If God is for us, why has all this happened to us?

“If God is for us, why has all this happened to us?” It’s a question many of us have asked, whether out loud or quietly in the middle of a difficult season.

Lately, I’ve found myself asking a different version of it.

Like many of us, I’m navigating a season that feels heavier than the ones before it. A season where there seems to be a gap between what God has spoken over my life and the chain of events currently unfolding. Somewhere along the way, my why became how.

Same doubt, different question.

When those thoughts arise—and they have—I often find myself brought back to one image: a bloodied Savior carrying the cross of humanity. The epitome of unfairness. In that moment, my finger-pointing accusations toward my own circumstances begin to lose their weight. The cross reminds me that suffering has never been proof of God’s absence.

Life was never promised to be easy. Ease was never part of the promise. Worth and ease are not synonymous.

The moment we begin living as vessels for His purpose, our lives take on eternal significance. But purpose doesn’t exempt us from hardship. If anything, it gives our suffering context. And throughout it all, God remains faithful to His Word and faithful to accomplish everything He has spoken.

The challenge isn’t God’s faithfulness. It’s what prolonged waiting can expose within us.

Sometimes, a delayed answer awakens traces of unbelief that were quietly hiding beneath the surface. Waiting has a way of revealing what comfort never could. It forces us to ask difficult questions.

How long is too long to keep believing?

When do you stop waving the banner of faith?

What would it take for you to throw in the towel?

If you’ve been a Christian long enough, you know it isn’t usually the initial hardship that shakes you. It’s what comes after.

It’s not the pink slip that scares you; it’s two weeks later when another paycheck hasn’t come. It’s not the diagnosis you’re waiting for; it’s feeling your symptoms worsen while the doctors still don’t have answers. It’s not losing your footing; it’s watching the hole you’re in grow even deeper.

The attack itself isn’t what catches us off guard. In many ways, we’ve come to expect opposition. What often unsettles us most is a season of perceived divine inactivity.

When a week turns into two. When deadlines approach. When doors remain closed. When the situation moves from difficult to impossible, and God seems to be on vacation.

That’s often when our focus begins to shift. Without realizing it, we start exalting our circumstances above the God we’ve trusted all along.

Our prayers slowly change from, “Even if everything falls apart, I will still trust You,” to, “How are You going to fix this, Lord?”

Where our eyes are fixed will eventually shape our language.

If your focus, like mine, has begun to drift, I invite you to look back. Remember the last obstacle He carried you through. Remember the last storm He calmed. Remember the prayer you thought would never be answered.

The same God who was faithful then has not changed.

I’ll leave you with a prayer I wrote during a previous season of uncertainty—one that has become my prayer again in this season of waiting and closed doors.

God, teach me how to put unbelief to death in my life. Help me notice when it begins to creep back in, and give me the courage to confront it immediately. Teach me to trust You in the night season, even when faith doesn’t feel easy. I know that You cannot fail, and You will not fail me. Until You bring me through, I will trust in Your ways.

With love always,

Chris