April 26
This isn’t the part where I say “God is still good.”
This isn’t the post where I wrap pain in scripture and pretend it’s enough.
This is the part where everything I believed started to collapse.
And I let it.
Because how do you keep believing in a God who made promises He didn’t keep?
I wasn’t just grieving her.
I was grieving the version of God I had believed in my whole life.
The God who rewards obedience.
The God who answers prayer.
The God who comes through when the story gets dark.
I did all the things.
Trusted. Obeyed. Worshiped. Believed.
I laid down dreams and desires and timelines in the name of your will be done.
And still… You let her die.
You gave her to me—only to take her back.
You lit up my womb like a promise… then blew out the candle before I could see her grow.
You knew what this would do to me.
And You did it anyway.
That day I didn’t just feel abandoned—I felt deceived.
I walked into the NICU with prayers still fresh on my lips.
I walked out of it with her body wrapped in silence.
And I thought to myself: How dare You?
How dare You let me believe this would end differently?
How dare You give me glimpses of hope and call it “peace?”
How dare You whisper scriptures about life and light and purpose—and then bury mine?
I had a Job moment.
Not the watered-down, coffee-mug version.
The real one.
The moment where you stop nodding in church.
The moment where worship songs feel like lies.
The moment where you open your Bible and throw it across the room because nothing in it feels true anymore.
I cursed You in my heart.
I dared You to explain Yourself.
I said the things I wasn’t supposed to say.
If this is what “faith” earns me,
If this is what trusting You gets me—
Then what’s the point?
They don’t tell you how faith can fracture.
How it can shatter and not come back together the same way again.
I lost my faith that day.
It became jagged. Quiet. Suspicious.
It no longer found comfort in clichés.
It no longer expected rescue.
It sat in the ashes with nothing but questions—
and refused to move.
I know one day I might come back to hope.
But this was not that day.
This was the day I let myself say:
“I don’t know if I believe You anymore.”
And somehow, even that…
was a kind of prayer.
The Story Between Storms 
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