for too long.

Or maybe it means sitting with God and praying something painfully simple:

God, I still want this. I’m still asking You for it. But I don’t want wanting this to turn me into someone I don’t want to become. Show me what this waiting is producing in me, and help me give You the parts of me that need Your attention.

I think that’s a prayer worth praying.

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The Road Back to Egypt

I wonder what Moses thought as he started walking back toward Egypt. Forty years earlier, he had left as a fugitive. Now he was returning because God had sent him. The problem in Egypt hadn’t disappeared while Moses was in Midian. The suffering continued, and there was still an incredibly difficult road ahead.

But Moses wasn’t returning alone.

God had said: “I will be with you.” Moses probably wouldn’t have chosen forty years in Midian. I wouldn’t either.

Most of us would choose the shortest possible road between where we are and where we want to be. We would rather God open the door, answer the prayer, fix the problem, and let us keep moving. But Scripture keeps introducing us to people whose stories contain long stretches they probably would have skipped if given the choice.

Abraham had his years without Isaac. Joseph had his prison. David had his caves. Moses had Midian. That doesn’t mean God will eventually give us whatever we’re waiting for if we endure long enough. God made specific promises to those people, and their stories aren’t blank checks for ours.

Some prayers will be answered differently than we hope. Some things we’re waiting for may never happen the way we’ve imagined them. Some questions may follow us for a very long time.

That’s why I’ve started wondering whether when is the only question worth asking.

• I still want to know when.

• I still pray for doors to open.

• I still ask God to change things.

But somewhere alongside those prayers, I’m learning to ask another one.

God, who are You helping me become while I wait?

Because waiting is doing something.

When fear comes to the surface, bring it to Jesus. When jealousy appears, bring that too. Bring Him the anger, the disappointment, the need for control, and the part of you that’s tired of praying the same prayer.

You may not be able to see what God is doing with the thing you’re waiting for yet. But you can begin paying attention to what He’s doing in you.

Moses walked into Midian after trying to accomplish something through his own strength. Forty years later, he walked back toward Egypt carrying something far more important than confidence in himself. He carried the promise of God’s presence.

Maybe that’s one of the gifts hidden inside waiting.

You may not know when the waiting will end, but you don’t have to leave it empty-handed.

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It was a long day at the church and we didn’t want to cook. After spending probably a little too long deciding where we wanted to eat, my wife and I made our way to a restaurant nearby. We walked in, sat down, ordered our food, and for the first twenty minutes I didn’t think anything about it. I was talking with my wife, our drinks were still full, and we ordered an appetizer so we had something on the table to enjoy while we waited.

Then I noticed that the people who sat down after us got their food.

I looked at their table, then at ours. I tried not to make a big deal about it, but now I was paying attention to the kitchen door. It swung open and a server walked out carrying two plates. For a second, I was sure they were ours. I straightened up a little, moved my phone out of the way, and watched the server make their way across the restaurant.

Then they turned toward another table.

By this point, I was hungry enough that whatever they ordered looked amazing.

A few minutes later, the kitchen door opened again and I did the same thing. This time the server walked right past us and set the food down at the table behind me. At some point, the conversation between my wife and me changed. One of us finally asked, “Did they forget about us?” I looked at the time and tried to remember exactly when we ordered. Then I started looking around for our server without wanting to look like I was looking around for our server.

Every time they walked past, I tried to make eye contact.

I started wondering if our order had ever made it to the kitchen. Maybe the ticket got lost. Maybe somebody forgot to put it in. Maybe our food had been sitting under a heat lamp for the last fifteen minutes while everyone assumed someone else had brought it out. The longer I sat there with nothing in front of me, the easier it became to believe that nothing was happening.

But there was one problem with that assumption. I couldn’t see the kitchen.

There could have been a cook standing over our food at that very moment. Someone could have been plating it. Maybe something came out wrong and they decided to remake it instead of serving it to us. There could have been an entire room full of people working on the very thing I was becoming convinced everyone had forgotten about.

From where I was sitting, I couldn’t see any of that.

All I could see was an empty table.

I think waiting on God can feel a lot like sitting at that table. I pray about something. I ask God for direction. I seek wise counsel, make the phone call, fill out the application, have the conversation, and do everything I know how to do. Eventually, I reach the point where there is nothing left for me to do except wait.

That’s where waiting becomes difficult for people like me. I like movement. I like fixing things. Give me a problem and I will probably start building a plan before you have finished explaining it. At least when I’m doing something, I can convince myself that I’m moving forward.

Waiting takes that away from me.

Eventually, I start doing with God exactly what I did in that restaurant. I start looking around for some indication that He hasn’t forgotten about me. Did I misunderstand Him? Did I do something wrong? Is this a closed door? Should I be doing something else? How long am I supposed to sit here?

The longer nothing seems to happen, the easier it becomes for me to interpret what I can see as evidence of what God is doing.

But I’m sitting at the table.

I can’t see the kitchen.

And I wonder how many times I have mistaken my inability to see what God is doing for evidence that God isn’t doing anything.

Joseph could not see what God was doing either.

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A Prison in Egypt

We have an advantage over Joseph that Joseph never had. We know how his story ends.

We know that Pharaoh will have a dream. We know that a cupbearer will be imprisoned, restored to the palace, and eventually remember Joseph’s name. We know that Joseph will leave prison and stand before the most powerful man in Egypt. He will interpret Pharaoh’s dreams and be entrusted with enormous responsibility and authority. We know that famine is coming and that the young man sitting in an Egyptian prison will eventually become part of God’s provision for an entire region, including the brothers who once sold him.

Knowing the ending makes the middle much easier to read.

Joseph did not have that luxury.

By the time we find him in Genesis 40, his life had already taken several turns that would have been difficult to reconcile with the dreams God had given him as a young man. His brothers hated him. They threw him into a pit and sold him to passing traders. He was carried into Egypt and purchased by Potiphar. For a while his circumstances improved, until Potiphar’s wife falsely accused him after Joseph refused her advances.

Joseph did the honorable thing and ended up in prison for it.

It’s hard for me to comprehend what Joseph’s mindset must have been there, especially because he was thrown into prison for doing the right thing. None of it was fair, and Joseph had no way of knowing what God intended to do with any of it.

When I make a foolish decision and suffer the consequences, at least I can trace the road I walked to get there. I may not enjoy admitting it, but I can understand it. There are other moments when you do what you genuinely believe honors God and discover that obedience has made your life harder.

I have sat with people who know that feeling. They remained faithful in a marriage and were still left behind. They told the truth and paid dearly for it. They served people for years and found themselves forgotten when they were the ones who needed help. They tried to raise their children to know Jesus and then watched one of those children walk away from everything they had taught them.

Eventually, the question becomes difficult to look past.

Where is God when doing the right thing seems to lead you in the wrong direction?

Joseph had no explanation. He had a prison.

Yet even there, Genesis tells us that God had not abandoned him. Joseph was given responsibility within the prison, and in time two prisoners were placed in his care. One had been Pharaoh’s cupbearer, the other his baker. Both men dreamed troubling dreams, and Joseph interpreted them. The baker’s dream carried terrible news, but the cupbearer’s dream meant restoration. Within three days, Joseph said, Pharaoh would return the cupbearer to his former position.

For the first time in a long while, Joseph must have seen something that looked like a road out.

He asked the cupbearer to remember him when he returned to Pharaoh’s court. Joseph explained that he had been stolen from his homeland and had done nothing deserving imprisonment. It was a simple request. Tell somebody that I am here.

Everything happened exactly as Joseph predicted. The cupbearer was restored to his position. Then Genesis gives us one painful sentence.

“Yet the chief cupbearer did not remember Joseph, but forgot him” (Genesis 40:23, ESV).

I wonder how long Joseph expected someone to come.

For the first few days, every sound outside the prison might have carried possibility. Perhaps today would be the day. Perhaps the cupbearer had already spoken to Pharaoh. Perhaps someone was coming with orders for his release.

A week passed. Then another.

Eventually, footsteps in the hallway must have stopped sounding like rescue.

Genesis tells us that two whole years passed.

We read those words in seconds, but Joseph lived every single day of them.

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Two Whole Years

The Bible can make waiting seem deceptively short because centuries can disappear between paragraphs. Abraham waits decades and we turn a few pages. Israel wanders forty years and we finish the story before lunch. David runs from Saul for years, but our eyes keep moving because we already know there is a throne waiting for him.

Real waiting does not feel like reading.

There are plenty of ordinary days inside that time. There are birthdays and changing seasons. Other people’s lives continue moving while yours seems strangely fixed in place. Friends receive the thing you have been praying for. Someone else gets married. Someone else gets pregnant. Someone else gets the job. Someone else’s child comes home. Someone else’s opportunity arrives.

You are happy for them, or at least you want to be. Their joy simply reminds you of the empty chair still sitting at your own table.

Extended waiting has a way of changing the questions we ask.

At first we want to know when something will happen. Eventually we begin wondering whether it will happen at all. If enough time passes, the question can become more personal than either of those.

Has God forgotten me?

I suspect Joseph knew something about that question. The cupbearer certainly had forgotten him, and sometimes human forgetfulness begins to change the way we imagine God. We feel forgotten by people and slowly begin wondering whether God has forgotten too.

But while Joseph was living through another ordinary day in prison, something happened in a room he could not see.

Pharaoh dreamed.

He saw seven healthy cows come out of the Nile, followed by seven thin and ugly cows that consumed them. Then came another dream, this time involving seven healthy ears of grain swallowed by seven thin ones. Pharaoh awoke deeply troubled and called for the magicians and wise men of Egypt, but no one could tell him what the dreams meant.

It was then that the cupbearer remembered.

Joseph was still in prison. He had no idea Pharaoh had dreamed anything. He could not hear the conversations in the palace. He did not know that Egypt’s wisest men were failing to provide an answer. He certainly could not know that, after two years of silence, a man standing before Pharaoh was about to say his name.

From Joseph’s side of the story, nothing had changed. From God’s side, pieces were moving everywhere. It is so easy to assume we understand what is happening behind the scenes, but much of God’s work takes place where we cannot see it.

Joseph could see only the prison. He could not see Pharaoh’s bedroom. He could see that the cupbearer had forgotten him. He could not see the moment when memory would suddenly return. He could see another ordinary morning. He could not see a famine approaching Egypt that would create a need for exactly the wisdom God had been developing in him.

Sometimes the part of the story we can see is the smallest part of the larger story God is writing.

For me, this is what happened in our search for another apartment. We didn’t know what God was doing. We simply prayed and took small steps toward what we believed was the right direction. Looking back, I can see that God was working in that situation in ways we could not see at the time. Doors eventually opened that had previously seemed closed.

In all honesty, there have been moments in my own life when I wanted God to move faster, only to discover later that an earlier answer would not necessarily have been a better one. There were circumstances I knew nothing about and conversations I could never have arranged for myself. There were also things in me that needed more time than I would have admitted at the time.

This does not mean every delay will someday make perfect sense. Some won’t. There are prayers we may carry for the rest of our lives without receiving an explanation that satisfies us. Our faith cannot depend upon our ability to understand God’s reasoning.

Joseph’s story offers something deeper and, I think, more useful.

Our inability to see what God is doing tells us very little about what God is actually doing.

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The Man Who Walked Out

While Joseph was waiting for God to change his circumstances, he continued growing.

The prison years were not empty years. Genesis shows Joseph accepting responsibility wherever he was placed. He served and became trustworthy. When the cupbearer and baker were troubled by their dreams, Joseph noticed their faces and asked why they were downcast.

I find that amazing.

Joseph had plenty of reasons to spend every morning thinking about Joseph. He had been betrayed, enslaved, falsely accused, and forgotten. Yet suffering had not made him blind to the people around him. He still noticed when somebody else was hurting.

Perhaps that tells us something about what God was doing during those years.

Joseph would eventually be entrusted with power. Enormous power. Before that happened, he learned how to serve when there was nothing in it for him. He learned integrity when compromise might have made his life easier. He learned responsibility in places far beneath the position he would eventually hold. He learned to see people while carrying pain of his own.

When Pharaoh finally called for Joseph, the man who walked out of that prison was not the same young man his brothers had thrown into a pit years earlier.

Waiting had done something to him.

This is one of the questions I am learning to ask when God seems slow. I still ask when. I still ask why. I still ask God to open doors. I don’t think there is anything wrong with those prayers.

But I am learning to ask another question alongside them.

Who am I becoming while I wait?

That question puts something back into our hands. We cannot always control when the door opens, but we can pay attention to the kind of person we are becoming before it does.

And until it opens, there is still a life to live.

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Somewhere Beyond the Prison Wall

I would like to tell you that whatever you are waiting for is almost here. I would like to tell you that the relationship will be restored, the opportunity will arrive, the medical report will change, your child will come home, or the prayer you have prayed for years will finally be answered.

I cannot promise you any of those things, and I do not think the hope we have requires us to pretend that we can.

What I can tell you is that Joseph went to sleep one night in the same prison where he had spent years of his life, with no knowledge that somewhere beyond those walls the circumstances of his life had already begun to change.

Pharaoh had dreamed. Wise men had failed. A cupbearer had remembered.

Then Genesis 41:14 says that Pharaoh sent for Joseph and they “quickly brought him out of the pit.”

Quickly.

There is something almost amusing about that word after two whole years. For Joseph, nothing seemed to happen for a very long time, and then a great deal happened at once.

Perhaps you are still somewhere in those two years.

If you are, there is no need to pretend that you enjoy it. Tell God you are tired. Ask Him again. Grieve what has not happened. Keep bringing the same prayer if it is still the prayer in your heart.

Then get up tomorrow and follow Jesus.

Pay attention to the people God has put near you. Do the work that belongs to this day. Enjoy the meal. Take the trip. Call the friend. Serve where you are. Let God form something in you that you might need later. And when the silence begins persuading you that nothing is happening, remember the prison in Egypt.

Joseph could see stone walls and locked doors. Somewhere beyond them, a king was dreaming. Joseph could see a forgotten request. Somewhere beyond him, a man’s memory was stirring. Joseph could see the same place where he had awakened yesterday.

God could see the whole road. You and I rarely have that kind of foresight.

For now, perhaps it is enough to know that the prison wall marked the edge of what Joseph could see. It never marked the edge of what God was doing.

As a kid, I thought good preachers could do something almost magical with the Bible. They could take a passage I had heard a dozen times and make me notice something I had never seen.

Sometimes it was a word. Sometimes it was a detail in the story. Then they would connect it to us, and a story written thousands of years ago would feel like it had followed me to church that morning.

I remember watching the room. People would lean forward. Someone would nod. Sometimes everything would get incredibly quiet. The pastor would bring the Scripture, the story, and the point together, and suddenly I was not thinking about him anymore.

I was thinking about God.

I was fascinated. Somewhere along the way, a thought began growing in me: I want to do that someday.

There was one problem. I was terrified of public speaking. I once gave a five- or ten-minute sermon in junior high, and it was terrible. I would get nervous, lose my train of thought, and forget what came next. Still, I wanted to preach.

So I studied, listened, and waited for an opportunity. Maybe five minutes would become ten. Maybe ten minutes would become a sermon. Maybe one sermon would become another.

There was nothing wrong with wanting to grow. I believe God really was preparing something He would use later. The problem was quieter.

I had started treating the life I was living as preparation for the life I actually wanted.

I thought the important part was coming later—when I had the opportunity, the confidence, the title, or the platform. But God was not waiting for someday to begin using my life. I was.

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Abraham Still Had a Life to Live

Last week, I wrote about Abraham’s waiting years. Scripture can cover a decade with a few words. We turn the page in seconds; Abraham had to live every day in between.

God had promised to make him a great nation, but Sarah could not have children. Abraham followed God to Canaan, built an altar, and heard the promise again:

“To your offspring I will give this land.” (Genesis 12:7)

But there was still no offspring.

Then life kept happening. A famine forced Abraham into Egypt. He made questionable decisions, got into trouble with Pharaoh, and eventually returned to Canaan. By Genesis 13, he was back near an altar he had built before.

Still no Isaac.

We read these chapters knowing the promised son is coming, so every chapter without him can feel like something to get through. Abraham could not read his life that way. He woke each morning with animals to tend, servants to direct, tents to move, problems to solve, and people depending on him. Sarah was there. Lot was there. There were meals, conversations, laughter, and ordinary moments Scripture never records.

The fact that Abraham was waiting on God did not excuse him from the famine or prevent conflict between his herdsmen and Lot’s. He could not place every other responsibility on hold until God gave him a son.

Abraham was waiting for his life to change while his life was already happening.

An unanswered prayer can become so large that it blocks our view of everything God has already given us. Isaac mattered. But Isaac was not the only thing in Abraham’s life that mattered.

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Let Lot Choose

Abraham and Lot eventually accumulated so much livestock and so many possessions that the land could no longer support both households. Their herdsmen began arguing, so Abraham proposed that they separate.

Then he did something surprising: he let Lot choose first.

Lot saw that the Jordan Valley was well watered, “like the garden of the LORD,” and took it. Abraham was left with whatever Lot did not choose.

Remember what Abraham was waiting for. God had promised him land. Abraham had left home to go to the place God would show him. Now he stood in that land and gave someone else first choice.

Waiting can make us afraid there will not be enough—enough time, money, opportunities, open doors, or chances to become who we believe we are supposed to be. Every opportunity begins to feel like the last one, so we grab, push, manipulate, and protect.

Abraham was not always good at waiting. Later, he and Sarah would try to fulfill God’s promise through Hagar. But here, he opened his hands.

Maybe Abraham was beginning to understand that if God was responsible for his future, he did not have to fight everyone around him to secure it. Lot’s choice could not cancel God’s promise.

When you are afraid God will not take care of your future, you start clutching everything in your present.

Abraham let go.

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Lift Up Your Eyes

Then God spoke.

“Lift up your eyes and look from the place where you are, northward and southward and eastward and westward.” (Genesis 13:14)

The timing gets me. God could have reassured Abraham before Lot chose the better-looking land. He could have reminded Abraham of the promise before he opened his hands.

But He did not.

Lot chose. Lot left. Then God said, Look.

And I especially love the next words: “from the place where you are.” Not from the place Abraham wished he were. Not from the land Lot chose. Not from the future where Sarah finally held a son.

From here.

I wonder what Abraham saw. Dirt. Hills. Trees. Animals grazing. Lot’s household disappearing in the distance. It certainly did not look like a great nation, yet God told him to look anyway.

We spend so much of life looking elsewhere—toward the job we hope to have, the relationship we hope will change, the opportunity we hope will come, or the person we hope to become. We can become so accustomed to looking toward where we want to be that we stop seeing where we are.

Look from the place where you are.

What if this place is not merely the space between where you were and where you are going? What if someone here is worth loving? What if something here is worth doing? What if God has something to show you before your circumstances change?

God kept meeting Abraham in places he probably thought he was only passing through. Maybe He does the same with us.

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Tents and Altars

Two things keep appearing in Abraham’s story: tents and altars.

Abraham spent much of his life packing. He would settle somewhere, life would develop a rhythm, and eventually it was time to move again. The ropes came down, the animals were gathered, and the place that had been home became another place behind them.

But when Abraham arrived at Shechem, he built an altar. Near Bethel, he built another. When he returned from Egypt, he went back to an altar and called on the Lord. After Lot chose the Jordan Valley, Abraham moved again:

“So Abram moved his tent and came and settled by the oaks of Mamre, which are at Hebron, and there he built an altar to the LORD.” (Genesis 13:18)

The tent kept moving. The altar kept appearing.

I have had plenty of tents in my life. Jobs changed. Ministry changed. Relationships changed. Plans changed. Places that felt permanent became memories surprisingly quickly.

Some things are tents. We are not meant to keep them forever. But wherever we land, we can still open Scripture, pray, worship, gather with people who love Jesus, and remember what God has done.

Those practices may not change our circumstances or tell us when the next chapter will begin. They remind us who God is while we are here.

Abraham could not control every place the journey took him, but he could build an altar when he arrived.

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Do Not Punish Today for What Has Not Happened Yet

Waiting can steal our lives in another way: it can make us feel guilty for enjoying them.

I have seen this in grief. Someone laughs around a table, then suddenly remembers the person they love is gone. Their expression changes, as if enjoying the moment means they are not grieving enough.

We can do something similar when an important part of life remains unresolved. How can I enjoy this season when my marriage is struggling? How can I celebrate when my prayer is still unanswered? We keep disappointment close, almost as if worrying proves how much it matters.

But disappointment does not require our constant attention. There are still meals worth enjoying, people worth laughing with, birthdays worth celebrating, and sunsets worth stopping for.

Abraham waited twenty-five years for Isaac. Surely not every day was miserable. There were meals around the fire, conversations, beautiful mornings, and evenings when everyone sat around longer than usual.

Isaac was not there. That mattered. But his absence did not make everything else meaningless.

You can be disappointed and grateful. You can wait and laugh. You can pray for tomorrow and thank God for today.

You do not dishonor what you are waiting for by enjoying what God has already given you.

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What Is Already in Your Hands?

Abraham did not have Isaac, but he was not empty-handed. He had Sarah, a household, responsibilities, resources, influence, a calling, a relationship with God, and another morning each time he opened his eyes.

Sometimes the thing we are missing becomes so important that we stop noticing what is already in our hands. We stare at the empty chair and miss everyone else at the table.

Who is already sitting at your table? What responsibility has God entrusted to you? Who could you encourage? What opportunity have you ignored because it was not the opportunity you wanted? What would obedience look like if nothing changed this week?

For years, I believed the important part of my calling was ahead of me. Someday I would preach. Meanwhile, there were already people to encourage, Scripture to study, and small opportunities to serve. They simply did not look like the opportunity I was waiting for.

Maybe faithfulness is not waiting for your life to begin. Maybe it is giving God the life that is already happening.

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How Do I Keep Living While I Wait?

“Trust God” is true. But after years of waiting, we may need to know what trust looks like on a Tuesday afternoon. Start with four questions.

What am I postponing?

Finish the sentence, “I will do that when…” Then ask whether it actually needs to wait. Some things do. Others have simply become attached to a future version of your life. Maybe you can call the friend, begin writing, serve somewhere, have people over, or enjoy this season now.

What am I clutching?

Where has uncertainty made you controlling or desperate? What are you afraid will happen if you open your hands? Sometimes our grip tells us more about our fear than our circumstances do.

What is already in my hands?

Name the people, responsibilities, opportunities, gifts, resources, and ordinary good things you have stopped noticing. You may not have what you asked God for, but that does not mean you have nothing.

Where can I build an altar?

Choose one simple rhythm that helps you remember God is present here too. Open your Bible before your phone. Take a walk and pray. Protect a Sabbath. Meet with someone who helps you remember what is true.

Nothing heroic. Just something that says:

God, I am still here. And I know You are too.

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The Ordinary Tuesdays

When we think about Abraham’s wait, we remember the big moments: leaving home, receiving the promise, looking at the stars, and finally holding Isaac.

But most of those twenty-five years were ordinary. Abraham woke up. Someone prepared breakfast. Animals needed attention. There were conversations, problems, meals, work, sunrises, sunsets, and thousands of days Scripture never records.

I wonder how much of Abraham’s life with God happened on those days.

Maybe nothing you are waiting for will happen today. The phone may not ring. The door may not open. The relationship may not change. The answer may not come.

But today is still your life.

There are people to love, work to do, meals to enjoy, and altars to build. Abraham’s waiting years were not simply something to survive before his life began. They were his life too.

And these days are yours.

Do not miss the life God has given you while you are waiting for the life you have asked Him for.

I checked my phone again.

Nothing had changed in the last eleven minutes. Apparently, I believed that my mechanic might sense my concern. Every time my phone got a notification, I would look over and unlock the screen. Every ding. Every beep or buzz.

My phone lay beside my keyboard, close enough that I could see it in my peripheral vision. The house was quiet since my wife had our only source of transportation. I tapped my foot against the floor and tried to work, but I kept thinking about texting him.

“Hey! Just checking in...”

I wrote the message a few times, then deleted it. Each time I remember thinking, “This is stupid.”

Eventually, I put my phone down and worked on something else. I got up, went into another room and, for a little while, completely forgot about the text.

When I came back to my office, I sat down and kept working.

Then it dawned on me.

“I wonder if he texted?”

To my surprise, he had.

I rushed to open the message. The truck wasn’t fixed. I still didn’t have transportation. I was still going to spend money on the repair and wait for him to finish it.

Yet, I felt better.

I sat there wondering, “Why am I like this?”

The problem wasn’t solved. The truck wasn’t fixed. The waiting hadn’t ended. So why did knowing the plan make me feel so much better?

The problem wasn’t the waiting. It was waiting without knowing.

There’s a reason the microwave has a countdown. There’s a reason restaurants tell us, “It’ll be about twenty minutes.” There’s a reason we obsessively check the little map showing our DoorDash driver making his way toward our house.

We’re remarkably patient when we can see the clock.

It’s waiting without a clock that gets me.

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When You Don’t Know Where You’re Going

I wonder what Abraham thought when God told him to leave his home.

He was seventy-five years old. What was he leaving behind that couldn’t be packed onto a camel? What questions would Sarah have asked him, and how many could he actually answer?

God had told Abraham to go “to the land that I will show you.”

Not where it was. Not how long it would take to get there.

Just go, and I will show you.

I wonder how long Abraham traveled before the excitement of being called by God collided with a much more ordinary question:

“Where exactly are we going?”

One of the advantages of reading Abraham’s story is also one of its dangers.

We can turn the page.

Abraham couldn’t.

God often asks us to live faithfully on the page we’re actually on.

A Promise and Tomorrow

Abraham eventually arrived in Canaan. There, God appeared to him and said something fascinating:

“To your offspring I will give this land.” (Genesis 12:7)

There’s just one problem.

Abraham doesn’t have any offspring.

Genesis has already told us Sarah was barren. Before Abraham packed anything, before he left home, and before God spoke these words about his offspring, Sarah couldn’t have children.

God wasn’t simply promising Abraham land. He was promising a future Abraham couldn’t see any reasonable path toward. Somewhere in that future there would be children, then grandchildren, and eventually enough descendants to fill the land.

But Abraham was standing there without even the first child.

We know Isaac is coming.

Abraham didn’t.

He had to live the story one day at a time. And on this particular day, Sarah was still barren.

Yet Abraham does something remarkably simple.

He builds an altar.

I think I would have wanted more details first. When will Sarah have this child? How will this happen? How long are we going to be here?

Abraham doesn’t have those answers yet.

He has a promise.

And then, apparently, he has tomorrow.

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When Tomorrow Keeps Coming

Time passed.

Abraham traveled. There was a famine. He went to Egypt and came back. He and Lot separated. There were battles to fight and people to rescue.

His life was anything but empty.

But still, no child.

God spoke again and told Abraham that his offspring would be like the dust of the earth, more than he could count.

And still, no child.

At first, waiting can almost feel hopeful. You check the phone because surely the call is coming. You watch the door because you expect it to open. You wake up wondering if today might finally be the day.

Then today becomes tomorrow. Tomorrow becomes next week.

Eventually, enough tomorrows pile up that you stop wondering whether today will be the day and start wondering whether the day is ever coming at all.

By Genesis 15, Abraham finally says something:

“O Lord GOD, what will you give me, for I continue childless...” (Genesis 15:2)

I keep coming back to that word.

Continue.

God had promised. Abraham had believed Him. Abraham had obeyed Him.

And Sarah was still barren.

Sometimes we imagine faith as the absence of questions. But Abraham asks.

“Behold, you have given me no offspring.”

You promised me descendants.

I don’t have any.

Abraham isn’t telling God something God doesn’t know. He’s putting words to the distance between what God has said and what Abraham can see.

God doesn’t rebuke him.

Instead, God takes him outside.

“Look toward heaven, and number the stars, if you are able to number them.” (Genesis 15:5)

I wonder how long Abraham looked.

Away from the tents and fires, the darkness would have stretched farther than he could see. One star. Then another. Hundreds. Thousands. Far too many for an old man standing beneath them to count.

“So shall your offspring be.”

Abraham had asked God for something he could understand.

God gave him stars.

The circumstances hadn’t changed. Sarah was still barren. Abraham was still getting older. There wasn’t a child sleeping in their tent that night.

God didn’t end the wait.

He reminded Abraham who had made the promise.

And Abraham believed Him.

Then morning came.

The stars disappeared with the sunrise. Sarah was still Sarah. Abraham was still Abraham. The promise was still a promise.

And they had another day to live.

When Waiting Gets Long

Then another year passes.

Sarah was getting older. So was Abraham. The promise had not changed, but their circumstances had.

Eventually, Sarah came to Abraham with an idea.

She had a servant named Hagar.

Perhaps this was how God’s promise was supposed to happen.

It’s easy to read Genesis 16 knowing what comes next and wonder how Abraham and Sarah could make such a decision. But they couldn’t turn the page. They had a promise from God, a barren woman, an aging man, and years of waiting.

So they found a way to move things along.

Abraham slept with Hagar. She became pregnant, and Ishmael was born.

Their plan worked.

At least, it seemed to.

There is something frightening about that. Sometimes the door we force actually opens. Sometimes the plan we manufacture actually succeeds.

But almost immediately, things began to fall apart. Hagar looked at Sarah differently. Sarah became angry. Hagar eventually fled into the wilderness.

They had ended one kind of waiting and created an entirely different kind of pain.

I understand the temptation.

Waiting without a clock makes me uncomfortable. Eventually, I start looking for clocks I can control. Maybe I can send another message. Make another phone call. Push the door a little harder.

There is a fine line between faithfully taking the next step and trying to write the next page ourselves.

Abraham crossed it.

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Thirteen Years

Genesis 16 ends with a detail that is easy to miss.

Abraham was eighty-six years old when Ishmael was born.

Then you turn the page.

“When Abram was ninety-nine years old the LORD appeared to Abram...” (Genesis 17:1)

Eighty-six.

Ninety-nine.

Thirteen years disappear in the turn of a page.

Scripture doesn’t give us chapters describing those years.

Abraham had to live them.

Thirteen summers. Thirteen winters. Thirteen birthdays.

Ishmael learned to walk and talk. He grew from a baby into a young man. Abraham’s hair grew grayer. Sarah grew older.

And still, no Isaac.

Maybe Abraham thought Ishmael was the answer. Maybe he had misunderstood God. Maybe this was how the promise was supposed to happen after all.

We aren’t told.

We are simply told that when Abraham was ninety-nine, God appeared again.

God had not forgotten.

Thirteen years had passed for Abraham.

The promise hadn’t aged a day for God.

When the Promise Becomes Impossible

God tells Abraham that Sarah will have a son.

Not Hagar.

Sarah.

Abraham falls on his face and laughs.

I’m not sure I blame him.

He is almost one hundred. Sarah is ninety. Twenty-four years earlier, God’s promise had been difficult to understand.

Now it seemed impossible.

Sarah laughs too when she hears the news.

God responds with a question:

“Is anything too hard for the LORD?” (Genesis 18:14)

That’s an easy verse to put on a coffee mug.

It’s a much harder question when you’ve been waiting twenty-four years.

Romans 4 tells us Abraham didn’t pretend his circumstances weren’t real. He considered his own body. He considered Sarah’s inability to have children.

Faith didn’t require Abraham to close his eyes to reality.

He simply became convinced that reality wasn’t the only thing that mattered.

God had spoken too.

Romans says Abraham was “fully convinced that God was able to do what he had promised.”

I don’t think Abraham learned that in an afternoon.

Maybe that kind of conviction takes years. Maybe it takes stars and failures. Maybe it takes trying to write the story yourself and discovering you’re not particularly good at being the author.

Maybe some things can only be learned while you’re waiting.

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At the Appointed Time

Then, finally, Sarah becomes pregnant.

After all the years of wondering, Genesis describes the fulfillment almost quietly:

“And Sarah conceived and bore Abraham a son in his old age at the time of which God had spoken to him.” (Genesis 21:2)

At the time.

Abraham had spent twenty-five years without being able to see the clock.

God apparently had one all along.

Abraham was one hundred years old when Isaac was born.

I try to imagine him holding that little boy. The same arms that had packed his belongings twenty-five years earlier now held the thing God had promised.

Maybe he remembered leaving home. The land. The stars. Hagar. Ishmael. His own laughter.

Twenty-five years is a lot of life to hold alongside a newborn child.

The promise had finally become something Abraham could touch.

The waiting was over.

Or at least, that’s where I expected the story about waiting to end.

It doesn’t.

The Man Who Walked Up the Mountain

Years later, God tells Abraham to take Isaac to a mountain.

The son he had waited for.

The son God had promised.

Isaac.

God asks Abraham to offer him as a sacrifice.

There are few passages in Scripture that make me more uncomfortable than Genesis 22. But reading it alongside the previous chapters made me notice something.

Abraham gets up the next morning and goes.

The man who tried to help God fulfill His promise in Genesis 16 now walks toward a mountain carrying that promise with him.

Something has changed.

Hebrews tells us Abraham believed God was able even to raise Isaac from the dead.

In Genesis 16, Abraham couldn’t see how God could fulfill the promise, so he created another way.

In Genesis 22, Abraham still couldn’t see how God could fulfill the promise.

But this time he trusted God with what he could not understand.

What happened between those two chapters?

Years. Failure. Grace. Altars. Questions. Silence. Stars. A son.

Waiting.

Suddenly, I began to wonder whether Isaac was the only thing God had been working on for those twenty-five years.

Maybe God wasn’t simply preparing Isaac for Abraham.

Maybe God was preparing Abraham for Isaac.

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Maybe I’ve Been Asking the Wrong Question

I started thinking again about my phone sitting beside my keyboard.

Eleven minutes.

That’s all it took for me to get restless.

Abraham waited twenty-five years.

His story doesn’t mean everything I want will eventually happen if I wait long enough. God made Abraham a specific promise. I can’t turn his promise into God’s guarantee for every prayer I pray.

Some things I’m waiting for may happen. Some may happen differently than I expect. Some may never happen at all.

That’s uncomfortable because I still want the clock.

I want God to tell me when. I want to know how. I want to turn the page and make sure everything works out before I decide how much I trust Him on the page I’m living now.

So I’ve spent a lot of my life asking: How do I get through the wait?

It’s not a bad question.

I’m just beginning to think there may be a better one: Who am I becoming while I wait?

Abraham didn’t simply arrive at the end of twenty-five years with Isaac.

He arrived there as a different man.

The road had changed the traveler.

He had trusted. Questioned. Failed. Tried to force the story. Watched the impossible become possible. And eventually, he learned to place even the promise itself back into God’s hands.

The waiting wasn’t empty space between God’s promise and God’s purpose.

It was part of what God used to form Abraham.

Another Day to Live

Maybe that’s where you are.

You’ve prayed. You’ve obeyed the best you know how. You’ve checked the phone and watched the door. Maybe you’ve even tried to force a few things along the way.

And you still don’t know what happens next.

I wish I could tell you when the page will turn.

I can’t.

I can’t promise your story will end the way you’ve pictured it either.

But you have this page.

You have today.

What is this season revealing about you? Where has waiting exposed your need for control? Are you becoming bitter, or softer? Are you learning to trust God without requiring Him to explain Himself first?

I still prefer clocks.

I like countdowns. I like plans. I’m probably still going to check my phone more than I should.

But Abraham’s story has made me wonder whether my obsession with knowing what happens next can cause me to miss what God is doing now.

We can turn the page in Abraham’s story.

We can’t turn the page in ours.

Maybe faithfulness is learning to live with God on the page we’re actually on.

So perhaps the next time I find myself asking, “God, how do I get through this wait?” I’ll try to remember Abraham.

And I’ll ask a different question.

God, who are You helping me become while I wait?

Waiting is like sending a text message, watching the read notification appear, and then… nothing. You wonder what’s happening because they normally respond to your messages. Then you start asking more questions. Why are they not responding? Did I do something? What am I missing?

Waiting on God often feels like this. Not because He is absent, but because silence can make us question ourselves.

Waiting might be the hardest part of my walk with Jesus. At a very young age, I knew deep in my soul that I would serve as a Pastor. It wasn’t because of pride, or some infatuation with the role, I just couldn’t escape the conviction that God placed in my heart.

I’m not a person that waits very well. I get fixated on what I think God wants from me and my cadence in pursuing that is much faster than it should be.

I can also be pretty forgetful, so being obedient in the moment is very important for me because missing something God wants me to do would be devastating.

My personality is one where:

• I naturally start making plans.

• I solve problems before anyone asks.

• If something is broken, I want to fix it.

• Standing still feels irresponsible.

Maybe you’re like me and you’re waiting, too.

• Waiting for direction.

• Waiting for a job.

• Waiting for healing.

• Waiting for reconciliation.

• Waiting for a spouse.

• Waiting for a child.

I’ve waited for all of those, and I can tell you that waiting often feels like failure. We all have different prayers, different circumstances, but the same questions.

When I was starting in ministry, I carried a deep conviction that God was calling me into pastoral ministry.

The road to the pulpit looked nothing like I expected. There were so many ups and downs that I questioned my calling more than once.

It seemed like others were being promoted before I was. That affected me more than I wanted to admit. I congratulated them. I smiled. I was careful not to let my voice change or reveal what was happening inside me. When no one was looking, I was quietly reminded of what I was still waiting for.

Then in prayer I would ask,

“God…

What’s wrong with me?

What are you doing that I can’t see?”

My heart has always been to be obedient. I was fine with a “not now” from God, but waiting felt like I was missing the mark.

This was during a time of ministry where things were going well. I was doing all the things I believed God had called me to do. Still, what I believed God had called me to do felt miles away.

After three churches, closed doors, and a lot of disappointment, I thought I might have disqualified myself somehow.

I would ask questions like:

• Did I miss God’s voice?

• Did I ruin His plan?

• Was I simply broken in ways that were only visible to others?

Looking back, I wasn't afraid that God had forgotten me. I was afraid I had failed Him.

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Why does God make faithful people wait?

There’s a part of us that automatically assumes delay means disapproval.

Why do we do that?

• I know that I wasn’t running from God, I was running toward Him.

• I know that I wasn’t asking for something sinful.

• I know that I genuinely wanted to serve.

So why would God slow someone down who wanted to obey Him?

My generation grew up playing video games, and one thing that sticks out to me is that as you follow along in a game, each milestone unlocks new abilities, new tools, and new areas.

Real life doesn’t work that way. God often gives us the next responsibility only after we’ve become the kind of person who can carry it.

Waiting is a tool God uses to sharpen us, to deepen our understanding, and to make us fully reliant on Him.

When I was 20 years old serving in a big church, that’s a trial-by-fire environment where my limited wisdom could have had disastrous consequences I’m not saying that I would have made terrible decisions, but I know that the environment (at that time) wasn’t one where I could have grown.

For instance, there are things in a big church that are just handed to you. It always seemed like the Pastor had the ability to show up on Sunday, give the message, and go home while the staff do everything else. From my perspective as a young staff member, that's all I could see. Now I know they carry people's grief, broken marriages, financial struggles, conflicts, hospital visits, staff issues, board meetings, and countless decisions no one ever sees.

Serving in big, small, and helping to plant a church gave me a perspective I would have never had if I had stayed in the big church. I’ll be honest here, some of those experiences felt like detours. There were times when my conversation with God was more like, “WHY?!?!”.

At 20, I thought the greatest gift God could give me was a platform. Looking back, the greatest gift He gave me was perspective.

God wasn’t wasting those years. He was making sure my character could support the calling He had already planned.

I’ve had to ask myself, what if God measures success differently than I do?

For me, success meant being in the center of God’s will, and that should be evident by the doors He’s opening.

While I was measuring whether God was opening doors, God was measuring whether I looked more like Jesus than I did yesterday.

• Was I learning to celebrate someone else’s success?

• Was I learning to serve without a title?

• Was I learning to obey before I was recognized?

• Was I becoming the kind of man who would point people to Jesus instead of myself?

There were plenty of growth areas I was blind to.

I went through a season where God was showing me that I didn’t need the church to give me permission to do what God had called me to do.

It’s embarrassing how obvious that was. For me, I love the church and I still believe it’s the best chance we have to look like Christ before His return.

At some point, I started telling myself that I would obey God when someone gives me the opportunity, but what really happened was the shift in me.

I realized that I can obey today with what God has already placed in my hands.

So I stopped waiting for someone else’s invitation and started being faithful with what God had already entrusted to me.

Not because I needed approval, but because I needed to serve. In that place, God could grow me in ways that wouldn’t have happened otherwise.

Then I noticed something.

As I read scripture, I’ve noticed that God almost never gives someone great responsibility before first giving them a season of hidden growth.

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David’s Waiting Season

David was chosen out of a household of many older brothers to become the next king. He was anointed by the prophet Samuel, and then what happened? After being anointed, it would make sense for him to go right to the palace and being his reign.

But where was David? In the fields, caring for sheep. Keeping them safe. Feeding them.

Why would God train a future king by giving him sheep instead of a throne?

Imagine it.

Samuel has just anointed you. Your family watched it happen. You know you’re God’s chosen king.

And the next morning...

You wake up before sunrise. Grab your staff. Count sheep. Walk the same hills. Sleep under the same stars.

Nothing changed.

I can imagine he might have thought, “God… what are you doing?”

In all the waiting, God still didn’t remove Saul who was Israel’s current king. In fact Saul got to know David after he killed a giant of a man in battle when he was a young man.

The people loved David, and Saul became convinced David would eventually take the throne, so he tried to kill him before that could ever happen.

Even in that season, David waited.

Twice he stood over Saul and didn’t take his life. He chose not to end the waiting.

Even though everyone around him said this was God’s will. David trusted God more than his circumstances.

He could have shown up with his Mighty Men and taken the crown by force. But no, he didn’t take any shortcuts.

This is where I’ve learned that not every opportunity is permission.

It was in the fields, the palace, the battlefield, the caves, and the years on the run that God was forming David into a person that could carry the weight of the crown.

David wasn’t waiting to become king. He was already living like one. Not because he had the title and the responsibility, but because he had the character to carry it.

He protected sheep before he protected a nation and He learned to trust God against lions and bears before he trusted Him against Goliath. He served Saul faithfully before he replaced Saul and he refused to seize the throne before God entrusted it to him.

After years of serving people, I’ve learned that God doesn't prepare us for the assignment by giving us the assignment. He takes His time and prepares us for the assignment long before we carry that responsibility.

God wasn’t delaying the throne because He doubted David’s calling. God cared about the people David was about to serve so much that he chose not to rush the process.

God's greatest work often happens long before His greatest opportunities.

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How do we wait well?

Waiting well is not as passive as we think, but it’s active discipleship. The goal is to obey God with what He has already placed in our hands.

We need to be faithful with where we are right now. Don’t get hung up on a title, promotion, opportunity, or platform.

Ask yourself, “What has God already entrusted to me?”

Become a disciple before becoming a leader.

Jesus is inviting you to come to the table and sit with Him a while. It’s in these quiet moments that we can learn from Jesus, be corrected, and ultimately grow. It will take surrendering your time and what you think you should be doing.

The greatest leaders remain lifelong disciples.

Don’t confuse silence with absence.

God isn’t ghosting you.

He isn’t ignoring you.

He may simply be working somewhere you can’t yet see.

Waiting reveals what we worship.

If this opportunity that you’ve been waiting for never comes, would Jesus still be enough?

Keep serving

Waiting doesn’t mean you have to sit around. David kept shepherding.

Plenty of times I kept serving while I was waiting for God to open the next door.

Keep serving and know that God will open the next door when you’re ready.

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Who Are You Becoming?

Our goal in waiting should never be to just get through it, but to let God accomplish everything He wants to do through it.

David had no idea that while he was caring for sheep, God was preparing a nation.

You don’t know who your present faithfulness is preparing you to serve.

You don’t know what God is doing in the background.

God gave these words to Israel during their long season of exile. They waited decades. While this promise was given specifically to them, I think it reminds us of God’s character. He’s still working for His purposes even when we cannot see what He’s doing.

“For I know the plans I have for you declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” (Jeremiah 29:11)

My prayer for you is that when you look back at the season you’re in now, the one you wanted to escape, you’ll realize that God was preparing you for everything He has planned.

I’ll leave you with a question. In your prayer time, ask God:

“God who are You helping me become while I wait?”

There’s a particular kind of pain that shows up when people who were supposed to help you heal become the ones who made the wound deeper.

When a person who doesn’t know God hurts you, you can almost write it off as “they can’t help it because they never claimed to know God.”

But it’s a very different thing when a person who taught the Bible, led meetings, served on teams, prayed out loud, and knew exactly what to say while they broke something in you.

That hurt stays with you and follows you into worship. It’s with you when you open the Bible and changes the way you hear sermons, invitations, apologies, and even the word “community.”

Sometimes it changes the sound of God’s voice in your mind.

You still love Jesus. You may still believe the gospel. You may still want to be a gracious person. But something in you pulls back.

You develop a tone with people and you notice power dynamics.

You start to see who gets protected, and who gets corrected.

You begin to see people using spiritual language to avoid taking responsibility.

And then you wonder if you’re becoming bitter.

It is possible that you’re not bitter, but injured.

Injured people need more than a lecture about forgiveness.

They need to know that Jesus saw this behavior, too.

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Jesus Was Not Shocked by Religious Failure

Religious people weren’t able to hide their failures around Jesus.

That is both comforting and uncomfortable for religious people.

Jesus loved them. Comforted them. He invited them.

He was never fooled by their appearance.

He knew that a person could know scripture and still miss mercy. He knew someone could stand in a holy place with a heart that was unholy. He knew religious systems could protect reputations at the expense of the wounded.

This matters if you’ve been hurt in church.

Sometimes people act like naming the harm is the same as attacking the faith—and it’s not.

Jesus named harm clearly.

He called out hypocrisy. Exposed pride. Challenged leaders who placed heavy burdens on people and would not lift a finger to help them. He grieved over people who used religion to protect their image and avoid the truth inside.

Jesus didn’t ask hurt people to pretend their wounds weren’t real.

He told the truth.

That means we don’t have to choose between honesty and faithfulness.

You can love Jesus and still say, “that was wrong.”

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A Man Left Wounded on the Road

Jesus told a story about a man who traveled from Jerusalem to Jericho.

This man was traveling a dangerous road—one that was isolated and steep, and where a person would not want to remain alone for long.

On the journey, the man was attacked by robbers.

He was stripped, beaten, and left half dead.

Think about that for a minute.

He was half dead.

He was alive, but not able to get himself home.

Church hurt can feel like that.

You’re still doing all the normal things.

Still answering emails, getting groceries, smiling when you need to.

But there’s a part of you that’s lying in that ditch on the side of the road, trying to breathe.

Jesus says a priest came by. A priest.

If anyone should have stopped and helped this person, it was him.

This person knew the law. He knew that showing mercy mattered.

He knew that God required mercy.

But when he saw the wounded man, he passed by on the other side of the road.

Then a Levite man came. Here’s another religious man. Someone who is connected to worship, service, and sacred things.

He saw this poor man too. And he also passed by.

Jesus doesn’t tell us about their excuses.

Maybe they were busy, afraid, and knew that helping would have cost too much.

Maybe they had somewhere important to be, or they had a very spiritual reason for not getting involved.

But the man in the road didn’t need their reasons. He needed mercy.

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When the People Who Should Stop Keep Walking

If you’ve been hurt in the church, you may relate to this man’s story more than you’d like to admit.

It’s not just the original wound; it’s also the passing by and the silence afterward.

The people who saw enough to know something was off, but didn’t want the disruption of caring.

The leader who quickly changed the subject.

The friend who ghosted you.

The person who said, “I’ll pray for you,” because saying that was easier than sitting with the truth.

The community that knew how to celebrate publicly, but not how to restore privately.

Sometimes the real issue is not that you were hurt, but that the people who should have stopped, kept walking.

When that happens, it’s understandable that people question everything.

Was any of my experience real? Did they ever care about me? Is this what the church is? Is this what God is like?

These are big questions and they don’t go away just because someone tells you to move on.

Church hurt often leaves people grieving two things at once: what happened, and what should have happened but did not.

That second one is harder to explain.

You are grieving an apology that never came, protection that was never offered, the conversation that nobody was brave enough to have, and the version of church that you thought you belonged to.

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When Church Leaders Don’t Look Like Jesus

When you serve as a pastor, one of the most unsettling things you discover is how much brokenness can hide behind the parts of church everyone sees.

People see the stage, the services, the smiles, the meetings, the language.

But leaders often see another layer. And sometimes that layer is painful.

I wish I could say church leadership always looks different from the world. Sometimes it does. There are humble, faithful leaders who quietly carry people, tell the truth, repent quickly, and love well.

But sometimes church leadership can look a lot like any other workplace with a ladder.

People protect position. People manage perception. People treat other leaders with contempt. People use spiritual language to cover insecurity, ambition, or fear.

We are supposed to be different. But we are still human. And when leaders are not deeply connected to Jesus, they can start looking like the systems they preach against.

I have been in rooms where I had to take the heat for things I did not do, could not have known about, and had no power to prevent.

I have been made the scapegoat because someone needed the story to land somewhere other than on them.

I have also been in situations where church leaders said things about me that were not true, hoping I would get frustrated enough to leave quietly.

That kind of thing does something to you.

Not just because it hurts personally, but because it happens in a place where people are talking about Jesus.

And when you are close enough to see that kind of brokenness, you understand why some people walk away wounded. You understand why they struggle to trust again. You understand why a sermon about forgiveness may not be enough.

Because sometimes the pain is not coming from people outside the church. Sometimes the pain is coming from people carrying church keys.

That is why the Good Samaritan story matters so much to me. Jesus did not pretend religious people always stop.

In His story, the priest saw the wounded man and kept walking. The Levite saw him too and passed by.

That part is uncomfortable because it tells the truth.

Religious titles do not automatically create mercy. Church roles do not automatically make someone safe. Being near holy things is not the same as having the heart of Jesus. And if you have been hurt by people who should have known better, I do not want to rush past that.

I just want to say: Jesus sees it. He saw it then. He sees it now. And He is not the one who crossed the road.

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The Surprise in Jesus’ Story

Then there’s a person who showed up in Jesus’ story that no one expected.

A Samaritan.

You have to understand that to Jesus’ audience, the Samaritan should not have been the hero. He was an outsider, a person with the wrong background, and one that people had theological and cultural reasons to avoid.

But he was the one that stopped.

He saw the wounded man and had compassion. Not a vague feeling. Instead of a quick sympathetic glance, he had compassion that moved him.

The Samaritan went to him and bandaged his wounds. Poured oil and wine. He placed him on his own animal and brought him to an inn. Paid for his care and promised to come back.

That is what mercy looks like in the real world.

It sees what is happening.
It moves toward the person who is hurting.
It does the work of restoration, even when it is costly.
It stays involved after the immediate danger has passed.

Jesus showed us that religious people are not always the people who reflect God.

God may send someone you least expect to care for you.

This can be both painful and hopeful.

God’s mercy is not limited to the people who fail you.

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God Is Not the Priest Who Passed By

I want you to know something important.

God is not the priest who passed by.

He’s not the Levite who looked and left quickly.

He’s not the leader who minimized your hurt.

He’s not the friend who got uncomfortable and ghosted you.

He’s certainly not the system that protected itself.

If church hurt has distorted your picture of God, that makes sense. When people carry God’s name while doing harm, it can make God feel unsafe too.

But Jesus tells us this story to separate religious appearance from true mercy.

The priest and the Levite may have represented respected religious leaders, but they did not represent the heart of God in that moment.

The heart of God was on display when the Samaritan man moved toward the wounded person.

If you want to know what God is like, look at the one who stops, the one who comes near, the one who treats wounds gently, the one who does not demand that wounded people get up quickly that everyone else can feel better.

Jesus is not a slave driver who stands over your pain with impatience.

Jesus is not embarrassed by your questions.

He’s not asking you to pretend the road was safer than it was.

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Healing Does Not Mean Calling Evil Good

Those who have been hurt in the church may feel that beginning to heal would invalidate their suffering. That it means the people who hurt them get away with it. That it means they must smile, return, trust quickly, or act like the wound didn’t hurt.

But that’s not healing. That would be denial with church words on it.

Healing doesn’t mean calling evil good. It doesn’t mean pretending the priest stopped when he didn’t. It also doesn’t mean handing unsafe people the same access to you again.

It means that what happened was real, but it is not lord. It means their failure was costly, but it doesn’t get the final word over your relationship with God.

Forgiveness—when it comes—is not the same as pretending. Reconciliation—if it ever happens—requires truth, repentance and repair.

You are allowed to have boundaries.

You are allowed to need time.

You are allowed to stop confusing pressure with the peace of healing.

Jesus never asked wounded people to make other people comfortable by rushing their healing.

The Problem Church Hurt Leaves Behind

Church hurt often teaches us to distrust everyone, not just the people who have proved unsafe.

It’s understandable, but also exhausting.

When you carry deep wounds, your nervous system starts treating every situation like the last one. Every leader sounds like the old one, every invitation feels like a trap, and every disagreement feels like danger.

You may find yourself scanning instead of resting. Maybe you listen for what’s not being said. You might wait for the moment the mask slips.

That thinking might help you survive, but it cannot help you heal.

Those survival instincts may have protected you, but they can also keep you alone.

Church hurt can create this type of problem. It can make isolation feel safer than being loved. And for a while, it might be.

But isolation is a poor long-term shepherd.

While it can’t wound you the same way people can, it also cannot hold your hand, pray with you, bring soup, tell you the truth, or remind you about that person you are when you forget.

The answer is not to run back into unsafe spaces, but to let Jesus teach you the difference between unsafe religion and real mercy.

How to Begin Again Without Pretending

If you are trying to heal from church hurt, you probably don’t need someone to give you a big plan.

You may just need permission to take a small step without feeling guilty that it’s small.

Because when you’ve been hurt by people in the church, even simple things can feel complicated.

Walking into a service can feel complicated. Opening your Bible can feel complicated. Trusting someone who seems kind can feel complicated. Even praying can feel complicated because somewhere in the back of your mind you might wonder if God is disappointed that you’re not doing better by now.

But healing doesn’t usually start with doing better. Sometimes it starts with telling the truth. You don’t have to trust a whole church overnight. You don’t have to tell your whole story to someone who has not earned the right to hear it.

You don’t have to go back into the same room that hurt you just because someone else thinks you should be “over it” by now.

You can begin with Jesus.

And you can begin honestly.

• “Jesus, I’m angry.”

• “I miss who I was before all of this happened.”

• “I don’t know how to trust Christians right now.”

• “I want to believe You are different, but I’m struggling.”

• “I need help.”

That may not sound like a very impressive prayer. But maybe impressive prayers are part of what wore you out.

Sometimes the most faithful prayer is the one that comes out messy, tired, and barely held together.

That is not faithlessness. That is honesty. And honesty is often where healing begins.

Then, little by little, pay attention to where mercy shows up. Not in big, dramatic ways necessarily. Maybe it shows up in one person who listens and doesn’t rush to correct you. Maybe it shows up in someone who can sit with your pain without needing you to make it smaller. Maybe it shows up in a friend who doesn’t use Bible verses like duct tape.

Maybe it shows up in someone who apologizes without explaining why you shouldn’t have been hurt. Maybe it shows up in a quiet Sunday where nobody notices you, and for once that feels like relief.

Trust probably won’t come back all at once. It may come back in pieces.

One conversation. One cup of coffee. One safe person. One prayer in the car before you decide whether you’re going inside. One moment where you realize your faith may be bruised, but it’s not dead.

What To Do With Religious Anger

You may still be angry.

That might make you uncomfortable, especially if you were taught that anger is always a problem.

But some anger is not rebellion. Some anger is grief with its eyes open. When something sacred gets mishandled, anger makes sense. When people use God’s name to cover their pride, anger makes sense. When someone protects the person who caused harm and questions the person who was hurt, anger makes sense.

The question is not always, “Should I be angry?” Sometimes the better question is, “Where is this anger taking me?”

Because anger needs somewhere to go. If you bury it, it usually comes out somewhere else. It comes out in your tone. It comes out in your body. It comes out when someone says one small thing and suddenly you are reacting to ten years of pain.

But if you feed it every day, it can start to change you too. You can become hard and call it discernment. You can become suspicious and call it wisdom. You can become cold and call it boundaries.

And listen, boundaries matter. Discernment matters. Wisdom matters. But your heart matters too. One of the painful things about church hurt is that it can make you afraid of becoming soft again.

You may think, “If I become tender, I’ll get hurt again.” So you keep your guard up. You stay sharp. You keep people at a distance. You make sure nobody gets close enough to do that kind of damage again.

I understand that.

But Jesus has something better for you than being hard to hurt.

He wants you healed.

And healing does not mean you become naive. It does not mean you ignore red flags. It does not mean you hand your heart back to unsafe people and hope they do better this time.

It means the wound no longer gets to be in charge of every room you walk into. You can be tender and wise. You can be honest and merciful. You can have boundaries and still have love. You can remember what happened without letting it become the whole story.

That kind of healing takes time.

Probably more time than people want it to take. But Jesus is patient with wounded people, even when other people are not.

The Last Word Is Mercy

The Good Samaritan story is not only about becoming the kind of person who stops for someone else.

Sometimes it is about admitting that you are the one on the side of the road.

That can be hard to say. Most of us would rather be useful than needy.

We would rather be the strong one, the helper, the person who has learned the lesson and can now explain it to everybody else.

But sometimes you are not the Samaritan yet. Sometimes you are the man in the ditch. You are wounded. You are tired. You cannot get yourself all the way home. And that is not shameful. It is human.

Jesus does not seem embarrassed by people who need mercy. He is not standing over you saying, “You should be farther along by now.” He is not asking you to clean yourself up on the side of the road before He comes near.

If religious people passed by you, Jesus did not. If someone used God’s name carelessly, Jesus has not forgotten His own name. If the church failed to look like Christ, Christ has not failed to be Himself.

There is still mercy on the road. There is still oil for wounds. There is still a place to recover. There is still a way for your faith to become tender again without becoming foolish.

Maybe you are not ready to call the church safe. Maybe you are not ready to trust like you used to. Maybe you do not know what healing is supposed to look like from here. That is okay.

Start smaller. Jesus sees the wound. Jesus tells the truth. Jesus comes near.

And when religious people keep walking, mercy still crosses the road.

A few weeks ago, someone asked me if hell is a real place.

Being a Pastor, I’ve answered this question before and I’ve learned that the real question is not always what you think.

Most people want to know about a friend or family mamber who wasn’t a believer.

Then the next question is:

“How could a loving God send anyone there?”

They never say it with a smile on their face. It’s always with tears, grief, fear, or dissapointment.

That’s makes total sense.

What they realize is that if hell is real, then it’s the most sobering truth of scripture.

But yet, it’s also the most misunderstood.

Let’s talk about what does the Bible actually says.

The Short Answer

Yes.

According to the Bible, hell is a real place.

Not because the church invented the idea.

Not because preachers wanted something to scare people with.

Because Jesus talked about it.

That surprises a lot of people.

When we think about Jesus, we picture compassion, mercy, forgiveness, and grace. All of that is true. But it’s also true that no one in Scripture spoke more clearly about hell than Jesus did.

That should make us stop and ask why.

Why Would Jesus Talk About Hell?

Jesus never used hell as a scare tactic.

He used it as a warning.

There’s a difference.

If I saw a bridge had collapsed around the next corner, love wouldn’t keep me quiet. Love would warn you before you got there.

That’s what Jesus does.

He speaks about judgment because He loves people too much to pretend it doesn’t exist.

He describes hell as:

A place of judgment

Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. (Matthew 25:41)

Separation from God

And then will I declare to them, ‘I never knew you; depart from me, you workers of lawlessness.’ (Matthew 7:23)

Irreversible consequences

And if your hand causes you to sin, cut it off. It is better for you to enter life crippled than with two hands to go to hell, to the unquenchable fire. And if your foot causes you to sin, cut it off. It is better for you to enter life lame than with two feet to be thrown into hell. And if your eye causes you to sin, tear it out. It is better for you to enter the kingdom of God with one eye than with two eyes to be thrown into hell, ‘where their worm does not die and the fire is not quenched.’ (Mark 9:43-48)

Even in Luke 16, where Jesus tells the story of the rich man and Lazarus, the point isn’t to satisfy our curiosity about the afterlife. The point is that our response to God in this life matters far more than we often realize.

Is Hell Just a Metaphor?

Some Christians believe the descriptions of hell are symbolic rather than literal.

It’s true that the Bible uses powerful imagery.

Fire.

Darkness.

Weeping.

Gnashing of teeth.

Whether those images are literal descriptions or pictures meant to communicate a deeper reality, they all point in the same direction.

Hell is not somewhere anyone should want to be.

Sometimes people ask whether the fire is symbolic.

Personally, I think we’re asking the wrong question.

If Jesus repeatedly warned people about hell, then our attention shouldn’t be on trying to soften His words. It should be on understanding why He loved people enough to say them.

The Question Most People Are Really Asking

In my experience, this is where the conversation usually turns.

People aren’t trying to win a theological debate.

They’re trying to understand God.

How could a loving God send people to hell?

That’s a fair question.

The Bible tells us that God is love.

It also tells us that He is perfectly holy and perfectly just.

We often want those truths to compete with each other, but Scripture never does.

Imagine a judge who simply refused to punish evil.

Who looked at abuse, violence, exploitation, and murder and said, “Let’s just forget about it.”

We wouldn’t admire that judge.

We’d call him unjust.

Justice isn’t the opposite of love.

Real love takes evil seriously because it takes people seriously.

Here’s What Gives Me Hope

Whenever I talk about hell, I don’t want people to stop there.

The story of the Bible has never been, “There’s a hell.”

The story has always been, “There’s a Savior.”

Before God ever spoke of final judgment, He made a way for sinners to be rescued.

Jesus didn’t come into the world looking for people to condemn.

He came looking for people to save.

That’s why the cross matters so much.

On the cross, Jesus willingly took the judgment that belonged to us so that anyone who trusts Him could receive forgiveness instead.

Peter reminds us that God is patient, “not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance” (2 Peter 3:9).

God is not eager to condemn.

He is eager to save.

The Real Decision

I sometimes think we’ve made hell the center of this conversation when Jesus made Himself the center.

Again and again, Jesus invited people to follow Him.

To trust Him.

To receive life.

In John 5:40, He says,

“Yet you refuse to come to me that you may have life.”

That verse has always stood out to me.

Jesus isn’t standing with folded arms waiting to reject people.

He’s inviting them to come.

The tragedy isn’t that God refuses people.

The tragedy is that so many refuse Him.

So, Is Hell a Real Place?

According to Scripture, yes.

Jesus spoke about hell because He loved people enough to warn them.

But His warnings were never the end of the story.

Every warning came with an invitation.

Every warning pointed toward the cross.

Every warning reminded people that forgiveness was available while there was still time.

If you’ve been wrestling with this question, I hope you won’t stop with wondering whether hell is real.

Ask the better question.

What will you do with Jesus?

Because the heart of Christianity has never been about fear.

It’s always been about the God who loved the world enough to send His Son so that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life.

Frequently Asked Questions

Did Jesus really talk about hell?

Yes. Jesus spoke about hell more clearly than many people realize. He warned about judgment, separation from God, and the seriousness of rejecting Him. But He never did it casually or cruelly. His warnings came from love.

Is hell a literal place or just a symbol?

Christians have different views on how literal the Bible’s descriptions of hell are. Scripture uses images like fire, darkness, weeping, and separation. Whether those are literal descriptions or symbolic pictures, they all point to the same truth: hell is real, serious, and not somewhere anyone should want to be.

How can a loving God send people to hell?

God’s love does not cancel out His justice. If God ignored evil, He would not be good. The Bible teaches that God is perfectly loving, perfectly holy, and perfectly just. Hell reminds us that evil matters, sin matters, and our response to God matters.

Does God want people to go to hell?

No. Scripture says God is patient and does not desire that anyone should perish, but that all should come to repentance. Jesus came to save sinners, not because God is eager to condemn, but because God is eager to rescue.

What is the hope for people who are afraid of hell?

The hope is Jesus. The message of Christianity is not simply that hell is real. The message is that Jesus died and rose again so that sinners could be forgiven, rescued, and given eternal life. Every warning about judgment is also an invitation to come to Him.

What should I do if I’m worried about someone I love?

Bring your grief and questions honestly to God. Trust that He is more loving, just, patient, and merciful than we are. And let that concern move you toward prayer, compassion, and faithful conversations about Jesus.

What is the most important question to ask?

The most important question is not only, “Is hell real?” The better question is, “What will I do with Jesus?” He invites people to come to Him, trust Him, and receive life.

I’ve watched people sit in church parking lots for ten or fifteen minutes before ever opening the car door. They wanted to go in. They missed worship. They missed being part of a church family.

But something inside kept whispering, “What if it happens again?” Sometimes they walked through the doors. Sometimes they started the car and drove home. None of them expected their story to end up here.

Most people don’t notice the moment it begins.

You don’t wake up one morning and decide to become cynical. It happens a little at a time. Someone lies to you. Someone betrays your trust. Someone uses their position to wound instead of protect.

After enough disappointments, your heart quietly starts making promises.

I’ll never trust another leader. I’ll never serve again. I’ll never let anyone get that close.

At first, those promises feel like wisdom. Eventually, they become prison walls. I’ve watched this happen more times than I can count.

The saddest part isn’t that people stop trusting churches. It’s that they slowly stop expecting goodness from anyone.

Church hurt rarely stays inside church walls. It follows people home. Into marriages. Friendships. Workplaces. Even into their relationship with God.

When your heart stays in survival mode long enough, everything starts looking like a threat.

Church hurt doesn’t just make Sunday mornings difficult. It changes the way you read the Bible. You wonder if every sermon has an agenda. You second guess every invitation to serve because you remember how exhausted you became the last time.

When someone says, “We’re family here,” part of you wants to believe them. Another part quietly whispers, That’s what they said last time.

You don’t even realize how guarded you’ve become until someone genuinely cares about you and your first instinct is to wonder what they want.

One of the hardest things about betrayal is that it changes more than your circumstances. It changes your instincts. You begin questioning people’s motives before they’ve even spoken. Compliments feel suspicious. Kindness feels temporary. You start preparing for disappointment before anyone has the chance to disappoint you.

The wound becomes a filter. I’ve met people who still love Jesus with all their hearts. But they can’t receive love from anyone else. Not because they don’t want to. Because pain taught them that every open door eventually closes.

That isn’t weakness. It’s what hurt often does if it doesn’t heal. Healing rarely happens because enough time passes. It happens because we slowly invite Jesus into the places we'd rather keep hidden.

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The Lie That Keeps People Away

I can still hear his voice.

I was twelve years old, helping at my church when my uncle came to pick me up. Before we left, I asked if he’d like to come to church sometime.

I still remember his response. “I’m not good enough for church.”

At twelve years old, I didn’t know how to answer him. I just remember how deeply those words settled into my heart. I’ve wondered about that conversation many times over the years.

I don’t know if he ever walked back into another church.

But after more than twenty years in ministry, I’ve realized he wasn’t the only person who believed that lie. I’ve met people who thought they weren’t good enough for church. I’ve met others who believed church wasn’t good enough for them anymore.

Different stories. The same distance.

Church hurt has a way of convincing us that the safest place is somewhere outside the church. Sometimes it’s because we feel unworthy. Sometimes it’s because we’ve been wounded. Either way, the result is often the same.

We quietly convince ourselves that staying away hurts less than hoping again.

Over the years, I’ve noticed something. People rarely stop following Jesus because of one painful conversation. They leave after hundreds of little disappointments convince them they’re safer alone.

They stop expecting anyone to notice when they’re gone. Eventually they stop expecting God to notice too. That’s why church hurt can become so dangerous. It doesn’t just convince us people aren’t trustworthy. It quietly tries to convince us that God is distant too.

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David Had Every Reason to Become Bitter

David’s story usually gets remembered because he defeated Goliath. But Goliath wasn’t the greatest enemy David ever faced. Saul was.

David served Saul faithfully. He fought for him. Played music for him. Risked his life for Israel. And Saul responded by trying to kill him. Not once. Over and over again.

Imagine what that would do to a person. Every time David entered another cave. Every time he heard another army was searching for him. Every time he had to sleep wondering whether tomorrow would be his last.

It would have been easy to believe everyone in authority was dangerous.

It would have been easy to become like Saul.

I wonder how many nights David lay awake replaying every conversation with Saul. Wondering what he had done wrong. Wondering whether serving faithfully had been worth it. Wondering why God’s promise now felt farther away than ever.

It’s hard to keep a soft heart when your reward for obedience seems to be another cave.

David wasn’t hiding because he had failed. He was hiding because someone else had.

He was living with consequences he didn’t create.

That’s one of the hardest parts of church hurt. Sometimes you’re carrying wounds that belong to someone else’s sin.

But something remarkable happens in David’s story.

Twice, David had the opportunity to kill the man who had spent years hunting him. Twice. He walked away.

Not because Saul deserved mercy.

Because David refused to let Saul decide who David would become.

“Do not destroy him, for who can put out his hand against the Lord’s anointed and be guiltless?” (1 Samuel 26:9, ESV)

David understood something that many of us forget. Bitterness doesn’t just punish the person who hurt us. It reshapes us.

One of the greatest victories in David’s life wasn’t defeating Goliath. It was refusing to become another Saul.

Years later, when Saul finally died, David didn’t celebrate. He mourned. The man who had stolen years of David’s life was gone, yet David wrote a lament instead of throwing a party.

That’s what a soft heart looks like.

Not pretending evil wasn’t evil, but refusing to let evil decide who you become.

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Bitterness Pretends to Protect You

Bitterness is convincing because it sounds responsible. It promises peace. It delivers isolation.

It tells you,

• “Don’t get hurt again.”

• “Don’t trust people.”

• “Keep your expectations low.”

The problem is that bitterness never builds fences around pain. It builds fences around joy too. The same walls that keep people out eventually keep love out.

Eventually, they can even keep God at a distance, not because He stopped pursuing you, but because you've stopped believing it's safe to open the door.

And somewhere along the way, protecting your heart becomes imprisoning it.

Staying Soft Doesn’t Mean Staying Vulnerable

Sometimes Christians hear the words “guard your heart” and think it means building taller walls. That’s not what Scripture teaches.

Healthy boundaries are not bitterness. Forgiveness is not pretending nothing happened. Trust is not automatically restored because someone apologized.

Some Christians have been taught that forgiveness means immediately trusting someone again. Scripture never says that.

Forgiveness releases revenge. Wisdom rebuilds trust slowly.

You can forgive someone today while recognizing they haven’t earned yesterday’s level of trust. That’s not unforgiveness. That’s discernment.

Jesus forgave people.

He also walked away from people who wanted to manipulate Him.

You can forgive someone and still recognize they are no longer safe. Those aren’t contradictions. They’re wisdom.

Soft hearts can still have strong boundaries.

After more than twenty years in ministry, I’ve noticed something.

The people who heal the best aren’t the ones who pretend they aren’t hurting. They’re the ones who refuse to let pain become their identity.

I’ve watched people who were deeply wounded become some of the safest people to be around. Not because life became easy. Because they kept bringing their hurt to Jesus instead of handing it to everyone else.

I’ve also watched people who experienced far less pain become incredibly hard. The difference usually isn’t what happened to them. It’s what they did with it.

Pain is unavoidable. Bitterness is a choice we often make one small decision at a time.

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You Might Be Healing If...

• You no longer assume everyone has hidden motives. You still ask wise questions, but you no longer expect every conversation to end in disappointment.

• You can pray for the person who hurt you without pretending what happened was okay. Forgiveness doesn’t rewrite history. It simply refuses to let history control your future.

• You stop comparing every Pastor to the one who wounded you. Healing doesn’t mean you’ll never be cautious. It means every new leader no longer has to pay for someone else’s failure.

• You begin believing there are still healthy churches and healthy leaders. Pain convinced you they didn’t exist. Healing reminds you they do.

• You find yourself hoping again. Hope is often one of the first signs that God is quietly restoring your heart.

The Hardest Person to Forgive

One of the hardest people to forgive after church hurt is sometimes yourself. You replay conversations. You wonder why you didn’t see the warning signs. You ask yourself how you trusted someone who eventually betrayed you.

Maybe you’ve even wondered if you’re too naïve to trust anyone again.

But trusting people wasn’t your failure. Misusing that trust was theirs.

How Do You Stay Soft?

It probably doesn’t happen all at once. It happens one decision at a time.

One honest prayer.

One act of forgiveness.

One Sunday where you choose to walk back into church even though part of you wants to stay home.

Start by telling God the truth.

You don’t have to protect Him from your disappointment. David certainly didn’t.

Read through the Psalms and you’ll find prayers filled with confusion, grief, anger, and questions.

God can handle your honesty. Tell Him what’s really going on.

Healing begins when you are honest with God and stop pretending you’re okay.

Then give yourself permission to grieve.

Church hurt isn’t just the loss of a relationship. Sometimes it’s the loss of a ministry you loved. Friendships you thought would last forever. Years you can never get back. The church you thought would always feel like home.

You can’t heal what you refuse to mourn.

Forgiveness is often a decision. Healing is almost always a process. You may choose forgiveness today and still find yourself wrestling with bitterness next Tuesday. That doesn’t mean you’ve failed.

Healing usually happens one surrendered place at a time.

As you heal, stay close to people who consistently reflect the character of Jesus. One unhealthy church doesn’t prove healthy churches don’t exist.

One abusive leader doesn’t erase faithful shepherds. Don’t let one person’s failure become the standard by which you judge everyone else.

I’ve met Pastors whose quiet faithfulness will never make headlines.

People who love well. Lead humbly. Serve faithfully. God is still raising up shepherds after His own heart. Don't let Judas convince you there are no more Johns.

Build healthy boundaries without building walls.

There is a difference. A boundary says, “I won’t put myself in that situation again.” A wall says, “I’ll never trust anyone again.”

Boundaries protect your heart. Walls imprison it. The safest heart isn’t the one hidden behind the tallest walls. It’s the one resting in the hands of Jesus.

Most importantly, keep looking at Jesus.

The people who hurt you are not the clearest picture of God.

Jesus is.

If you ever wonder what God is like, don’t look first at the people who failed you. Look at the Savior who never will.

The night before the cross, Jesus was betrayed by one of His closest friends. Denied by another. Abandoned by almost everyone else. If anyone had reason to become cynical, it was Him.

Yet after the resurrection, He didn’t begin Peter’s restoration with a lecture.

He began with breakfast.

Peter had denied Jesus three times. Jesus could have begun with shame. Instead, He started with a meal. That’s what grace looks like.

That’s the kind of Savior He is. He doesn’t ignore wounded hearts. He feeds them. He restores them. Then He sends them back into the world capable of loving again.

The cross didn’t harden Jesus. It revealed the depth of His love.

That's the miracle Jesus is still doing today. Not making us people who are never hurt. Making us people whose wounds don’t have the final word.

Because the world has enough hard hearts already. What it desperately needs are people whose hearts have been broken and healed by Jesus.

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Practical Steps

• Ask God to reveal where hurt has quietly become cynicism. Sometimes bitterness disguises itself as wisdom. Invite God to show you where your heart has become guarded in ways He never intended.

• Read 1 Samuel 24-26 and pay attention to David's heart more than Saul's actions. Notice how David refused to let another man's sin decide the kind of man he would become.

• Ask yourself whether you've built a healthy boundary or an emotional wall. One protects healing. The other prevents it.

• Forgiveness doesn't always erase pain overnight. Ask God for the courage to take the next step, even if the journey isn't finished yet.

• The people who hurt you should not get the final vote on the person you become. Let Jesus write the next chapter instead.

Sometimes the strongest heart isn’t the one that never breaks. It’s the one that still chooses love after it does.

Frequently Asked Questions

Does staying soft mean I should trust everyone again?

No. Scripture encourages both forgiveness and wisdom. You can forgive someone while recognizing they are no longer trustworthy.

How do I know if I’ve become bitter?

Bitterness often shows up as expecting the worst from everyone, assuming hidden motives, or finding it difficult to celebrate someone else’s success or trust genuine kindness.

Can God really heal church hurt?

Yes. Healing often takes time, but God specializes in restoring wounded hearts. Many people discover that He becomes more real during healing than He was before the hurt.

I’ll never forget a conversation I had after a Sunday service. A man waited until almost everyone had left. He looked around to make sure no one else could hear us before quietly asking, “Pastor Chris... can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

He lowered his voice even more.

“I keep asking God to forgive me for the same sin. I honestly hate it. I’ve prayed. I’ve cried. I’ve promised God I’d never do it again.”

Then he looked at the floor.

“Am I even saved?”

I’ve heard versions of that question more times than I can count over the last twenty years in ministry.

Maybe your struggle looks different than his.

Maybe it’s anger that keeps showing up.

• Lust

• Pride

• Gossip

• Fear

• Drunkenness

• Jealousy

An addiction you thought was finally behind you.

You confess it. You repent. You experience victory for a while. Then one day you find yourself right back where you started.

Eventually you begin wondering if something is fundamentally wrong with you.

If you’ve ever felt that way, you’re not alone.

And you’re certainly not the first follower of Jesus to ask the question.

The Question Beneath the Question

When people ask, “Why do I still struggle with the same sin?” they’re usually asking something much deeper.

They’re asking,

“If Jesus really changed me... why don’t I feel more changed?”

That’s an honest question.

It’s also one the Bible answers.

Even Paul Had a Battle

One of the most comforting passages in Scripture comes from the Apostle Paul.

Yes, that Paul.

The missionary.

The church planter.

The man who wrote much of the New Testament.

In Romans 7:19 he writes,

“For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing.” (ESV)

Have you ever read that and thought, Wait... Paul struggled too?

Apparently so.

Paul wasn’t celebrating his sin.

He wasn’t excusing it.

He hated it.

There was a battle happening inside him.

The same battle every believer experiences.

Our old sinful nature has been defeated through Christ, but until Jesus returns, we’re still living in fallen bodies in a fallen world.

Salvation happens in a moment.

Sanctification happens over a lifetime.

The Difference Between Conviction and Condemnation

This is where many Christians get stuck.

They confuse conviction with condemnation.

Those are not the same thing.

Condemnation says,

• “You’re hopeless.”

• “You’re a failure.”

• “God is tired of you.”

• “You’ll never change.”

That voice never leads you toward Jesus.

It pushes you away from Him.

Romans 8:1 reminds us,

“There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” (ESV)

Conviction sounds different.

The Holy Spirit lovingly says,

• “This isn’t who I’ve called you to be.”

• “Come back.”

• “Let’s deal with this together.”

Conviction produces repentance.

Condemnation produces shame.

One moves you toward the Father.

The other convinces you to hide.

Ever since Adam and Eve sinned in the Garden of Eden, shame has been telling people to run from God.

Grace keeps inviting us back.

Repentance Is More Than Saying Sorry

I think many of us accidentally reduce repentance to apologizing.

We sin.

We feel guilty.

We ask God to forgive us.

Then we wait until the next time.

Biblical repentance goes much deeper.

The word literally means to change your mind, resulting in a change of direction.

It’s turning around.

It’s asking questions like,

• “What keeps leading me here?”

• “What temptation am I refusing to deal with?”

• “What lie am I believing?”

• “What practical boundaries do I need?”

Real repentance isn’t just about regretting sin.

It’s about learning to wage war against it.

Jesus didn’t simply die to forgive our sins.

He died to free us from being enslaved to them.

Growth Is Usually Slower Than We Want

One of the hardest parts of following Jesus is accepting that spiritual growth rarely happens overnight.

We love instant results.

God often chooses gradual transformation.

Think about how Jesus described spiritual growth.

Seeds.

Vines.

Fruit.

None of those happen overnight.

Fruit grows quietly.

Almost invisibly.

Yet over time the evidence becomes undeniable.

Sometimes you’re growing more than you realize.

The sins that once controlled your life may now simply tempt you.

The time between falling may be getting longer.

Your repentance may be happening faster.

Your desire for holiness may be stronger than it used to be.

Those are signs that God is still at work.

Don’t Fight Sin Alone

One of Satan’s favorite lies is convincing us that our struggle is unique.

• “If anyone knew...”

• “They’d never understand.”

• “I’ll deal with this myself.”

Scripture paints a different picture.

James 5:16 says,

“Therefore, confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed.” (ESV)

Notice it doesn’t say forgiveness comes from another person.

Forgiveness comes from Christ.

But healing often happens in community.

Sin grows best in secrecy.

It begins losing its grip when it’s brought into the light.

That doesn’t mean telling everyone.

It means finding mature believers you trust enough to be honest with.

What Has Helped Me Most

After more than twenty years in ministry, I’ve noticed something.

The Christians who continue growing aren’t the ones who never stumble.

They’re the ones who keep getting back up.

Proverbs 24:16 says,

“For the righteous falls seven times and rises again...” (ESV)

Notice what makes the righteous different.

Not that they never fall.

That they keep getting up.

I’ve had seasons where I thought I should have been farther along spiritually than I was.

I’ve become frustrated with how slowly God seemed to be changing certain parts of my heart.

Looking back, I can see that God wasn’t just interested in changing my behavior.

He was transforming my heart.

That’s slower work.

But it’s deeper work.

Before You Go

I’m Pastor Chris, and I write Faith Unplugged for people who want a deeper relationship with God without all the performance and religious noise.

If you’ve been carrying shame because you keep fighting the same battle, I want you to hear this clearly.

Your struggle does not surprise God.

Your failures have not exhausted His grace.

If you belong to Christ, He hasn’t given up on you.

Don’t give up on Him.

Keep confessing.

Keep repenting.

Keep walking.

The God who began a good work in you has promised to finish it.

Frequently Asked Questions

Why do I keep committing the same sin?

Because spiritual growth is a lifelong process. Christians are forgiven immediately, but God continues transforming us throughout our lives. Repeated temptation doesn’t mean God has abandoned you.

Does struggling with sin mean I’m not saved?

Not necessarily. In fact, the grief you feel over your sin is often evidence that the Holy Spirit is working in your life. Unbelievers typically aren’t concerned about honoring God. Believers are.

What’s the difference between conviction and condemnation?

Conviction comes from the Holy Spirit and leads you back to Jesus through repentance. Condemnation fills you with shame and tells you to hide from God. Romans 8:1 reminds believers there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ.

Will I ever stop struggling with sin?

Some sins lose their grip dramatically. Others become lifelong battles. While we won’t experience complete freedom from sin until we’re with Christ, God promises to keep transforming us day by day.

How can I overcome recurring sin?

Stay close to Jesus through prayer and Scripture. Confess your sin quickly. Identify patterns that lead to temptation. Invite trusted believers to hold you accountable. Depend on God’s grace instead of your own willpower.

Is God tired of forgiving me?

No. If you’ve genuinely placed your faith in Christ, God’s forgiveness isn’t based on your perfect performance. His mercy is rooted in the finished work of Jesus on the cross.

The Next Step

If you’re exhausted from fighting the same battle, don’t let shame have the final word.

Run to Jesus again. Not because you’ve earned another chance.

Because that’s exactly what the cross was for.

God isn’t asking you to pretend you’ve never failed. He’s inviting you to trust that His grace is greater than your greatest struggle.

Keep following Him.

One faithful step at a time.

Thank you for being here. This article is part of an ongoing series about church hurt, healing, and learning to trust Jesus again. My prayer is that these conversations encourage you, challenge you, and remind you that you’re not walking this road alone.

If you’d like to explore the entire series, you’ll find every article together in the Premium Content Library. I hope they’ll encourage you wherever you are in your journey.

ACCESS THE PREMIUM CONTENT LIBRARY

There are a few things more confusing than being wounded by someone who helped build your faith. It usually doesn’t happen all at once. Maybe it starts with a conversation that leaves you unsettled. A decision you can’t understand. A rumor you hope isn’t true. Or maybe your phone lights up with a text from a friend. “Have you heard?”

Your stomach sinks before you even open it. Another Pastor. Another ministry leader. Another apology. Another chuch trying to explain the unexplainable. Sometimes it’s someone you’ve never met.

Other times…

It’s the person who dedicated your baby. The mentor who prayed with you when your marriage was struggling. The Youth Pastor who helped you believe God has a purpose for your life. The leader who taught you how to read your Bible.

Suddenly, you’re not just grieving what they did. You’re grieving what they represented. You start replaying conversations. You wonder if you missed warning signs. You question your own judgment.

Then a deeper question quietly slips into your heart.

If I was wrong about them… what else have I been wrong about?

For some people, that’s the beginning of walking away from church. For others, it’s the beginning of walking away from God.

Maybe that’s where you are today. If so, I’m really glad you’re here. Because the Bible doesn’t pretend God’s people always get leadership right. In fact, some of scripture’s greatest stories are about faithful people trying to follow God under deeply disappointing leaders.

We don’t just lose trust in people

We lose confidence in ourselves. That’s one of the hardest parts. When a spiritual leader disappoints you, you’re not simply asking whether they failed. You’re wondering whether you can trust your own discernment again.

“How did I not see it?”

“Why did I ignore all the warning signs?”

“Was any of it real?”

Those questions can become exhausting. I’ve watched people wrestle with them for years. As a Pastor, I’ve sat across the table from people who still loved Jesus but couldn’t imagine walking into another church. Not because they hated God. Because every sanctuary reminded them of someone who had betrayed their trust.

Sometimes the hurt came from moral failure. Other times it was quieter. A leader who abused their authority. A mentor who became controlling. A Pastor who dismissed their pain. A church that protected its reputation instead of protecting people. Different stories. Same ache.

The disappointment reaches beyong the person. It beings coloring everything connected to them. That’s why it hurts so deeply. Spiritual leadership was never supposed to make it harder to see Jesus. It was supposed to make Him easier to see.

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David knew this feeling

When people think about David, they usually picture a shepherd facing a giant. But Goliath wasn’t the greatest challenge David faced. Saul was. When David first met Saul, there was every reason to believe this relationship would flourish.

Saul was Israel’s king. God had chosen him. David admired him. When Saul’s troubled mind stole his peace, David would quietly sit nearby and play his harp until the king found relief.

Imagine that scene.

The room is silent except for the music. David isn’t trying to gain influence. He isn’t building a platform. He’s simply serving. Then David defeats Goliath. The nation celebrates. Women pour into the streets singing,

“Saul has struck down his thousands, and David his ten thousands.” (1 Samuel 18:7)

It’s just a victory song. But something breaks inside Saul. The applause that should have filled him with gratitude instead awakens jealousy. The leader God had appointed begins seeing David as a threat instead of a blessing. Not long afterward, David is doing what he’s always done. Playing music. Serving the king. Trying to bring peace into a troubled room.

Then...

A spear flies across the room. David barely escapes. Can you imagine the confusion? One moment you’re serving someone you deeply respect. The next moment they’re trying to kill you.

That’s the thing about disappointment. It rarely announces itself. It catches you by surprise.

What do you do when the person God used becomes the person who hurts you?

I think that’s the question underneath so many conversations about church hurt. Because here’s what’s complicated. God really had used Saul. He wasn’t a fake king. He wasn’t pretending. God genuinely appointed him. David wasn’t wrong for respecting him.

Likewise, many of the leaders who disappoint us really did point us toward Jesus. Maybe they baptized you. Maybe they taught you scripture. Maybe they encouraged you during one of the darkest seasons of your life.

God really used them. That doesn’t make their later failures any less painful. In some ways, it makes them more painful. Because now you’re left wondering which parts were real.

David could have asked those same questions.

“If Saul is like this...did I misunderstand God’s calling?”

“Did I put my trust in the wrong person?”

Instead, David discovered something that would carry him through years of heartbreak.

God’s faithfulness wasn’t dependent on Saul’s.

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A lesson I’ve had to learn myself

Can I tell you something that’s uncomfortable to admit? As I was writing this article, I realized I’m not just someone who’s been disappointed by leaders. I’m also a leader. Which means there’s another side to this story.

I’ve probably disappointed people too. There have been phone calls I should have returned sooner. People I genuinely cared about but unintentionally overlooked. Moments I wish I could replay because I know I could have handled them with more wisdom and more grace.

I’ve never set out to hurt anyone. But I know I’m capable of it. Not because I don’t love Jesus. Because I’m still learning to become like Him. That realization has changed how I view the leaders who’ve disappointed me.

It doesn’t excuse abuse. It doesn’t minimize sin. It certainly doesn’t remove accountability. Some leaders should never remain in leadership. Some situations require firm boundaries, reporting abuse, and protecting vulnerable people. Scripture never calls us to ignore evil in the name of grace.

But it has helped me recognize something else.

Not every disappointment belongs in the same category. Sometimes we’ve been wounded by wolves. Other times we’ve simply been wounded by sheep who were carrying responsibilities too heavy for imperfect shoulders.

Wisdom learns the difference. And that difference matters.

The mistake we make without realizing it

I think one of the greatest dangers in the Christian life is also one of the quietest. We slowly begin expecting people to do what only Jesus can do. We would probably never say it out loud. But our expectations reveal it.

We expect our Pastor to always know the right answer. We expect our mentor to never struggle. We expect church leaders to be spiritually mature in every situation, emotionally healthy all the time, and available whenever we need them.

Then one day, they disappoint us. And it shakes far more than our opinion of them. It shakes our faith.

Why?

Because somewhere along the way, they became more than a guide. They became part of the foundation. But leaders were never meant to carry that weight. Only Jesus can. The healthiest leaders understand this. They don’t want followers. They want disciples of Jesus. They aren’t trying to build dependence on themselves. They’re trying to help people become dependent on Christ.

That’s why the Apostle Paul could confidently tell believers, “Follow my example, as I follow the example of Christ” (1 Corinthians 11:1).

Did you catch the order? Paul wasn’t asking people to follow him no matter what. He was inviting them to follow him only as he followed Jesus. Christ was always the standard. Never Paul. That’s an important reminder for all of us.

Every pastor. Every elder. Every ministry leader. Every Christian author. Every worship leader. Every mentor. At our very best, we’re signposts. Not destinations.

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David refused to let Saul redefine God

David had every reason to become bitter. Years passed. He lived in caves. He ran through deserts. He slept with one eye open because the king who should have been protecting him was hunting him instead. There had to be nights when he wondered if life would ever feel normal again.

Then one day, everything changed.

Saul unknowingly walked into the very cave where David and his men were hiding. His soldiers could hardly believe it. “This is it,” they whispered. “This is the day the Lord told you about.” From a human perspective, they weren’t being unreasonable. Saul had tried to kill David multiple times. Surely this was justice. Surely God had finally opened a door. David quietly crept toward Saul. He had the opportunity to end years of suffering with a single swing of his sword.

Instead...

He cut off a corner of Saul’s robe. Then something remarkable happened. The Bible says David’s conscience was troubled because he had even done that.

He told his men,

“The Lord forbid that I should do such a thing to my master, the Lord’s anointed.” (1 Samuel 24:6)

I’ve always found that fascinating. David wasn’t denying Saul’s sin. He wasn’t pretending everything was okay. He wasn’t returning to the palace. He wasn’t removing the boundaries that had kept him alive. He simply refused to become the kind of man Saul had become. There is a difference between protecting your heart and allowing your heart to become hard. David chose protection without bitterness.

That’s much harder.

Grace and boundaries can exist together

For years, I thought forgiveness meant pretending I wasn’t hurt. That if I really forgave someone, I should trust them again immediately. Scripture paints a much wiser picture. David forgave Saul. But he didn’t move back into the palace. He honored Saul’s position. But he didn’t ignore Saul’s behavior.

He showed grace. And he maintained boundaries. Those things are not opposites. In fact, healthy boundaries often create the space where genuine forgiveness can grow.

If you’ve been hurt by a leader, hear me carefully. You do not have to pretend it didn’t happen. You don’t have to excuse sinful behavior. You don’t have to place yourself back into an unhealthy situation just to prove you’re a forgiving Christian.

Forgiveness releases your desire for revenge. Trust is rebuilt through repentance, humility, and consistent faithfulness. Those are different things. Sometimes trust can be restored. Sometimes it can’t. Both realities exist in scripture.

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Don’t let one broken leader write the rest of your story

One of the saddest things I’ve seen in ministry isn’t when a leader falls. It’s when someone quietly decides that because one leader failed, every church will fail them too. I’ve watched people who once loved serving Jesus slowly pull away from Christian community. Not all at once. Just little by little. They stop serving. Then they stop attending regularly.

Then they stop opening their Bible because it reminds them of the person who hurt them. Eventually they conclude they’re done with church altogether. I understand why that happens. I’ve sat with enough hurting people to know those decisions rarely come from rebellion. Most of the time, they come from exhaustion.

But I’ve also learned something else.

The enemy doesn’t have to convince you to stop believing in Jesus if he can convince you to isolate yourself from the people who help you follow Him. That’s exactly what he wants. Not healing. Isolation. Not wisdom. Cynicism. Not discernment. Distrust of everyone.

Please don’t misunderstand me.

There are churches you should leave. There are leaders you should never follow again. There are situations where the healthiest thing you can do is walk away. But don’t confuse leaving an unhealthy leader with leaving Jesus.

Those are not the same thing.

Keep your eyes on the Shepherd

One of my favorite descriptions of Jesus is found in John 10. He calls Himself the Good Shepherd. Not simply a shepherd. The Good Shepherd. Why? Because every earthly shepherd eventually falls short.

Some fail quietly. Some fail publicly. Some simply grow tired. But Jesus never abandons His sheep. He never manipulates them. He never uses them for His own gain. He never grows impatient with those who come to Him honestly. The more I Pastor, the more comforting that truth becomes.

Because I know I can’t be everything people need. No pastor can. No ministry leader can. And we were never supposed to. Only Jesus can carry that weight.

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One final picture

When Saul eventually died in battle, David finally had the freedom he’d been waiting for. The man who had chased him through the wilderness was gone. The threat was over. If anyone had a reason to celebrate, it was David. But he didn’t.

Instead, he wept. He wrote a song of lament. He honored the man who had spent years trying to kill him. That has always stopped me in my tracks.

David refused to let someone else’s sin determine the kind of man he would become. I think that’s the invitation for us too.

You may have been disappointed by a leader. You may have been wounded by someone you deeply admired. Your hurt is real. Your questions are understandable. Your grief matters. But don’t let another person’s failure become the foundation of your future.

Build your life on the One who has never failed you. Pastors will disappoint you. Mentors will disappoint you. Authors. Teachers. Friends. Eventually, every one of us will fall short.

Jesus never will.

That’s why our hope has never been in the undershepherds. It’s always been in the Shepherd.

And He’s still leading His people today.

Frequently Asked Questions

What should I do if my pastor disappoints me?

Start by taking your hurt to God honestly. Then evaluate what happened carefully. Not every disappointment is abuse, but not every failure is minor either. If there has been sin or harmful leadership, seek wise counsel and don’t be afraid to establish healthy boundaries. Above all, don’t let one person’s failure pull you away from Jesus.

Is it wrong to leave a church because of leadership?

Not necessarily.

There are times when staying in an unhealthy environment causes more damage than leaving. If leaders refuse accountability, tolerate abuse, or consistently lead people away from biblical truth, it may be wise to find a healthy church where you can continue growing.

Leaving an unhealthy church isn’t the same as leaving Christ.

Can God still use leaders who fail?

Yes.

The Bible is filled with imperfect people whom God used in remarkable ways. Moses lost his temper. Peter denied Jesus. Mark abandoned Paul on a missionary journey before later becoming a trusted ministry partner.

God’s ability to work through imperfect people doesn’t excuse sin, but it does remind us that His power has never depended on human perfection.

How do I know whether I should forgive a leader?

As followers of Jesus, forgiveness is always the goal.

That doesn’t mean pretending nothing happened or immediately restoring trust. Forgiveness releases your desire for revenge. Reconciliation requires repentance, humility, and rebuilt trust. Sometimes those things happen. Sometimes they don’t.

Why does God allow spiritual leaders to fail?

That’s one of the hardest questions believers wrestle with.

While Scripture doesn’t answer every “why,” it consistently reminds us that every human leader is imperfect. God alone is flawless. Sometimes He allows disappointment to redirect our confidence away from people and back toward Christ, the only Leader who will never fail.

Can I trust church leaders again?

Yes, but trust should be given wisely.

Healthy churches welcome accountability. Healthy leaders invite questions. Healthy pastors point people toward Jesus instead of building their ministries around themselves.

Don’t stop trusting everyone because one person betrayed your trust. Ask God to give you discernment as you look for leaders whose lives reflect the humility and character of Christ.

A few years ago, someone asked me a question I’ll never forget. They didn’t ask it from a church pew. They asked it from a hospital waiting room. With tears in their eyes they said, “Pastor Chris... how am I supposed to trust God after this?”

Maybe you’ve asked a similar question. Not in a hospital. Maybe after a divorce. A phone call. A funeral. A diagnosis. A job you never expected to lose. A child who walked away from the faith. A prayer that wasn’t answered the way you hoped.

Life has a way of unraveling without asking for permission.

One day everything feels secure. The next day you’re trying to figure out how the ground disappeared beneath your feet. In those moments, trusting God doesn’t feel inspiring. It feels impossible.

If you’ve ever been there, you’re in good company. The Bible is filled with people whose lives fell apart before they ever saw God put the pieces back together.

The Real Question Most People Are Asking

When people ask, “How can I trust God when life falls apart?” they’re usually asking something deeper. They’re asking, “Can God still be trusted when I don’t understand what He’s doing?”

That’s a different question.

It’s one thing to trust God when life is going according to plan. It’s another thing to trust Him when the plan disappears. Faith isn’t tested on the mountaintop.

It’s revealed in the valley.

Job Didn’t Get an Explanation

If you’ve ever felt like life stopped making sense, read the book of Job. In a matter of days, Job lost his wealth. His children. His health. His reputation. Even the people closest to him struggled to understand what was happening.

Throughout the book, Job asks difficult questions. He grieves. He wrestles. He pours out his heart to God. What amazes me most is that God doesn’t rebuke Job for asking honest questions. But neither does He explain every detail.

When God finally speaks, He doesn’t hand Job the answer key. He reminds Job of who He is. Sometimes that’s exactly what we need. We don’t always receive an explanation.

We receive God’s presence.

Trust Is Built on God’s Character

Proverbs 3:5-6 says,

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding.” (ESV)

I’ve noticed something about that verse. It doesn’t tell us to ignore our circumstances. It tells us not to lean on our own understanding. There’s a difference. Our understanding is limited. God’s isn’t. Trust doesn’t mean pretending life isn’t painful. It means believing God’s character hasn’t changed even when our circumstances have.

The cross is proof of that. The darkest day in history became the greatest victory God ever accomplished.

If God could bring resurrection out of a crucifixion, He can bring purpose from the pain you’re walking through today.

God Is Still Working When You Can’t See It

One of my favorite stories in scripture is Joseph’s. If you only looked at the middle of his story, it would seem like God had abandoned him. His brothers sold him into slavery. He was falsely accused. Forgotten in prison. Year after year, nothing made sense. Imagine asking Joseph while he sat in that prison, “Do you think God has a plan?”

I wonder how he would have answered. Years later, after God raised him to lead Egypt, Joseph looked back and said,

“As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good...” (Genesis 50:20, ESV)

Notice something important. Joseph didn’t see the purpose while he was suffering. He saw it looking back.

Sometimes God’s faithfulness becomes clearest in the rearview mirror.

The Mistake Many Christians Make

I think one of the biggest mistakes we make is believing trust means never struggling.

That’s simply not what scripture teaches. David trusted God. He also wrote psalms filled with tears. Elijah trusted God. Then he asked God to let him die. Even Jesus cried out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Faith isn’t the absence of questions. Faith is choosing to keep bringing those questions to God. You don’t have to hide your grief from Him.

He already knows.

What Has Helped Me Most

Looking back over my own life, I’ve noticed something. The seasons that strengthened my faith weren’t the easy ones. They were the ones I never would have chosen. There were prayers God answered differently than I hoped. Doors I desperately wanted to open stayed closed. People I thought would always be part of my life weren’t.

At the time, I couldn’t understand why. Now I can see that God wasn’t abandoning me. He was shaping me. I still don’t understand everything He’s allowed. I probably never will.

But I’ve learned that my confidence isn’t built on having every answer. It’s built on knowing the one who holds them.

Frequently Asked Questions

Why does God allow suffering?

The Bible doesn’t answer every “why,” but it consistently shows that God can redeem suffering for His purposes and our good. He never wastes the pain we entrust to Him.

Does trusting God mean I won’t feel afraid?

No. Trust isn’t the absence of fear. It’s choosing to rely on God’s character even while fear is present.

Is it wrong to question God?

No. Scripture is full of faithful people who asked honest questions. God invites us to bring our doubts and grief to Him rather than hiding them.

How do I trust God when my prayers aren’t answered?

Keep bringing your heart to Him. His silence or a different answer doesn’t mean His absence. Sometimes His greatest work is happening in ways we can’t yet see.

Will I ever understand why this happened?

Maybe. Maybe not. Some answers come in this life. Others won’t be clear until eternity. Our hope rests in God’s faithfulness, not in having every explanation.

What should I do when my faith feels weak?

Stay close to Jesus. Read His Word, pray honestly, lean on mature believers, and remember that even faith the size of a mustard seed is enough for God to work with.

The Next Step

If your world feels like it’s falling apart today, don’t measure God’s love by your circumstances.

Measure it by the cross.

The same savior who walked through death and came out victorious has promised never to leave you or forsake you.

You may not understand what He’s doing today.

But you can trust the one who is walking with you through it.

A man once sat in my office with his arms crossed and one sentence he couldn’t stop repeating. “They don’t deserve forgiveness.” If I’m honest, I understood exactly what he meant. He wasn’t talking about a small misunderstanding. He’d been betrayed. Lied to. Deeply wounded by someone he trusted.

Maybe you’ve been there too.

Someone said something they can never take back. A spouse walked away. A friend betrayed your confidence. A parent failed you. A church leader abused your trust.

When the hurt runs that deep, forgiveness can feel impossible. It almost feels wrong. After all, if we forgive them, aren’t we letting them off the hook? Aren’t we pretending nothing happened?

Those are honest questions.

And I think they’re some of the biggest reasons so many people struggle with forgiveness. The good news is that biblical forgiveness is very different from what most people imagine.

The Real Question Most People Are Asking

When people ask, “How do I forgive someone who hurt me?” they usually aren’t asking how. They’re asking why. Why should I forgive someone who never apologized? Why should I forgive someone who doesn’t deserve it? Why should I carry the burden when they caused the pain?

I’ve wrestled with those questions too.

Forgiveness isn’t difficult because we don’t understand it. It’s difficult because we’ve been wounded. Jesus never minimized that reality.

Neither should we.

Forgiveness Is Not Saying What Happened Was Okay

This is where many people get stuck. They hear the word “forgive” and immediately think it means pretending the offense wasn’t serious.

That’s not forgiveness.

God never asks us to call evil good. If someone abused you, it was wrong. If someone lied to you, it was wrong. If someone betrayed your trust, it was wrong.

Forgiveness doesn’t erase the truth.

It acknowledges the truth while refusing to let bitterness become your master.

Jesus Knows What Betrayal Feels Like

One of the reasons I love reading the Gospels is because Jesus never asks us to do something He hasn’t already done Himself. He was betrayed by Judas. Denied by Peter. Abandoned by His closest friends. Mocked. Beaten. Crucified.

Yet while hanging on the cross, Jesus prayed,

“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” (Luke 23:34, ESV)

That may be one of the most incredible prayers in all of scripture.

Jesus didn’t wait until His enemies apologized. He chose forgiveness while they were still mocking Him. That doesn’t make forgiveness easy.

It shows us what’s possible when our hearts are surrendered to the Father.

Forgiveness Doesn’t Always Mean Reconciliation

This is an important distinction.

Forgiveness takes one person. Reconciliation takes two. You can forgive someone who never admits they were wrong. You can forgive someone who never changes. You can forgive someone you never speak to again.

Trust can be rebuilt. Sometimes it can’t. Healthy boundaries are not a lack of forgiveness. They’re often an expression of wisdom.

Jesus forgave people freely. He didn’t entrust Himself to everyone.

Who Benefits From Forgiveness?

For years I thought forgiveness was mostly for the other person. I’ve come to believe it’s just as much for us.

Bitterness has a way of chaining us to the people who hurt us. We replay conversations. We rehearse arguments. We carry wounds that grow heavier with every passing year. Forgiveness doesn’t erase the memory.

But it breaks bitterness’ grip on your heart.

It allows God to begin healing what someone else broke.

The Mistake Many Christians Make

Sometimes we think forgiveness is a feeling.

We tell ourselves, “I’ll forgive them when I don’t feel angry anymore.” The problem is that feelings rarely lead. Choices do. Forgiveness is first an act of obedience. The emotions often follow later. Sometimes much later.

You may need to forgive the same offense more than once as the memories return. That doesn’t mean you failed. It means healing is a process.

What Has Helped Me Most

Over the years I’ve noticed something.

The people who are quickest to forgive usually aren’t the ones who have been hurt the least. They’re the ones who never forgot how much they’ve been forgiven. Jesus told a parable about two debtors. One owed an impossible amount. The other owed very little. The one who had been forgiven much loved much.

The same is true today.

When I remember the mercy God has shown me, it becomes much harder to withhold mercy from someone else. Not because they deserve it.

Because neither did I.

Frequently Asked Questions

Does forgiving someone mean what they did was okay?

No. Forgiveness acknowledges the wrong while choosing not to seek personal revenge. It doesn’t excuse sin or minimize the hurt.

Do I have to trust someone after I forgive them?

No. Forgiveness and trust are different. Trust is rebuilt over time through repentance and consistent change.

What if they never apologize?

Forgiveness is not dependent on another person’s response. You can release bitterness even if they never admit they were wrong.

Can I forgive someone and still have boundaries?

Absolutely. Healthy boundaries are wise and biblical. Forgiveness doesn’t require you to continue in an unhealthy or abusive relationship.

What if I still feel angry?

Healing often takes time. Forgiveness is usually a choice you continue making while asking God to transform your heart.

How many times should I forgive?

Jesus told Peter to forgive “seventy-seven times” (Matthew 18:22), emphasizing that forgiveness should become a lifestyle rather than a limit.

The Next Step

Is there someone you’ve been carrying for far too long? Maybe today isn’t the day every wound disappears. Maybe today is simply the day you begin placing that hurt into God’s hands.

Ask Him for the strength to forgive. Not because the other person deserves it. But because Jesus has already shown you that kind of grace. And that kind of freedom is worth pursuing.

A conversation from years ago still comes to mind whenever this topic comes up. Someone sat across from me with tears in their eyes and said, “Pastor Chris... I just don’t want to miss God’s will.” Maybe you’ve prayed something similar. You’re trying to decide whether to take a new job.

Whether to move. Whether to start dating someone. Whether to leave a difficult situation. Whether to serve in a new ministry. You genuinely want to honor God. You’re just afraid of choosing the wrong path. What if you make a mistake? What if God wanted something different? What if one bad decision ruins His plan for your life? Those are honest fears.

I’ve wrestled with them too. The good news is that the Bible paints a much different picture of God than many of us imagine. He’s not waiting for us to fail a spiritual test.

He’s inviting us to walk with Him.

The Question Behind the Question

When people ask, “How do I know God’s will for my life?” they’re usually asking something deeper. They’re asking, “Can I trust God to lead me?” That’s a very different question.

Sometimes we picture God’s will like a tiny target hidden somewhere in the distance. Miss it by an inch, and you’ll spend the rest of your life on “Plan B.”

I don’t think that’s how God works.

The Bible consistently presents God as a Father who walks with His children, not a puzzle maker hiding the correct answer. Yes, there are moments when God gives very specific direction. But much of the Christian life isn’t about waiting for a supernatural blueprint.

It’s about faithfully following Jesus with the wisdom He’s already given us.

Look at David

One of my favorite examples is David. Before he was king, David spent years running from Saul. He didn’t know when the waiting would end. He didn’t know how God would fulfill His promise. More than once, David had the opportunity to force God’s plan into existence by killing Saul.

From a human perspective, it probably made sense. Saul was trying to kill him. God had already promised David the throne. Wouldn’t this be the perfect opportunity? But David refused. He trusted God’s timing more than his own strategy.

Instead of asking, “How do I become king?” David asked a better question. “How can I honor God today?” That changed everything.

Sometimes we’re so focused on discovering God’s future that we forget to obey Him in the present.

God’s Will Starts With What He’s Already Revealed

Before we worry about God’s hidden will, we should pay attention to His revealed will. The Bible already tells us a great deal about what God desires for our lives. He wants us to love Him with all our heart. To love our neighbor. To forgive. To pursue holiness. To be generous. To tell others about Christ. To walk in humility. To seek justice. To serve others.

We often ask God questions He’s already answered. Meanwhile, the things He has clearly spoken sit unopened on our nightstands.

Psalm 119:105 says,

“Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.” (ESV)

Notice what the psalmist doesn’t say. God’s Word isn’t described as a stadium spotlight showing the next twenty years. It’s a lamp. It gives enough light for the next step.

That’s usually how God works.

God Is More Interested in Who You’re Becoming Than Where You’re Going

This has been one of the hardest lessons for me to learn. For years, I wanted answers. God kept working on my character. I wanted Him to tell me exactly what came next. He wanted to teach me trust. It’s easy to believe that God’s primary concern is where we’ll live, what career we’ll choose, or which opportunities we’ll accept.

Those things matter. But throughout Scripture, God consistently places greater emphasis on the kind of people we’re becoming. Romans 8:29 says that God’s purpose is to conform us to the image of His Son. That means God’s will isn’t simply about arriving at the right destination.

It’s about becoming more like Jesus along the journey.

God Gives Wisdom, Not Just Instructions

James writes,

“If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach...” (James 1:5, ESV)

Notice that James doesn’t say to ask God for a detailed itinerary. He says to ask for wisdom. Wisdom is the ability to make godly decisions with the information you have. Sometimes we keep praying because we’re hoping God will make the decision for us. Meanwhile, He’s already given us biblical principles, wise counsel, and a renewed mind.

Many decisions aren’t about finding one mystical answer. They’re about making the wisest choice available while trusting God with the outcome.

God Often Leads One Step at a Time

If you’ve ever wished God would hand you a five-year plan, you’re not alone. I certainly have. But when you read Scripture, that’s rarely how God works. Think about Abraham. God told him to leave his homeland. He didn’t hand him a map. Think about Peter stepping out of the boat. Jesus didn’t explain everything that would happen.

He simply said, “Come.”

Faith often begins with one obedient step. Then another. Then another. God’s direction usually becomes clearer as we walk with Him, not while we’re standing still waiting for absolute certainty.

The Biggest Mistake We Make

I think one of the greatest mistakes Christians make is believing there’s only one acceptable choice for every decision.

Should I take this job? Should I move? Should I go to this college? Should I buy this house? Sometimes there really is a clear biblical answer. If one option requires sin and the other doesn’t, the decision is easy.

But many decisions involve choosing between two good opportunities. In those moments, we don’t need to panic. We need wisdom. We need prayer. We need trusted believers who know us well. And then we need the courage to move forward. God isn’t wringing His hands in heaven hoping you guess correctly.

He’s walking with you.

What Has Helped Me Most

Looking back over my own life, I can see God’s faithfulness much more clearly than I could in the moment. There were seasons when I desperately wanted certainty. Instead, God taught me dependence. There were opportunities I thought I had to have that never happened.

Looking back now, I’m grateful they didn’t. There were doors that closed. At the time, they felt like disappointment. Now I see they were protection.

I’ve learned that discovering God’s will is usually less about decoding hidden messages and more about staying close to Jesus.

The closer I’ve walked with Him, the more confident I’ve become that He is fully capable of leading someone who genuinely wants to follow Him.

Frequently Asked Questions

Does God have one perfect plan for my life?

God has a purpose for your life, but Scripture emphasizes faithful obedience more than discovering one hidden path. As you seek Him, He is able to guide your steps.

How can I know if a decision is God’s will?

Ask whether it aligns with Scripture, reflects godly wisdom, honors Christ, and has been prayed over. Wise counsel from mature believers is also invaluable.

What if I make the wrong decision?

God is bigger than your mistakes. While sin has consequences, Scripture presents God as a loving Father who is able to redeem, redirect, and lead His children even when they fail.

Should I wait until I have complete peace?

Peace can be a helpful gift from God, but it isn’t the only indicator. Sometimes following Jesus requires stepping out in faith before every fear disappears.

Does God speak through circumstances?

Yes, God can use open and closed doors, but circumstances should never outweigh what Scripture clearly teaches.

Why doesn’t God tell me the whole plan?

Because faith grows through dependence. If we knew every detail of the future, we wouldn’t need to trust Him day by day.

The Next Step

If you’re trying to discover God’s will, don’t become so consumed with tomorrow that you neglect today.

Open your Bible. Spend time in prayer. Seek wise counsel. Obey what God has already made clear.

Then take the next faithful step. You may not know where every road leads.

But you can trust the one who does.

I have spent a lot of my life standing on church stages. Sometimes with a guitar. Sometimes behind a piano. Sometimes with a microphone and a Bible.

As a worship leader and communicator, I have always been fascinated by what happens when something connects with a room.

You can feel it. A song suddenly becomes more than a song. A story makes the room quiet. A scripture you have heard a hundred times somehow lands differently. Someone shares their testimony, and suddenly the person three rows behind them realizes they are not alone.

A moment of silence says more than another five minutes of talking ever could.

And then there are the other moments. The creative element that seemed powerful in rehearsal but somehow feels awkward in the service. The video that is about four minutes too long. The drama where everyone in the room understands the point before the actors do. The worship transition that is so carefully scripted it somehow stops feeling human.

If you have been around church long enough, you have probably experienced both. Which got me thinking.

Whatever happened to art in the church?

Do churches still do dramas? Are human videos still a thing? Did we decide live painting was distracting? Did spoken word disappear? Or did church just become three songs, announcements, a sermon, and a prayer?

The answer is a little more complicated than I expected.

Art is not disappearing from the church.

It is changing form.

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I Remember When the Creative Element Was the Event

If you were around church in the 1990s or early 2000s, you remember. Human videos were everywhere. Youth conventions. Fine Arts competitions. Camps. Special services. Someone wore black. Someone wore white. There was probably an invisible wall.

At some point, a teenager was almost certainly being pulled in one direction by Jesus and in the other direction by satan.

I say that with affection.

Some of those moments were powerful.

I have watched drama communicate something a sermon could not. I have watched music soften a room before a word was spoken. I have watched a creative moment give people permission to feel something they had been trying hard not to feel.

Art has always had that ability. But every artistic language eventually becomes familiar. And when something becomes too familiar, we stop seeing it. That does not make the art form bad. It just means the language has changed.

Human Videos Are Not Actually Dead

I checked. They are still alive. As an example, Human Video is still an official category in Assemblies of God Fine Arts. Churches and youth ministries still use the form, especially at camps, conventions, competitions, and special events.

So no, human videos are not dead. They have just mostly moved out of the center of Sunday morning.

The same is true for traditional church dramas. We do not see as many fake living rooms set up on the platform anymore. There are fewer seven-minute comedy sketches before the sermon. There are fewer moments when a pastor says, “Our drama team has prepared something special for us this morning.”

But that does not mean churches stopped being creative.

Look around. We have real stories and testimonies. Documentary-style videos. Spoken word. Dramatic Scripture readings. Original music. Short films. Visual art. Creative prayer experiences. Immersive environments. Participatory moments. Thoughtful use of lighting, silence, movement, and media.

The art did not leave. It became integrated.

And I think that shift tells us something important about the church.

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The Entire Service Became the Art

We used to think about church like this:

Worship song. Announcement. Drama. Sermon. The drama was the creative part. Now, when it is done well, the entire service can become a creative composition.

The arrangement of the song matters. The transition matters. The lighting matters. The story matters. The silence matters. The way scripture is read matters.

The moment when the room is given permission to sit with something matters.

As a worship leader, I have learned that some of the most powerful moments are not the ones where we add something. They are the ones where we know what to leave alone. Sometimes the best thing you can do is stop playing. Sometimes the most powerful lyric is followed by silence. Sometimes the room does not need another song. Sometimes people need a moment to sit with what God is doing.

That is art too.

So Why Did Church Drama Fade?

I think several things happened.

We Got Better at Recognizing Bad Art

Twenty-five years ago, the average church drama had a lot less competition. Today, the person sitting in your sanctuary probably watched a beautifully produced film the night before. They see incredible storytelling every day. They know what good acting looks like. They know what natural dialogue sounds like. And they can detect bad acting faster than a pastor can say, “We are going to try something a little different this morning.”

This does not mean the church needs to compete with Hollywood. We cannot. We probably should not. But it does mean sincerity is not the same thing as artistic excellence.

A person can love Jesus deeply and still be a terrible actor. That is okay. We just should not give them a twelve-minute drama on Easter Sunday.

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We Started Wanting Something Real

I think this is the bigger change.

People are increasingly suspicious of manufactured emotion. We do not want to feel like the church is trying to make us cry. We do not want to feel manipulated. We do not want every story wrapped in a perfect bow. This is especially true for people who have been hurt by the church. They have developed pretty good radar.

A mediocre actor pretending to have a crisis may not connect. But put a real person in a chair and let them say: “Three years ago, I almost walked away from my faith.”

The room gets quiet. Why? Because it is real.

As a communicator, I have seen this over and over again. People connect with truth. But they often remember truth best when it comes through a story.

Jesus knew this.

He could have explained the theological relationship between rebellion, repentance, grace, and restoration. Instead, He told us about a father standing at the end of a road, waiting for his son to come home.

He could have given a lecture on loving your neighbor. Instead, He told us about a wounded man lying beside a road while religious people walked past him.

Jesus used stories. Images. Questions. Objects. Bread. Water. Seeds. Sheep. Coins. Weddings. Fathers and sons.

He did not use art to weaken the truth. He used familiar images to help people see the truth.

Maybe the church does not need less of that. Maybe we need more.

Our Attention Is More Expensive

An eight-minute drama is asking a lot from a room. If it is excellent, people will give you eight minutes. If it is merely pretty good, you may have lost them by minute three.

People sometimes say this is because our attention spans are gone. I am not sure I believe that. We will watch a three-hour movie. We will listen to a two-hour podcast. We will binge an entire television series in a weekend and then complain that the sermon was thirty-eight minutes.

The problem is not always attention. The question is whether we believe something is worth our attention.

That is why modern creative elements often feel shorter and sharper. A sixty-second video can create a question. A testimony can open a door. A visual can become an image someone remembers for years. Sometimes the best creative moment does not explain everything. It simply makes us lean forward.

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Maybe We Have Been Asking the Wrong Question

Does drama still work? Do human videos still work? Does spoken word still work? Does live painting still work?

I think that is the wrong question.

A hammer works. That does not mean every problem needs one.

The better question is: What are we trying to help people see, hear, feel, or understand? Then choose the form. This is where church creativity can go wrong.

We start with the thing we want to do. “We should have a drama.” “We need a video.” “We have a dancer.” “Someone in the church paints.” Okay. But why?

What is the moment asking for? What truth are we trying to illuminate? What can this art form communicate that another sermon point cannot?

If we cannot answer that question, maybe we do not need the creative element.

Please Do Not Start a Drama Ministry

I am only half joking.

If I were building something new today, I would not start a drama ministry. I would build a Creative Arts Team. There is a difference.

A drama ministry asks: “What skit should we do?”

A Creative Arts Team asks: “What could people see, hear, feel, or experience that would help this truth reach them differently?”

That question opens the door to so much more. Maybe it is a three-minute documentary about someone in your church. Maybe it is a dramatic reading of Scripture with music and lighting. Maybe it is an original song. Maybe it is spoken word. Maybe it is a physical object brought onto the stage.

Something broken. Carried. Covered. Washed. Planted. Rebuilt. Restored.

Maybe the congregation participates. Maybe the most creative decision is to turn off the music and let the room sit in silence.

Creativity is not about adding more. Sometimes creativity is knowing exactly what the moment needs.

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The Church Does Not Need Less Art

I think it needs better art.

Art that feels human. Art that does not manipulate us. Art that leaves room for mystery. Art that trusts us enough not to explain every metaphor. Art that is beautiful before someone tells us what it means. Art that serves the presence of God rather than competing for attention.

The best church art does not say:

“Look at our creativity.”

It says:

“Look more closely at this truth.”

That is the standard I keep coming back to.

Not: Was it impressive? Did people clap? Will it look good on Instagram?

But: Did it help us see something we had missed? Did it make the truth clearer? Did it make the room more human? Did it create space for God rather than trying to manufacture a response? Did it help someone encounter Jesus?

Those questions matter more than whether the art form is trendy.

So, Are Human Videos Dead?

No.

But I would not bring them back simply because church needs more creativity. I also would not abandon them simply because they feel old. An old art form used intentionally can still be powerful. A modern art form used poorly can still be painful. The goal is not to be trendy. The goal is to be thoughtful.

The future of creativity in the church is not the death of drama. It is the death of the creative element simply for the sake of having a creative element. And maybe that is good news.

Because maybe the better question was never:

“What should we add to the service?”

Maybe the better question is:

“What is God trying to say, and how can we help people see it?”

That is where art belongs.

And I think the church may be ready to become more creative than it has been in years.

You pull into the parking lot. For a moment, you just sit there. People are walking toward the building. Families are getting their kids out of the car. Someone is holding the door open.

Everything looks normal. But your body does not feel normal.

Your chest feels tight. Your mind is already looking for reasons to leave. You wonder what the Pastor is really like when nobody is watching. You wonder what happens when you disagree. You wonder whether people will still love you if you stop being useful.

You wonder how long it will take before someone disappoints you again. Maybe you even feel a little guilty for thinking that way. You used to walk into church expecting to meet with God. Now you walk in looking for exits.

That is what church hurt can do.

It does not just change how you remember the past. It changes how you approach the future.

And eventually, many people who have been hurt by the church find themselves asking a difficult question.

Can I ever trust the church again?

The answer is yes. But maybe not in the way you think.

Because trusting the church again does not mean pretending nothing happened. It does not mean ignoring warning signs. It does not mean handing your heart to the first Pastor who shakes your hand.

And it certainly does not mean returning to the same kind of environment that hurt you.

You can trust again. But this time, you may trust differently.

And that might actually be a good thing.

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You Are Not Just Afraid of Church

One of the things people often misunderstand about church hurt is that the fear is rarely about the building. It is about what happened inside the building.

You trusted people. You believed what they told you. Maybe you served. Maybe you gave. Maybe you shared things you had never told anyone else. Maybe you believed a Pastor, small group leader, or ministry team would protect you.

Then something happened.

A private conversation became public. A leader used their position to control you. Your questions were treated like rebellion. You watched someone with influence receive special treatment. You needed help, but nobody noticed. You disagreed, and suddenly people who once called you family stopped calling.

Or maybe your experience was harder to explain.

Nothing happened that would make the news. There was no single dramatic moment. You just slowly realized that the place where you were supposed to be known had no idea who you were.

Whatever happened, the wound followed you out the door. That is why someone can leave one church and feel nervous walking into another. Your mind knows these are different people. Your heart is not so sure.

A new Pastor says something that sounds like the old Pastor. A leader asks you to serve, and something inside you pulls back. Someone says, “We’re like a family here,” and instead of feeling comforted, you get suspicious.

You are not trying to be difficult. You are trying not to get hurt again. And there is an important difference.

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The Early Church Did Not Trust Everyone Immediately

There is a moment in Acts that I think we sometimes read too quickly. Saul had spent his life persecuting Christians. He had dragged believers from their homes. He had approved of Stephen’s death. His name was enough to make Christians afraid.

Then Saul met Jesus and everything changed.

He began preaching the gospel he had once tried to destroy. Eventually, Saul traveled to Jerusalem and tried to join the believers there. You might expect the church to welcome him immediately.

They did not.

Acts 9:26 says:

“And when he had come to Jerusalem, he attempted to join the disciples. And they were all afraid of him, for they did not believe that he was a disciple.”

I love the honesty of that verse.

They were afraid. And their fear made sense. Saul had hurt people. His past was real. His reputation was earned. The believers did not hear that Saul had changed and immediately say, “Well, we are Christians, so I guess we have to trust him.”

They were careful.

Then Barnabas stepped in. He listened to Saul’s story. He saw evidence of what God had done in his life. He brought Saul to the apostles and told them what had happened.

Trust began to grow.

Slowly. Through evidence. Through relationship. Through someone credible standing in the gap.

That is important.

Because sometimes Christians talk about trust as though caution is a spiritual failure.

It is not.

The early church did not immediately trust Saul. Jesus Himself told His disciples to be “wise as serpents and innocent as doves.”

Wisdom and love are not enemies.

Grace and discernment can live in the same heart.

You can forgive someone and still pay attention. You can love people and still have boundaries. You can believe God changes lives without pretending every person is safe.

Maybe trusting the church again does not mean becoming less careful. Maybe it means becoming wiser about who earns access to your heart.

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You Do Not Have to Trust a Church on the First Sunday

Some churches expect trust too quickly.

They want you to join. Serve. Give. Open up. Get involved. And sometimes, after you have been hurt, that pressure can feel overwhelming.

So here is something I want you to know.

You are allowed to take your time. Sit in the back for a while. Listen. Watch. Ask questions.

Pay attention to how leaders treat people who cannot do anything for them. Notice what happens when someone disagrees. Watch how the church talks about people who leave. Listen to the way leaders speak about other churches. Pay attention to whether questions are welcomed or punished.

You are not conducting a secret investigation. You are learning the culture.

Anyone can appear healthy for a Sunday. Health becomes clearer over time. This is true in every relationship.

You probably would not meet someone for coffee and immediately give them the keys to your house.

That does not make you bitter. It makes you a person with functioning locks.

Church should not be different. Trust is built through consistent behavior over time.

A healthy church will understand that.

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Healthy Churches Do Not Demand Blind Trust

This may be one of the most important things I can tell you.

A healthy pastor does not need you to trust him blindly. A healthy church does not need you to stop thinking. A healthy leader is not threatened by reasonable questions.

They do not constantly remind you of their authority. They do not use scripture to silence concerns. They do not expect loyalty they have never earned. They do not make themselves the center of your relationship with God.

Healthy spiritual leaders want you to follow Jesus. Not them.

Of course, no church will do everything perfectly. No pastor will always say the right thing. No leadership team will make every decision correctly. If you are looking for a church where nobody will ever disappoint you, you will be looking for the rest of your life.

The goal is not perfection. The goal is health. There is a difference between a church making a mistake and a church refusing accountability. There is a difference between a Pastor having a bad day and a Pastor creating a culture of fear.

There is a difference between conflict and control. There is a difference between imperfect people and unsafe people.

Learning those differences is part of trusting again.

From Religion to Relationship

Living in Idaho Falls, I’ve watched this happen more times than I can count.

People come to our church after leaving the LDS Church. Many of them were raised in it. It was not just where they went on Sunday. It was their family. Their friendships. Their community. Their entire understanding of God.

Then, at some point, they begin asking questions.

And sometimes, leaving costs them more than they expected. Relationships change. Family members pull away. People they have known for years no longer know what to do with them.

By the time they leave, they are not exactly eager to walk into another church. Honestly, I don’t blame them. Many of them stay away from church completely for a while. Sometimes a year or longer.

Then, eventually, a few find their way to us. Usually one or two each week. They do not walk in looking for a place to serve. They are not asking how to become members. Most of them are not ready to tell us their whole story.

They stand in the back. They watch. They listen. Then, slowly, they begin asking questions. Real questions. Questions about the Bible. Questions about Jesus. Questions about grace. Questions they may not have felt safe asking before.

And I have learned something from watching them.

The worst thing we could do is rush them. They do not need another religious system demanding immediate trust. They need room to discover Jesus. So we let them stand in the back. We let them watch. We let them ask questions. We let trust grow slowly.

Over time, some of those same people begin to relax. They move a little closer. They build friendships. They open their Bibles. They discover that questions are not dangerous. And somewhere along the way, many of them discover something beautiful.

Following Jesus is not the same thing as trusting every religious institution that uses His name.

That is a lesson I think all of us need. Especially after we have been hurt.

You do not have to trust a church on the first Sunday. You can stand in the back for a while. You can watch. You can listen. You can ask questions. A healthy church will give you the space to do that.

Because healthy trust is not demanded. It is built.

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Pay Attention to What Happens When Things Go Wrong

Almost every church looks healthy when everything is going well.

The real test comes when something goes wrong.

Someone disagrees. A leader makes a mistake. A volunteer gets frustrated. A family decides to leave. A difficult question gets asked. Someone needs more help than expected.

That is when culture reveals itself.

Healthy churches are not churches without problems. Healthy churches know how to respond to problems. Can a leader apologize without adding an excuse? Can someone raise a concern without being labeled divisive? Are there people who can challenge the senior leader in a healthy and respectful way?

Does the church protect vulnerable people, even when doing so is inconvenient? Does leadership care more about truth than reputation?

Those questions matter.

Because the safest church is not the church that claims, “Nothing bad ever happens here.” Be careful with that one. The safer church is the one that says, “When something goes wrong, we will tell the truth and deal with it.”

Trust the Fruit, Not Just the Words

Jesus said:

“You will recognize them by their fruits.”
Matthew 7:16

Fruit takes time to grow. That is the frustrating part. You cannot always know everything about a church after one visit. You may not know after a month.

But over time, patterns become visible.

Do leaders practice what they preach? Are people becoming more like Jesus? Is humility celebrated? Can leaders admit when they are wrong? Are struggling people cared for, or only productive people?

Does the church make room for people who are messy? Are people encouraged to grow in their own relationship with God? Does the church point constantly toward Jesus, or constantly toward itself?

Listen to what a church says. But also watch what it produces.

A church can have excellent music, polished preaching, beautiful branding, and a packed parking lot.

None of those things tell you whether it is healthy.

Fruit does.

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The Goal Is Not to Become Suspicious of Everyone

There is another danger here.

After you have been hurt, discernment can slowly turn into suspicion. You start looking for the hidden motive behind everything. Someone is kind, and you wonder what they want. A Pastor checks on you, and you assume there must be an agenda.

Someone invites you to serve, and you think they are trying to use you. A church makes one mistake, and your heart says, “Here we go again.”

I understand why that happens. Once you have been burned, even warmth can feel dangerous. But there is a difference between wisdom and fear. Wisdom pays attention. Fear assumes the ending before the story begins.

Wisdom says, “I will watch the fruit.” Fear says, “Everyone is eventually going to hurt me.”

Wisdom allows people to earn trust. Fear makes sure nobody ever gets the chance.

The goal is not to return to blind trust. But the goal is not permanent suspicion either.

The goal is wise, patient, open-eyed trust.

You May Need a Barnabas

Saul did not walk into Jerusalem alone and convince everyone to trust him. Barnabas helped.

Sometimes, when you are trying to find your way back into Christian community, you need someone safe beside you. Someone who understands why you are cautious. Someone who will not pressure you. Someone who can help you see what fear might be exaggerating and what wisdom might be noticing.

This could be a mature Christian friend. A trusted Pastor. A counselor. Someone who has walked through church hurt without becoming cynical.

Healing in isolation is difficult because pain has a way of becoming its own echo chamber.

You replay what happened. You question your own judgment. You wonder whether you missed obvious warning signs.

Then you wonder whether you can trust yourself at all.

A safe person can help. Not by telling you what to do. Not by rushing you back into church. But by walking with you while you learn to trust your own discernment again.

Sometimes you do not need someone to push you through the door. You just need someone willing to sit beside you in the parking lot.

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How Do You Start Trusting the Church Again?

You do not have to make one giant decision.

Start smaller.

1. Give yourself permission to go slowly

You do not need to join, serve, lead, or share your entire story immediately.

Show up. Listen. Watch. Let consistency speak.

2. Look for accountability, not charisma

A gifted leader can still be unhealthy. Ask whether leaders are accountable to other people. Pay attention to whether correction is possible. Character matters more than a platform.

3. Watch how the church treats people who are not useful

Anyone can celebrate the talented person on stage. Watch how the church treats the grieving person who has nothing to give. The struggling family. The awkward person. The volunteer who needs a break. The person who leaves. That will tell you a lot.

4. Ask questions

You are allowed to ask what a church believes. You are allowed to ask how leadership works. You are allowed to ask how concerns are handled. Healthy leaders may not have perfect answers, but they should not be afraid of honest questions.

5. Let trust grow in layers

You do not have to give everyone equal access to your life. Some people can be acquaintances. Some can become friends. A few may eventually become trusted voices. Jesus loved everyone. He did not give everyone the same access. You can do the same.

6. Remember what you are actually looking for

You are not looking for a perfect church. You are looking for a healthy place where imperfect people are honestly trying to follow Jesus. That church will still make mistakes. The difference is what they do next.

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You Might Trust Differently This Time

Maybe you used to believe good Christians trusted everyone. Maybe you thought asking questions was disrespectful. Maybe you ignored things that bothered you because you did not want to seem critical. Maybe you stayed longer than you should have.

You know more now.

I wish you had learned it another way.

But you know more.

You know that titles do not guarantee character. You know that gifted people can still be unhealthy. You know that spiritual language can sometimes hide very human ambition.

But you may also learn something else.

There are good Pastors. There are healthy churches. There are believers who do not want anything from you. There are communities where you can ask difficult questions. There are leaders who apologize. There are people who will notice when you disappear. There are churches that will care about who you are even when you cannot serve.

The existence of unhealthy churches does not mean healthy churches do not exist. And the fact that you trusted the wrong people before does not mean you are incapable of trusting the right people now.

You do not have to rush. You do not have to pretend. You do not have to ignore what happened. You can carry wisdom forward without carrying fear forever.

Maybe one day, you will pull into a church parking lot again. Maybe you will still sit in the car for a minute. That is okay. Maybe you will walk inside and sit near the back. That is okay too. Maybe you will leave without talking to anyone. Then come back the next week. And the week after that.

Trust may not return in one dramatic moment. It may come back quietly. Someone remembers your name. A Pastor admits he was wrong. A question is welcomed instead of punished. Nobody pressures you to serve. Someone notices you are hurting and does not try to fix you.

Little by little, your shoulders come down. Little by little, you stop looking for the nearest exit. Little by little, you realize something. This church is not the church that hurt you. These people are not the people who betrayed you. And maybe, slowly, carefully, wisely, you can trust again.

Not blindly. Not perfectly. But honestly. And maybe that kind of trust is stronger than the trust you had before.

Frequently Asked Questions About Trusting the Church Again

Can you trust the church after church hurt?

Yes, but trust does not need to happen immediately. Healthy trust grows through consistent behavior, accountability, honesty, and time. You can remain open to Christian community while still using wisdom and boundaries.

How do I know if a church is healthy?

Look beyond preaching style, music, and attendance. Pay attention to humility, accountability, how leaders respond to criticism, how vulnerable people are treated, and what happens when someone makes a mistake.

Is it wrong to be suspicious of church after being hurt?

Caution after being hurt is understandable. The goal is to keep caution from becoming permanent suspicion. Wisdom pays attention to patterns while remaining open to the possibility that some people and churches are healthy.

Should I tell a new Pastor about my church hurt?

You do not have to share your whole story immediately. As trust develops, sharing parts of your experience with a safe and mature leader may help them understand your hesitation and care for you better.

How long does it take to trust a church again?

There is no set timeline. For some people, trust grows within months. For others, it takes much longer. Healing and trust should not be rushed.

What are red flags in a church?

Warning signs can include leaders who resist accountability, punish questions, demand loyalty, use scripture to control people, protect reputation over people, or consistently blame those who leave.

Do I have to go back to the church that hurt me?

No. Forgiveness does not require returning to an unsafe environment. In some situations, healing may mean finding a different church where trust can grow slowly and safely.

Can I follow Jesus while I am still afraid of church?

Yes. Fear and faith can exist in the same person. Keep seeking Jesus while you work through what happened. You do not have to resolve every feeling before taking your next small step.

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Hey friends. I'm Pastor Chris, and I write Faith Unplugged for people whom the church has left feeling hurt, disappointed, or wondering where God was in the middle of it all. I hope this article reminds you that your story isn't over. If these articles encourage you, consider supporting this ministry through a paid subscription.

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One of the saddest conversations I’ve had as a Pastor didn’t happen inside a church.

It happened during a phone call.

A friend called me one afternoon after meeting with a pastor. I could hear the disappointment in his voice before he even told me what had happened.

As he shared the conversation, it became clear this wasn’t just a disagreement or a misunderstanding. Someone he trusted had responded in a way that left him feeling dismissed, misunderstood, and deeply wounded.

There was a long pause.

Then he quietly asked, “Why are Christians like this?”

That question has stayed with me.

Not because I had an easy answer.

But because I’ve heard versions of it far more often than I’d like.

Sometimes the question is about a Pastor.

Sometimes it’s about a church member.

Sometimes it’s about an entire church.

But underneath it is usually a deeper question.

“If these are the people who represent Jesus, what does that say about Jesus?”

That’s the tragedy of church hurt.

The people who are meant to point us toward Christ can sometimes become the very reason we struggle to see Him clearly.

Over the years, I’ve watched people quietly disappear from church without anyone realizing they were drowning.

Some left after a painful interaction with a Pastor.

Others carried wounds from church members who judged them instead of loving them.

Still others experienced betrayal, gossip, manipulation, or silence when they needed compassion the most.

If you’ve spent enough time serving in ministry, you eventually discover that some of the deepest wounds people carry weren’t caused by atheists, strangers, or the culture around them.

They were caused by people holding a Bible.

If you’re reading this because you’ve experienced church hurt, I want you to know something before we go any further.

I’m not here to defend what happened to you.

I’m not going to tell you to “just forgive and move on.”

I’m not going to pretend that because Christians aren’t perfect, your pain somehow matters less.

What happened to you matters.

And pretending it didn’t hurt isn’t spiritual maturity.

It’s denial.

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What Is Church Hurt?

Church hurt is more than having your preferences ignored.

It’s more than disagreeing with a sermon or wishing the music sounded different.

Real church hurt happens when the people who were supposed to reflect the love of Christ instead become the source of deep spiritual, emotional, or relational pain.

Maybe a Pastor abused his authority.

Maybe leaders protected someone’s reputation instead of protecting the people they hurt.

Maybe someone used scripture to manipulate you.

Maybe the people you worshiped beside every Sunday disappeared when your life fell apart.

Maybe gossip spread through the church faster than compassion.

Maybe your questions were treated like rebellion instead of invitations for honest conversation.

Whatever your story looks like, the result is often the same.

You don’t just lose trust in people.

You begin wondering if you can trust God.

That’s what makes church hurt different.

When someone at work betrays you, you usually don’t stop believing in your family.

When a friend disappoints you, you don’t question whether love itself is real.

But when someone representing Jesus wounds you, it’s easy to wonder if Jesus is anything like the people who claimed to follow Him.

That confusion can shake your faith in ways few other experiences can.

I Wish This Story Were Rare

I wish I could tell you these stories are unusual.

They’re not.

As a pastor, I’ve talked with people who were manipulated by leaders they admired.

I’ve listened to people who served faithfully for years only to feel forgotten the moment they were struggling.

I’ve met people who loved Jesus but couldn’t bring themselves to walk into another church because every sanctuary reminded them of betrayal.

Some eventually found healing.

Others quietly drifted away.

Not because they stopped believing in Jesus.

Because they couldn’t separate Jesus from the people who had hurt them.

But I’ve also seen the other side.

Years ago, there was a gentleman in one of our churches who had a voice you couldn’t miss. Whenever we sang, I could always pick him out because it was deep and strong.

One Sunday I realized I hadn’t seen him for a couple of weeks.

Life had been busy, and honestly, I hadn’t noticed right away.

So I picked up my phone and called him.

He answered, and the first thing he said was, “I’m surprised you noticed.”

We talked for a while, and I learned that one of his aging parents had passed away. He and his wife had been caring for them, and after they died, they were overwhelmed trying to settle everything that comes afterward.

I never would have known if I hadn’t made that call.

That conversation has stayed with me because it reminded me of something important.

Sometimes people don’t leave because they’re angry.

Sometimes they quietly disappear because life became unbearably heavy.

Sometimes what hurting people need most isn’t a perfect sermon or a polished church service.

Sometimes they just need someone to notice they’re missing.

That’s the Church at its best.

Not perfect people.

People who pay attention.

People who carry one another’s burdens.

People who remind each other that no one walks through life alone.

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You’re Not Weak for Feeling This Way

One of the lies church hurt whispers is that a “good Christian” shouldn’t struggle this much.

You should forgive faster.

Move on sooner.

Stop talking about it.

Just have more faith.

But wounds don’t heal because someone tells them to.

Imagine breaking your leg and having someone say, “If you trusted God more, you’d already be walking.”

We’d never say that about a physical injury.

Yet we often expect spiritual wounds to disappear overnight.

Healing usually doesn’t work that way.

Sometimes it takes time.

Sometimes it takes wise people.

Sometimes it takes counseling.

Sometimes it requires healthy boundaries that were never there before.

None of that means your faith is weak.

It means you’re human.

The good news is that God has never been surprised by human failure.

In fact, one of the most encouraging things about scripture is that it never hides it.

Jesus Understands Church Hurt

If you’ve ever wondered whether Jesus understands what you’re feeling, the answer is yes.

In fact, some of His strongest words were reserved for religious leaders.

Think about that for a moment.

The people who frustrated Jesus the most weren’t the people everyone else expected.

It wasn’t the tax collectors.

It wasn’t the prostitutes.

It wasn’t the Roman government.

It was the people who looked the most religious.

They knew the Scriptures.

They attended worship faithfully.

They held positions of influence.

Yet they used their authority to burden people instead of helping them know God.

Jesus didn’t ignore it.

He confronted it.

In Matthew 23, Jesus described them as people who tied up “heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on people’s shoulders, but they themselves are not willing to move them with their finger” (Matthew 23:4, ESV).

Later He called them whitewashed tombs. Beautiful on the outside. Empty on the inside.

Those are strong words.

Not because Jesus hated religious people.

But because He loved the people they were hurting.

Sometimes we picture Jesus getting angry at sinners.

Read the Gospels carefully.

More often than not, His compassion was directed toward sinners, while His strongest rebukes were aimed at those who used God’s name to control, shame, or elevate themselves.

That matters.

Because if you’ve been wounded by people who claimed to represent God, Jesus isn’t standing on the other side of the argument defending them.

He’s standing beside the wounded.

He always has.

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Don’t Let Judas Become Your Picture of Jesus

One of the greatest tragedies of church hurt is that it can distort our view of Christ.

Imagine if the other disciples had quit following Jesus because Judas betrayed Him.

They could have said, “If this is what one of Jesus’ followers is like, we’re done.”

But they didn’t.

They understood something we often forget.

Judas represented Judas.

He didn’t represent Jesus.

That’s an important distinction.

Every church has imperfect people.

Every Pastor has blind spots.

Every ministry is led by human beings who still need grace.

Some will disappoint us in ordinary ways.

Others will fail in devastating ways.

Some should never have been trusted with leadership in the first place.

Their failures are real.

The damage they cause is real.

But they do not redefine who Jesus is.

Please don’t let Judas become your picture of Christ.

When Peter denied Jesus three times, Jesus restored him.

When Thomas doubted, Jesus met him with patience.

When the woman caught in adultery expected condemnation, Jesus offered mercy.

When children were pushed away, Jesus welcomed them.

Over and over again, Jesus moved toward broken people.

Never away from them.

If the version of Christianity you experienced looked nothing like that, it’s worth asking whether you’ve been following Jesus... or simply following people who were wearing His name.

Sometimes We Build Our Faith Around People

This is one of the hardest lessons I’ve learned in ministry.

Sometimes church hurt doesn’t destroy our faith.

It exposes what our faith was resting on.

Without realizing it, we can slowly place people on pedestals.

We expect our Pastors to always know the right answer.

We expect church leaders to always make wise decisions.

We expect Christian friends to never let us down.

Those aren’t bad desires.

But they’re impossible expectations.

No pastor can carry the weight of being your savior.

No church can satisfy the deepest needs of your soul.

Only Jesus can do that.

Sometimes God allows our disappointment with people to reveal where our hope has quietly shifted.

That doesn’t make what happened good.

God never celebrates sin.

He never excuses abuse.

But He has a remarkable way of meeting us in painful places and gently redirecting our eyes back to Himself.

I’ve seen people lose confidence in a church only to discover a deeper confidence in Christ.

I’ve watched believers who once depended entirely on a charismatic leader learn how to open their Bible for themselves.

I’ve seen painful endings become the beginning of a more mature, more resilient faith.

I would never wish that journey on anyone.

But I’ve seen God redeem it more times than I can count.

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The Church Is Still Jesus’ Idea

This is where many people expect me to say, “You need to get back in church.”

I’m not going to say that.

At least, not yet.

Because healing rarely happens through pressure.

It happens through trust.

If you’ve been hurt, it may take time before you’re ready to walk through another set of church doors.

That’s okay.

But don’t stay isolated forever.

One of Satan’s oldest strategies is to wound us through people, then convince us that we no longer need people.

That’s a dangerous lie.

The New Testament never imagines a believer walking alone forever.

We need one another.

Not because Christians are perfect.

But because Jesus designed His Church to be a family of imperfect people learning how to follow a perfect Savior together.

The Church doesn’t belong to a pastor.

It doesn’t belong to a denomination.

It doesn’t even belong to the people sitting in the pews.

It belongs to Jesus.

And despite all of our failures, He hasn’t given up on it.

Neither should we.

What Forgiveness Is... and What It Isn’t

If you’ve been in church for any length of time, you’ve probably heard someone say, “You just need to forgive.”

That’s true.

But it’s also incomplete.

Forgiveness is one of the most misunderstood words in the Christian life.

Forgiveness doesn’t mean pretending nothing happened.

It doesn’t mean calling abuse a misunderstanding.

It doesn’t mean putting yourself back into an unhealthy situation.

It doesn’t mean immediately trusting someone who has broken your trust.

Forgiveness is releasing your right to revenge.

It’s placing justice into God’s hands instead of carrying it yourself.

Reconciliation, on the other hand, requires repentance, honesty, and rebuilt trust.

Sometimes reconciliation is possible.

Sometimes it isn’t.

The Bible calls us to forgive.

It doesn’t call us to ignore wisdom.

Jesus forgave freely.

He also walked away from people who continually rejected the truth.

He loved everyone.

He didn’t entrust Himself to everyone.

If you’ve been told that forgiving means allowing someone to continue hurting you, that isn’t biblical forgiveness.

That’s enabling.

God cares too much about both truth and love to ask you to ignore either one.

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So... Where Do You Go From Here?

Maybe you’re wondering what the next step is.

Not five years from now.

Not after you’ve figured everything out.

Today.

If that’s you, let me offer a few thoughts.

1. Tell God the truth.

One of the beautiful things about scripture is that God never asks us to clean up our emotions before bringing them to Him.

Read the Psalms.

David questioned.

He cried.

He lamented.

He even asked, “How long, O Lord?”

God can handle your honesty.

He already knows what’s in your heart.

Stop trying to sound spiritual.

Just tell Him the truth.

2. Separate Jesus from the people who misrepresented Him.

This may take time.

When someone wearing the name of Christ wounds us, it’s natural to connect the two.

But Jesus is not guilty of what others have done in His name.

Keep reading the Gospels.

Spend time watching how Jesus treats people.

Let His character become louder than your memories.

3. Don’t heal alone.

One of the cruelest effects of church hurt is isolation.

It whispers that trusting anyone again is foolish.

While you don’t need to rush back into a crowd, you do need safe people.

Maybe that’s one mature believer.

Maybe it’s a Christian counselor.

Maybe it’s a Pastor from another church who has nothing to gain by impressing you.

Healing grows in healthy relationships.

It almost never grows in complete isolation.

4. Let your next church earn your trust.

You don’t have to pretend everything is okay.

You don’t have to volunteer the first Sunday.

You don’t have to sign up for every ministry.

Just show up.

Listen.

Watch.

Pay attention to how leaders treat people who disagree with them.

Notice whether grace is practiced, not just preached.

Healthy churches aren’t perfect.

They’re humble enough to admit when they’re wrong.

5. Keep your eyes on Jesus.

More than anything else, this is what I’ve learned.

Churches change.

Pastors retire.

Friends move away.

Leaders disappoint us.

Jesus remains the same.

If your faith is anchored in Him, disappointment won’t destroy it.

It may shake it.

It may stretch it.

It may even deepen it.

But it won’t destroy it.

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A Personal Reflection

After all my time in ministry, I’ve seen churches at their very best.

I’ve watched believers rally around families who had lost everything.

I’ve seen people quietly pay someone else’s rent.

I’ve watched strangers become lifelong friends because they met in a small group.

I’ve seen people encounter Jesus and leave completely changed.

I’ve also seen churches make painful mistakes.

I’ve seen leaders who should have apologized but didn’t.

I’ve watched people leave carrying wounds they never should have received.

Both things are true.

The Church has hurt people.

The Church has also been one of God’s greatest gifts in my own life.

That’s why I can’t give up on it.

Not because churches are always right.

But because Jesus hasn’t given up on His people.

He is still patiently shaping His bride.

And He’s still healing broken hearts along the way.

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Your Story Isn’t Over

Maybe you’ve been carrying church hurt for months.

Maybe it’s been years.

Maybe reading this article stirred up emotions you thought you’d buried.

If so, I’m grateful you stayed with me.

I don’t know exactly what happened to you.

I don’t know every conversation, every disappointment, or every tear you’ve cried because of people who should have reflected Christ more faithfully.

But I do know this.

Your pain is real.

God sees it.

And Jesus understands it.

Don’t let the people who misrepresented Him have the final word over your faith.

Let Jesus speak for Himself.

The same Savior who welcomed doubters, restored failures, defended the broken, and who forgave those who nailed Him to a cross still invites wounded people to come to Him.

Not because churches are perfect.

But because He is.

Your story doesn’t have to end with disappointment.

By God’s grace, it can become a story of healing.

And maybe one day, the very place where your faith was wounded will become the place where your compassion for others grows the deepest.

If you’ve prayed the same prayer a hundred times, this article is for you.

Maybe you’ve begged God to heal someone you love.

Maybe you’ve asked Him to save your marriage.

Maybe you’ve pleaded for a job, a child, freedom from anxiety, or just one clear answer.

And the silence has made you wonder something you never wanted to ask.

“God... are You even listening?”

If you’ve ever asked that question, you’re not alone.

Even some of the greatest people in scripture did too.

My Experience with Answered Prayer

For years, I prayed one simple prayer.

“God, what do You want me to do with my life?”

I knew the desire He had placed in my heart. I wanted to be a pastor. I wanted to help people know Jesus and grow in their faith. But every door I knocked on stayed closed. Opportunities came and went. There were seasons when I wondered if I had heard God wrong or if He had simply forgotten about me.

Then, after years of praying, God opened a door I never could have opened myself.

Looking back, I can see that He wasn’t ignoring my prayers. He was preparing me for them. There were lessons I needed to learn, experiences I needed to have, and ways He wanted to shape my character before I stepped into the calling I had been praying for.

At the time, the waiting felt like silence.

Now I can see it was preparation.

The Honest Answer

Sometimes God answers immediately.

Sometimes He answers differently.

Sometimes He says no.

Sometimes He says wait.

And sometimes...

It feels like He says nothing at all.

That silence can be one of the hardest parts of following Jesus.

1. God Isn’t Ignoring You

One of the biggest lies we believe is this:

“If God loved me, He would answer right now.”

But Scripture tells a different story.

Think about Martha and Mary.

Their brother Lazarus was dying.

They sent word to Jesus because they knew He could heal him.

Jesus loved them deeply.

And then...

He waited.

Not because He didn’t care.

Because He had something bigger planned.

Sometimes God’s delay isn’t His absence.

It’s His preparation.

Read: John 11

2. Sometimes God Is Changing You Before He Changes Your Situation

We usually pray for God to change our circumstances.

God is often more interested in changing us.

Paul prayed three times for God to remove his “thorn in the flesh.”

God didn’t remove it.

Instead He said:

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

Sometimes unanswered prayer becomes the classroom where we learn dependence.

Not because God enjoys watching us struggle.

Because He knows who we’re becoming.

Read: 2 Corinthians 12:7-10

3. Sometimes the Answer Is “Not Yet”

Waiting isn’t punishment.

Waiting is often preparation.

Think about Joseph.

David.

Abraham.

Hannah.

Almost every major biblical story contains long seasons where it looked like God wasn’t doing anything.

But behind the scenes...

Everything was moving exactly where it needed to go.

God rarely wastes waiting.

4. Sometimes We’re Asking for the Wrong Thing

This one is hard.

Not because God is annoyed with our prayers.

But because we can’t always see what He sees.

Children ask for things loving parents refuse.

Not because they’re cruel.

Because they know what comes next.

God has that same perspective.

His “no” is often protecting us from something we can’t yet understand.

5. Prayer Was Never Just About Getting Answers

This might be the biggest surprise.

Prayer isn’t primarily about changing God’s mind.

It’s about being with Him.

Jesus often withdrew to lonely places to pray.

Not because He needed more information.

Because relationship always comes before requests.

If every prayer were answered instantly...

Would we still seek God Himself?

Or only His gifts?

So... Why Doesn’t God Answer My Prayers?

Sometimes He already has.

Just not the way we expected.

Sometimes He’s waiting.

Sometimes He’s protecting.

Sometimes He’s preparing.

Sometimes He’s inviting us closer.

But here’s what I know.

Silence is not abandonment.

Waiting is not rejection.

Delay is not proof that God has stopped loving you.

When You Don’t Know What to Pray

Keep praying.

Keep showing up.

Keep trusting.

Even Jesus prayed in the garden:

“My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me... nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will.” (Matthew 26:39, ESV)

The greatest prayer in history wasn’t answered the way Jesus’ humanity desired.

And because of that...

Our salvation became possible.

Sometimes the prayers that seem unanswered become part of a much bigger story.

If you’re carrying a prayer that feels forgotten...

Don’t assume God has forgotten you.

The God who hears every sparrow fall also hears every whispered prayer.

Even the ones that end with tears instead of “Amen.”

Keep talking to Him.

He’s still listening.

More from Faith Unplugged

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My marriage ended after twenty-two years. The bin lorry still came on Tuesday.

Two kids. A house I’d always assumed would hold us. Half empty now. For weeks the ordinary world felt obscene. People queuing for coffee. The sun coming up as if nothing had happened. I kept waiting for the world to notice what had broken.

It never did.

One of them brought me a cup of tea I hadn’t asked for. Didn’t say anything. Just put it down. Then a question arrived. It wasn’t gentle, and I couldn’t put it down. It skipped the obvious ones, will you survive this, whose fault was it, and went straight for the throat.

How are you going to walk through this?

Walk through. The verb mattered. Through the middle of it, on my feet, instead of lying down in the hallway and hoping someone would carry me out.

I didn’t have an answer. But the question changed the shape of the days.

Sooner or later comes to us all

None of us gets a pass on this.

Divorce. A diagnosis. A job you’d have sworn was permanent, gone by Friday. Or the slower kind of collapse, the one with no headline: a life that works on paper and feels hollow in the chest.

The pain takes different shapes. The ache underneath is the same.

And it always arrives carrying a question. We assume the question is why me, or how long. The harder one waits underneath: which version of me walks out the other side? Sooner or later it finds everyone.

The one thing we get to decide is who we become inside it.

I won’t pretend any of this is easy. There are nights you cry until your ribs hurt, and mornings you wonder if you’ve already laughed for the last time. One night I stood at the kettle for ten minutes and couldn’t remember why I’d come downstairs. None of it feels holy.

Bitterness has good arguments.

It can list every reason you’ve earned it. The case for the prosecution practically writes itself. Hardening starts to look like realism. Letting it go looks like letting them off. Bitterness markets itself as armour. It works like rust.

One choice stays yours. Curl inward or stay open. Nurse the grievance or reach for a hand. Harden, or stay soft. I overthink most things. This time I didn’t. The answer surfaced on its own, a few days in:

I will come out of this better, not bitter.

There was no plan behind it. Just an instinct that bitterness would be a second death, and two children watching to see which way I’d go. Forgiveness feels like losing, right up until it turns out to be the thing that sets you free.

So I chose the harder road. Forgiveness instead of building the case. My kids ahead of my grievances. Friends I trusted to hold me up on the days my legs went. It didn’t take the grief away.

It gave me somewhere to walk. I had no idea what the walking would make of me.

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Where life gets made

There’s a line in the Bible that used to make me wince.

Writing to people under real pressure, James tells them to count it pure joy whenever they face trials of many kinds. Joy. In suffering. It reads like a bad joke. Or worse, like someone who’s never lost anything telling you to cheer up.

But he isn’t handing out slogans. He’s making a claim about what pain can do to a person who lets it. Grow something durable, a character with actual weight. We treat suffering as an interruption to life. James treats it as the place that life gets made. None of this asks for a fake smile.

It points past the ache to what’s standing when it clears.

Sit through a eulogy and watch what matters rearrange itself. Nobody mentions the promotion, the house decor, the box set you stayed up too late to finish. They talk about whether you were kind. Whether you showed up. Whether you could be trusted.

You stand there and nod, because you already knew. The life we pour ourselves into building isn’t the one that gets remembered. Which means that life gets made in the breaking.

And if you’re in one, it hands you a question you can’t put down.

What to carry

Maybe you’re standing in your own rubble as you read this.

A friendship that cracked. A dream that slipped away while you weren’t looking. Or a loss with no date and no one to blame, the kind that thins you out over years. That counts too.

You don’t need a catastrophe to be allowed to grieve it.

If so, here’s what I’d say across the table. Don’t numb it. Don’t let it make you hard. The strength to come out softer instead of harder isn’t something most of us can manufacture. It’s asked for. We carry a private rule that we should manage this alone, that reaching for help, or for God, is proof we weren’t strong enough. The rule is the thing keeping us hard. So ask anyway.

Make me better, not bitter. Pray it stubbornly.

And when your own ground gives out, carry one question in your pocket: how am I going to walk through this?

The ground can break. You don’t have to break with it.

If life has disappointed you, but something in you still aches for real, A Little Nudge explores the way of Jesus without the baggage.

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A few years ago, someone asked me a question that I’ve heard countless times in ministry.

“Pastor Chris, how do I know if God is speaking to me or if it’s just my own thoughts?”

Maybe you’ve wondered the same thing.

You’re facing a decision.

Praying about a relationship.

Considering a new job.

Trying to figure out your next step.

You want God’s guidance, but you’re afraid of getting it wrong.

What if it’s just your emotions?

What if you’re convincing yourself of something God never said?

What if you miss His voice completely?

Those are honest questions.

The good news is that God is not trying to play hide-and-seek with His children.

While He doesn’t always communicate the way we wish He would, Scripture shows us that God is still actively guiding His people.

The Real Question Most People Are Asking

When people ask, “How do I know God is speaking to me?” they usually aren’t looking for information.

They’re looking for confidence.

They’re afraid of making a mistake.

They want certainty.

I understand that.

I’ve been there too.

But one of the things I’ve learned is that following God is often less about finding absolute certainty and more about learning to trust His leadership one step at a time.

God rarely gives us the entire map.

More often, He gives us enough light for the next step.

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God Primarily Speaks Through Scripture

Before we talk about impressions, feelings, or guidance, we need to start with the foundation.

The primary way God speaks today is through His Word.

Paul wrote:

“All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness.” (2 Timothy 3:16, ESV)

If you want to hear God speak, start by opening your Bible.

I know that’s not the exciting answer some people are hoping for.

Many people want a dramatic sign or a supernatural experience.

Meanwhile, the Bible sits unopened on their shelf.

God will never tell you something that contradicts what He has already revealed in Scripture.

His voice will always align with His Word.

God Often Guides Through Wisdom

Sometimes we expect God to provide a specific answer when He has already given us wisdom.

Proverbs 3:5-6 says:

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding.”

Trusting God doesn’t mean turning off your brain.

It means surrendering your plans to Him while using the wisdom He provides.

Many decisions are not about discovering God’s hidden will.

They’re about applying God’s revealed wisdom.

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God Uses the Holy Spirit

Jesus promised that the Holy Spirit would guide believers.

Sometimes the Spirit brings conviction.

Sometimes He provides peace.

Sometimes He draws our attention to a specific Scripture.

Sometimes He prompts us toward obedience.

The key is understanding that the Spirit’s work always points us toward Christ and greater obedience to God.

The Holy Spirit doesn’t exist to help us justify our desires.

He exists to transform us into the likeness of Jesus.

God Often Speaks Through Other Believers

One of the reasons God designed us for community is because we need each other.

I’ve lost track of how many times God has used a conversation, a sermon, a mentor, or a trusted friend to confirm something He was already teaching me.

That doesn’t mean every opinion is God’s voice.

It does mean wise counsel matters.

Proverbs 15:22 says:

“Without counsel plans fail, but with many advisers they succeed.”

If you’re trying to discern God’s direction, don’t do it alone.

God Opens and Closes Doors

Sometimes God’s guidance becomes clear through circumstances.

A door opens unexpectedly.

A door closes despite your best efforts.

A path becomes available.

An opportunity disappears.

Circumstances alone should never determine God’s will.

But they can become one piece of the puzzle.

God is sovereign over circumstances just as much as He is sovereign over everything else.

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The Mistake Many Christians Make

Here’s where I think many of us get stuck.

We spend so much time asking:

“What is God’s will?”

that we forget to ask:

“Am I becoming the kind of person who can follow Him?”

We become obsessed with the destination.

God becomes concerned with our transformation.

Many times, God is more interested in shaping our character than revealing every detail about our future.

What If You’re Afraid of Getting It Wrong?

This may be the most important section of the entire article.

Many sincere Christians live with a constant fear that they might miss God’s will.

They imagine God standing in heaven waiting for them to make the wrong choice.

But that’s not the picture Scripture gives us.

God is a Father.

Good fathers guide their children.

Good fathers don’t set traps.

If your heart genuinely desires to follow Christ, God is far more committed to leading you than you are to finding the perfect answer.

That truth has brought me a lot of peace over the years.

What Has Helped Me Most

Looking back, I can honestly say that God’s guidance usually became clearer in hindsight.

Rarely did I receive a complete blueprint.

More often, I took one faithful step.

Then another.

Then another.

Over time, I could see God’s fingerprints all over the journey.

Sometimes I wanted certainty.

God gave me trust.

Sometimes I wanted answers.

God gave me growth.

Sometimes I wanted a roadmap.

God gave me enough light for the next step.

And looking back, that was exactly what I needed.

Frequently Asked Questions

Can God still speak to people today?

Yes. God still guides, convicts, encourages, and directs His people through the Holy Spirit, Scripture, wise counsel, and circumstances. However, all guidance should be tested against God’s Word.

How can I tell the difference between God’s voice and my own thoughts?

God’s guidance will always align with Scripture, point you toward Christ, and produce spiritual fruit. If an impression contradicts God’s Word, it is not from Him.

Does God speak audibly today?

While Scripture records instances of God speaking audibly, most believers experience God’s guidance through Scripture, prayer, the Holy Spirit, and wise counsel rather than an audible voice.

What if God seems silent?

Many faithful believers experience seasons where God feels silent. His silence does not mean His absence. Continue seeking Him through prayer, Scripture, and Christian community.

Can I miss God’s will for my life?

Many Christians worry about this. While we should seek God’s guidance faithfully, Scripture presents God as a loving Father who guides His children. Following Christ is more about ongoing obedience than discovering one perfect path.

Should I ask God for signs?

God can use circumstances and signs, but believers should be cautious about making major decisions based solely on them. Scripture, wisdom, prayer, and counsel provide a stronger foundation for discernment.

The Next Step

Learning to recognize God’s guidance isn’t about mastering a formula.

It’s about growing in your relationship with Him.

The closer we walk with Christ, the more familiar His voice becomes.

You may not always have every answer.

You may not always know what comes next.

But you can trust the One who does.

A while back, I sat across from someone who was doing everything they knew to do.

They were praying.

Reading their Bible.

Going to church.

Serving faithfully.

Yet they looked at me and asked a question I’ve heard more times than I can count:

“Why does God feel so silent?”

Maybe you’ve asked that question too.

Maybe you’ve prayed for direction and heard nothing.

Maybe you’ve begged God to intervene in a situation that feels impossible.

Maybe you’ve opened your Bible hoping for encouragement only to close it feeling exactly the same.

If that’s where you are, I want you to know something.

You’re not strange.

You’re not broken.

And you’re not the first person to wonder where God is when heaven feels quiet.

First, Let’s Be Honest About What Silence Feels Like

When people talk about God’s silence, they’re usually talking about more than silence.

They’re talking about disappointment.

They’re talking about confusion.

They’re talking about loneliness.

What many people are really asking is:

“Has God forgotten me?”

“Am I doing something wrong?”

“Why does God seem close to everyone else but not me?”

That’s what makes these seasons so difficult.

If God clearly said “no,” at least we’d have an answer.

If God clearly said “wait,” we’d have something to hold onto.

Instead, it often feels like we’re speaking into the dark and getting nothing back.

And if we’re not careful, silence can begin to tell a story that isn’t true.

We start assuming that because God feels absent, He must actually be absent.

But feelings are not always reliable narrators.

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You’re Not the First Person to Feel This Way

One of the things I appreciate about Scripture is that it doesn’t hide the struggles of God’s people.

David wrote:

“How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?” (Psalm 13:1, ESV)

That’s not a man who feels close to God.

Job spent chapter after chapter trying to understand why God seemed silent in his suffering.

Habakkuk cried out wondering why God wasn’t acting.

Jeremiah wrestled with disappointment and grief.

Even Elijah, after one of the greatest victories of his life, found himself exhausted, discouraged, and questioning everything.

These weren’t weak believers.

These were people God used powerfully.

Yet they all experienced seasons where God’s presence felt difficult to find.

The Bible doesn’t pretend these moments don’t happen.

It acknowledges them.

Sometimes God’s Silence Is Different Than We Think

One of the mistakes we make is assuming that silence means inactivity.

But those are not the same thing.

A teacher may be silent during a test.

A builder may be silent while laying a foundation.

A farmer may appear inactive while seeds are growing beneath the soil.

Just because we cannot see movement doesn’t mean nothing is happening.

Sometimes God has already spoken through His Word, and we’re waiting for a new answer when He wants us to obey the last one.

Sometimes God is shaping our character more than our circumstances.

Sometimes He is preparing us for something we aren’t ready to carry yet.

And sometimes we simply don’t understand what He is doing.

I’ve learned that God’s work often becomes clear looking backward long before it becomes clear looking forward.

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The Hard Truth Nobody Likes

Can I share something I’ve learned about myself?

Sometimes when I say I want God to speak, what I really mean is I want God to agree with me.

I want confirmation.

I want certainty.

I want the answer I was hoping for.

But hearing God’s voice and getting the answer we want are two different things.

Many of us are not struggling because God has never spoken.

We’re struggling because we don’t like the uncertainty that remains after He speaks.

Faith has always required trust.

And trust is hardest when we don’t have all the details.

What If You’re Simply Exhausted?

This is something I don’t hear discussed often enough.

Sometimes what feels like spiritual distance is actually emotional exhaustion.

Burnout can affect the way we experience God’s presence.

Grief can affect the way we experience God’s presence.

Anxiety can affect the way we experience God’s presence.

Stress can affect the way we experience God’s presence.

That doesn’t mean your faith is weak.

It means you’re human.

There have been seasons in my life when I was carrying so much responsibility, pressure, and disappointment that I couldn’t recognize what God was doing because I was simply overwhelmed.

Sometimes the answer isn’t trying harder.

Sometimes it’s rest.

Sometimes it’s slowing down long enough to notice that God never left.

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What Do You Do When God Feels Silent?

Keep showing up.

Faithfulness isn’t proven when everything feels exciting.

Faithfulness is proven when you keep showing up anyway.

Pray honestly.

God isn’t intimidated by your questions.

Read the Psalms if you need proof.

Stay in Scripture.

Even when it feels dry.

Even when nothing seems to jump off the page.

God often uses consistency more than emotional experiences.

Lean on other believers.

There are seasons when we need other people to remind us of what is true.

Borrow faith when your own feels weak.

Stop demanding a timeline.

One of the hardest lessons I’ve learned is that God rarely works according to my schedule.

That doesn’t mean He isn’t working.

It means He’s God and I’m not.

What Silence Has Taught Me

Looking back over my life, some of the seasons that felt the quietest were actually some of the most important.

Not because they were enjoyable.

Most of them weren’t.

But because they exposed things I couldn’t see when life was moving quickly.

They taught me patience.

Dependence.

Trust.

Humility.

I wouldn’t have chosen those seasons.

But I can see now that God was doing deeper work than I realized at the time.

The Silence Is Not The Whole Story

If God feels silent right now, don’t assume the story is over.

Don’t assume His quietness means His absence.

Don’t assume your feelings tell the whole truth.

The same God who was faithful to David, Job, Elijah, and countless others is still faithful today.

You may not see what He’s doing.

You may not understand the timing.

You may still have unanswered questions.

But silence and absence are not the same thing.

Sometimes the seasons where God feels the quietest become the seasons where He is doing His deepest work.

Keep showing up.

Keep praying.

Keep trusting.

The silence is not the whole story.

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Frequently Asked Questions About God’s Silence

Why does God feel silent when I need Him most?

When we’re hurting, we naturally want immediate answers and reassurance. Yet many people in Scripture experienced seasons where God seemed quiet during their greatest struggles. David, Job, and Habakkuk all wrestled with feeling unheard. God’s silence does not necessarily mean His absence. Sometimes He is working in ways we cannot yet see.

Is God ignoring my prayers?

No. Scripture repeatedly teaches that God hears the prayers of His people. The challenge is that God’s response may not always come in the timing or form we expect. Sometimes the answer is yes. Sometimes it is no. Sometimes it is wait. Silence is not proof that God is ignoring you.

Why doesn’t God answer me immediately?

If God answered every prayer immediately, faith would require very little trust. Throughout Scripture, God often worked through seasons of waiting. Abraham waited years for God’s promise. Joseph waited years before seeing God’s plan unfold. Waiting can be frustrating, but God often uses it to develop patience, trust, and dependence on Him.

Can God still be speaking if I don’t hear Him?

Yes. God speaks in many ways, but His primary way of speaking today is through Scripture. Sometimes we expect a dramatic experience while overlooking what God has already revealed in His Word. If you want to hear God’s voice, begin by opening the Bible and listening to what He has already said.

Is it normal for Christians to go through dry seasons?

Absolutely. Nearly every mature believer experiences spiritual dry seasons at some point. These seasons can feel discouraging, but they do not mean your faith is failing. Often they become opportunities to grow deeper roots and learn to trust God beyond emotions and circumstances.

What should I do when God feels far away?

Continue doing the simple things that help you stay connected to God. Pray honestly. Read Scripture consistently. Spend time with other believers. Worship even when you don’t feel like it. Remember what God has done in the past. Feelings change, but God’s character remains the same.

Does God’s silence mean I’ve done something wrong?

Not necessarily. While unconfessed sin can affect our relationship with God, many faithful believers in Scripture experienced seasons where God felt distant. Before assuming you’ve done something wrong, take time to honestly examine your heart, confess any known sin, and remember that God’s silence is not always connected to disobedience.

What Bible verses can help when God feels silent?

Many people find comfort in these passages:

• Psalm 13:1-6

• Psalm 46:10

• Isaiah 40:31

• Lamentations 3:21-26

• Habakkuk 2:3

• Romans 8:28

• Hebrews 13:5

• James 1:2-4

These verses remind us that God’s faithfulness remains even when His presence feels difficult to perceive.