When I Needed More Faith and Hope Than I Knew How to Ask For

On Sunday we sang my favorite hymn, "More Holiness Give Me", and it caught me off guard.

Not in a big, noticeable way.

More in the quiet way things do when they reach a place you didn’t know was tender.

One line at a time.

I felt it before I understood it.

My chest grew heavy, that familiar lump rising in my throat.

The kind you don’t plan for.

The kind you can’t talk yourself out of.

I kept singing anyway.

Softly.

Unsteadily.

Tears slid down my face, not dramatic, just those quiet heartbreak tears that seem to carry everything you haven’t had words for.

“More faith in my Savior, more hope in His word.”

That line has stayed with me.

Not because I don’t have faith.

I do.

I believe deeply.

I’ve built my life around that belief.

But there are seasons when faith feels quieter than we expect it to.

Less bold.

Less steady.

And if I’m honest, sometimes just tired.

I don’t think we talk about that part enough, the part where you’re still faithful but worn down.

Still believing, but a little unsure how to hold everything at once.

Somewhere along the way, many of us picked up the idea that faith should always feel strong.

Confident.

Unwavering.

That once you know the truth, you shouldn’t struggle like this anymore.

And when doubt, grief, or weariness creeps in, we start asking ourselves what we’re doing wrong.

But this hymn doesn’t shame the asking. It invites it.

It doesn’t say, you should already have this figured out.
It says, ask for more.

More faith.
More hope.
More patience.
More freedom.

That feels merciful to me.

“More patience in suffering.”
That line always stops me.

I wish it said less suffering. I really do.

...But it doesn’t.

It names the reality of the road we’re on and gently asks for something inside of it.

Patience.

Grace.

Endurance.

Not the kind that comes from pushing harder or being stronger, but the kind that comes from being held.

Sometimes life feels... heavy.

Parenting can feel relentless.

Obedience can feel lonely.

Prayers don’t always come back answered the way we hoped...or on the timeline we prayed for.

And in those moments, hope can feel fragile.

Like something you’re carefully carrying instead of confidently proclaiming.

That’s when “more hope in His word” becomes a lifeline.

Not hope as a feeling, because feelings rise and fall.

Hope as a choice.

Hope as returning, again and again, to what He has already said when the future still feels unclear.

Hope that His promises apply here too, even now, even when the waiting stretches longer than you expected.

What I love most about this hymn is that it feels like a conversation. Not polished. Not impressive. Just honest.

A heart saying,

I still need You.
I still want You.
I still believe, and I need help believing again today.

Faith... I’m learning, isn’t about having it all figured out.

It’s about turning toward Him again and again. With full hands. With tired eyes. With questions we haven’t resolved yet.

So this week, that’s my prayer. Nothing fancy. Nothing performative.

More faith in my Savior.
More hope in His word.

"More, Savior, like thee"