There are seasons when faith feels easy.
When prayers are answered, rain is falling, our children are doing well, and doors are opening, it’s easy to say, “God is good.”
But what about when they aren’t?
What about when you’ve prayed the same prayer for years? When you watch the sky, desperately hoping for rain? When you’re raising young children in a world that feels heavier by the day? When you truly believed God called you to something, poured your heart into it, and then watched door after door close?
That’s where I’ve found myself learning what it really means to stand firm in my faith. Not when everything makes sense, but even when it doesn’t.
I’m going to give a few personal examples that may resonate with you too.
Fertility struggles taught me a kind of surrender I never wanted to learn. There is a unique heartbreak in desperately wanting a child and realizing you have absolutely no control over whether that prayer will be answered. You can do everything you’re supposed to do. You can make the appointments, take the medicine, pray until you don’t know what else to say, and still wait. There were times I didn’t understand God. But I learned something in that waiting that I still carry with me: Faith isn’t trusting God only when His answer is yes. Faith is trusting His heart when I don’t understand His answer at all. We can grieve and still trust. We can question and still believe. We can desperately want a different answer and still know that God is good.
Being a farm family also has a way of reminding us just how little control you actually have. You can prepare the ground, plant the seed, work from sunup to sundown, and make every decision you know to make. But you cannot make it rain.
During a drought, you watch storms build and disappear. You see rain falling miles away while your own ground stays dry. And when your family’s livelihood depends on something completely outside of your control, fear can creep in quickly. Farming continues to teach me the difference between doing our part and believing we control the outcome. We plant. We work. We pray. And then we trust God with what we cannot control. Sometimes His provision looks like rain. Sometimes it looks like enough strength and grace to keep going while we wait for it.
Motherhood has made me more aware than ever of how heavy this world can feel. Sometimes I look at my children and wish I could protect their innocence forever. I think about what they will face as they grow, and if I let myself look too far ahead, fear can take over. Then I remind myself: God did not accidentally place my children in this generation. He knew what the world would look like when they were born. He knew what they would face. And He chose me to be their mom right here, right now. I can’t protect them from every hard thing, but I can give them a foundation. I want them to see a mom who prays when she’s scared, who turns to Jesus when she doesn’t have the answers, and who trusts Him even when life doesn’t make sense. I don’t need my children to think their mom always had everything figured out. I want them to remember, “When Mom didn’t know what to do, she trusted Jesus.”
And then there’s the business I truly felt God called me to. I prayed about it. I poured my heart into it. I sacrificed for it. I believed there was purpose behind it. So when door after door continues to close, it’s hard not to ask: “God, did I misunderstand You? If You called me here, why does it feel like I’m fighting so hard to stay here?” I’m still living this one, so I don’t have a perfect answer. But I’m learning that a closed door doesn’t necessarily mean I heard God wrong. Sometimes a calling is for a season. Sometimes obedience produces something completely different than the outcome we imagined. And sometimes God uses the thing we thought we were building to build something inside of us instead. Maybe standing firm doesn’t always mean fighting harder to keep the door open. Maybe sometimes standing firm means having enough faith to loosen our grip on the handle. To say, “God, I believe You called me here. I’ve given it everything I know to give. But I want Your will more than I want my way. If this door is supposed to open, I trust You to open it. And if You’re closing it, give me the faith to follow You wherever You lead next.”
I used to think strong faith meant never questioning, worrying, or feeling discouraged. Now I think sometimes the strongest faith simply says: “God, I don’t understand this, but I’m still here.” I’m still praying. We are still planting. We are still raising our children to know Jesus. I’m still trusting Him with the dreams He placed in my heart. I’m still believing that a closed door doesn’t mean my obedience was wasted. Because my hope was never supposed to rest in answered prayers, rainfall totals, the safety of this world, the success of a business, or my ability to hold everything together.
The circumstances will change. Seasons will change. Doors will open and close. There will be years of abundance and years when everything feels painfully dry. But God doesn’t change. So when I don’t understand what He’s doing, I’ll stand on what I know about who He is. “Be on your guard; stand firm in the faith; be courageous; be strong.” — 1 Corinthians 16:13
I don’t want a faith that only works when life works out. I want a faith that can look at an uncertain future and still say: “Whatever comes next, God, I’m still Yours.” And I will stand firm.
We would like to thank Beckah Hunt for writing this blog.
Women's Ministry 