Sometimes, it feels like evil wins. We labor in faith, striving to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with our God, but we do not always see the fruit. I’d be lying if I said there haven’t been moments when the world feels heavy on my shoulders, and my heart can barely take the pain pressing in from every side as I wonder where God is in the mess of it all.
Throughout Scripture, God calls us to care for the suffering, the downcast, the poor. We’re called to speak up for the marginalized and care for the hurting.
A group of women from across the country invited me to their group to lead an online prayer session. They were faithful advocates, working to create change for some of the most vulnerable in our communities. They believed in bipartisan solutions and had tirelessly pursued conversations to bring hope and practical action. But before our scheduled time of prayer, they experienced significant setbacks. What had looked like promising conversations quickly turned into closed doors. The effort had been met with resistance, and they were left discouraged, questioning whether their work mattered, wondering what would happen to those who would remain hurting and unhelped.
I was discouraged, too, carrying my own doubts and frustrations. But I showed up anyway.
Some of us wiped away silent tears, and others sat with our hands folded tightly in our laps. We had come together to pray, listen, and lament — but honestly, I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to pray. I didn’t want to sit in silence, waiting for God to show up.
God felt distant.
And I felt alone.
Looking back, I can see that prayer was exactly what we needed. On that digital call, something began to shift as we slowly turned to spiritual practices. We practiced Lectio Divina, a way of reading Scripture prayerfully, allowing the words to speak into our weary hearts. We engaged in the Examen, reflecting on where we had seen God at work, even in our discouragement. We wrote small liturgies — simple prayers to name our sorrows before God. Little by little, the tightness in my chest eased.
Our time together did not change circumstances, but by the grace of God — the Loving Parent who holds us even when we struggle to hold on — it changed me.
As I look around, it’s easy to feel like sorrow and struggle are unique to our times. But after spending time in the Psalms, I’m reminded that humanity’s ache is nothing new. This push-pull of who we are and who we could be has always been history — but the mercy of God has always been our hope, too.
Lament is part of walking with God. The psalmists cried out. Jesus Himself wept. When we let ourselves feel the pain of our weary world and the ache in our hearts, we step into sacred sorrow, something Jesus knew intimately.
Just because we cannot always see the tree growing and bearing fruit does not mean the work we did to plant the seeds was in vain.
So much of our modern lives are focused on avoidance. We scroll, we busy ourselves, we try to distract ourselves from the ache — anything to keep us from feeling too deeply. But the way of Jesus is not avoidance. It is incarnation — presence, embodiment, and action.
As we read in James, faith without works is dead. But the inverse is also true: action without God will falter. On my own, my work will flounder. It will taper off in the face of adversity. It will burn out in exhaustion or despair. If left to me, I will give up.
Only the Spirit of the Living God keeps me going.
I wrestle with the silent doubts I don’t want to name. The ones that creep in during the waiting. The ones that whisper: What if this is all for nothing? What if I misheard God?
I find comfort in knowing that God is not afraid of my doubts, my silence, or my noise. God absorbs my screams as readily as my refusal to pray at all. There are moments when I do not want to invite God into my pain. I want to wallow, to rage, to sit in the dust and despair. I want to let my hot takes and anger fester. I don’t want to enter into prayer.
But in the presence of those women, as we sought hope together, I was reminded that though darkness lingers and injustice remains, hate does not have the final say. Communal prayer invites us into active participation in our world, propelled by the nourishing comfort and righteous power of the One who gives us breath.
By the power of the Spirit, we can take the next step. We can listen for the still, small voice of God. We can draw near to those who suffer, grieve with the grieving, speak truth in power, and embody love in action.
If you find yourself in a place of lament today, know this: You don’t have to do it alone. And you don’t have to hide your pain, frustration, anger, or discouragement from God. You do not have to pray beautifully scripted prayers, and you do not have to have all the answers.
You are held.
You are not alone.
May this simple prayer carry you:
God of Gentleness, You care for me.
Thank you for this relatable writing. It spoke to my spirit and reminded me God understands my heart, my not wanting to pray, my laments. He knows me and wraps me in his grace and love.
Lisa, I’m so honored that you could relate to these words. I’m prayerful alongside you.
This was so helpful, more than you can know, more than I can explain. Just know it made a difference.
Madeline, that means so much to me to hear, truly. Thank you for reading and taking the time to share that.
Kayla,
Sometimes the only place that life makes perfect sense and I’m at perfect peace is when I’m in prayer! Praise be to God that he’s always there ready to listen!
Thank you for sharing… I shared this devotion on Pinterest.
Thank you so much for taking the time to read AND share Lisa! Peace be with you.
Dear Kayla,
Perhaps the most relevant piece I’ve read in a while. I spent last year reading Dark Clouds Deep Mercy by Mark Vroegop. Healing grace of lament it gives so much voice to our pain.
My husband and I are grieving 10+ years of our adult son as a homeless man. He’s a college graduate, he works and lives in his car in the northeast where it’s currently freezing. He can’t afford to rent and suffers from depression and anxiety. We were both teachers, and raised him as a wonderful human being who loves the Lord. How we have prayed, spent thousands of dollars on counseling. No one has any answers.
So we plod along trying to find joy in the journey.
Please keep our sweet little family of 3 in your prayers. We often groan before God when words fail to come.
Thank you for your writing. I enjoy it when you come into my box!
Dee adding you to my prayer list to keep trusting believing God will answer your prayers for your son . Don’t give up ‼️ I pray he will hear God’s voice submit and change course .
Oh, Dee. I’m so sorry for all you are holding while you walk through this with your son. You are not alone — there are many of us who have seen those we love most struggle. The ache to fix it is so, so real. May God be present where we can not. Thank you for sharing a glimpse of your story and his with us so that we can join you in prayer. I’m praying for you all from my little spot in Iowa.
Kayla,
Thank you! Just what I needed to read.
We are all children of God. My heart breaks for all those suffering.
The journey of following God’s word of love in action will continue despite feeling disheartened.
With you, Christine. With you. I truly believe the only way we move through the ache is together.
. . . there are SO many truths resonating in this piece, Kayla . . . so appreciate your authenticity, reminding us lament IS part of walking with Our Father, and what a vicious lie of the enemy that because we cannot, or will not, see the fruit, means our sowing was in vain. And distraction . . . yes, the truth that it is avoidance! How precious your reminder that His way is not avoidance but incarnation, and we can be that for each other: present, burden-bearers, encouragers. Thank you for your wisdom and courage.
Yes to all of the above, Susan! Grateful that (in)courage can be a place where we can share in the joys AND in lament, too. Thank you for reading and taking the time to share here.
This post really spoke volumes to me . Honest thoughts we often keep to ourselves in secret when in confusion and hurt . God is ALIVE and came for the broken hearted .
He came to comfort us in our lament . He knows our thoughts before we think them yet He wants to comfort and bring Hope to our soul . Anchor to him . He won’t walk away . It’s us that walk away from Him. Talk to him watch Him hug you in His Love
Cheryl, thank you for reading. Yes, may we turn to the Comforter when our hearts are heavy and we have no more words. Thank you for being here and joining us in prayer.