Do You Even See Me?
There are pains you don’t “get over.” You just learn how to carry them…sometimes poorly, sometimes by sheer grace.
In my 20’s, my daughter died. In my 50’s, my son did. And I can tell you with honesty…it doesn’t get any easier. Parents should not have to bury their children. Those were some of the hardest moments of my life, and there are still days when grief rises up like it happened yesterday.
I remember nights when I couldn’t stay inside. I’d step out into the dark, look up at the stars, and ask God questions that felt almost dangerous to say out loud. Through tears, in pain. Do you see me? Do you know how much I hurt? Do you even care?
I never stopped believing in God. But suffering has a way of shaking what you think you know about His kindness. We prayed for healing. It didn’t happen. And when the miracle doesn’t come, the questions don’t stay intellectual…they get very personal.
Was my faith not strong enough?
Was I being punished for my sin?
Was God rejecting me as His son?
Grief can make you interpret silence as absence. It can make you confuse unanswered prayer with unanswered love. And if you’re hurting right now, you may know that spiral. You’re still walking with Jesus, but it feels like your feet are heavy and your heart is full of “why.”
Hebrews 11:20–40 has become a real comfort to me…not because it answers every question, but because it helps me see what my pain can make me assume.
We call Hebrews 11 the “hall of faith,” and we often read it like a highlight reel. But the second half isn’t just wins. It’s people who kept going.
Some were rescued in amazing ways. Others suffered in ways that are hard to even read. And then the Bible says it plainly: “These all… did not receive what was promised” (vv. 39–40).
That doesn’t mean God let them down. It means their faith wasn’t built on what happened next.
This passage also challenged the kind of faith I was tempted to lean on in my grief…the kind that quietly thinks, If I do the right things, God will keep the worst things from happening. The kind of faith that treats prayer like a button you push and obedience like a guarantee.
But that’s not the faith Scripture praises.
Hebrews points to a different kind of faith: trusting God’s promises even when the story stays unfinished. A faith that keeps looking at God’s heart when life doesn’t feel kind. A faith that doesn’t measure God’s love by this chapter alone.
And here’s the uncomfortable truth: faith isn’t proven by getting the miracle you asked for. Faith is proven by bringing your broken heart back to God again, and again, and again.
That’s where the “turn” happens for me, and maybe for you too.
Because the ultimate proof of God’s kindness is not that He spares us every sorrow. The ultimate proof is Jesus.
God did not stand far off from our suffering. He came near. He took on flesh. He wept at a graveside. He carried grief into His own chest. And then He went to the cross…not as a detached deity, but as a suffering Savior.
So when I’m tempted to ask, “Do You care?” I have to get my eyes off myself, and place them firmly on two wounded hands…hands that physically demonstrated how much He loves me.
He may not give you every explanation. But He has given you Himself.
And Hebrews 11 says God “provided something better” (vv. 39–40). That “better” isn’t a tidy life. It’s the promise that your suffering does not get the last word. It’s the assurance that death is not the end of the story for those who belong to Jesus.
If you’re hurting today, if you’re questioning your walk with Jesus…please hear me as someone who has also suffered and questioned. Your questions do not disqualify you. Your tears do not mean your faith is fake. And God is not measuring you by how strong you feel right now.
Sometimes faith looks like courage.
Sometimes it looks like worship.
And sometimes…
it looks like showing up again with a broken heart
and whispering,
“Lord, I’m still here. Help me.”
Here’s the question I’ve been forced to ponder.
What have I started to believe about God because of my pain,
and what does the cross say is true?
If you have suffered and wondered whether God sees you, I want to say it plainly…He does. Not with distant awareness, but with near compassion. And if you are in Christ, you are not being punished, rejected, or forgotten. You are held.
The story may feel unfinished in your hands. But it is not unfinished in His. In Jesus, the ending is secure—and even here, even in the ache, you can rest…God is still good, Christ is still yours, and nothing—not even death—can separate you from His love.
In my 20’s, my daughter died. In my 50’s, my son did. And I can tell you with honesty…it doesn’t get any easier. Parents should not have to bury their children. Those were some of the hardest moments of my life, and there are still days when grief rises up like it happened yesterday.
I remember nights when I couldn’t stay inside. I’d step out into the dark, look up at the stars, and ask God questions that felt almost dangerous to say out loud. Through tears, in pain. Do you see me? Do you know how much I hurt? Do you even care?
I never stopped believing in God. But suffering has a way of shaking what you think you know about His kindness. We prayed for healing. It didn’t happen. And when the miracle doesn’t come, the questions don’t stay intellectual…they get very personal.
Was my faith not strong enough?
Was I being punished for my sin?
Was God rejecting me as His son?
Grief can make you interpret silence as absence. It can make you confuse unanswered prayer with unanswered love. And if you’re hurting right now, you may know that spiral. You’re still walking with Jesus, but it feels like your feet are heavy and your heart is full of “why.”
Hebrews 11:20–40 has become a real comfort to me…not because it answers every question, but because it helps me see what my pain can make me assume.
We call Hebrews 11 the “hall of faith,” and we often read it like a highlight reel. But the second half isn’t just wins. It’s people who kept going.
Some were rescued in amazing ways. Others suffered in ways that are hard to even read. And then the Bible says it plainly: “These all… did not receive what was promised” (vv. 39–40).
That doesn’t mean God let them down. It means their faith wasn’t built on what happened next.
This passage also challenged the kind of faith I was tempted to lean on in my grief…the kind that quietly thinks, If I do the right things, God will keep the worst things from happening. The kind of faith that treats prayer like a button you push and obedience like a guarantee.
But that’s not the faith Scripture praises.
Hebrews points to a different kind of faith: trusting God’s promises even when the story stays unfinished. A faith that keeps looking at God’s heart when life doesn’t feel kind. A faith that doesn’t measure God’s love by this chapter alone.
And here’s the uncomfortable truth: faith isn’t proven by getting the miracle you asked for. Faith is proven by bringing your broken heart back to God again, and again, and again.
That’s where the “turn” happens for me, and maybe for you too.
Because the ultimate proof of God’s kindness is not that He spares us every sorrow. The ultimate proof is Jesus.
God did not stand far off from our suffering. He came near. He took on flesh. He wept at a graveside. He carried grief into His own chest. And then He went to the cross…not as a detached deity, but as a suffering Savior.
So when I’m tempted to ask, “Do You care?” I have to get my eyes off myself, and place them firmly on two wounded hands…hands that physically demonstrated how much He loves me.
He may not give you every explanation. But He has given you Himself.
And Hebrews 11 says God “provided something better” (vv. 39–40). That “better” isn’t a tidy life. It’s the promise that your suffering does not get the last word. It’s the assurance that death is not the end of the story for those who belong to Jesus.
If you’re hurting today, if you’re questioning your walk with Jesus…please hear me as someone who has also suffered and questioned. Your questions do not disqualify you. Your tears do not mean your faith is fake. And God is not measuring you by how strong you feel right now.
Sometimes faith looks like courage.
Sometimes it looks like worship.
And sometimes…
it looks like showing up again with a broken heart
and whispering,
“Lord, I’m still here. Help me.”
Here’s the question I’ve been forced to ponder.
What have I started to believe about God because of my pain,
and what does the cross say is true?
If you have suffered and wondered whether God sees you, I want to say it plainly…He does. Not with distant awareness, but with near compassion. And if you are in Christ, you are not being punished, rejected, or forgotten. You are held.
The story may feel unfinished in your hands. But it is not unfinished in His. In Jesus, the ending is secure—and even here, even in the ache, you can rest…God is still good, Christ is still yours, and nothing—not even death—can separate you from His love.
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