The Cry That Comes in the Waiting

There are days I want to cry out to God and say, “Please… this is too much.” Maybe you know those days too.

The kind where being “the strong one” feels more like a burden than a blessing. When you’re the glue, the steady one, the encourager... and yet something inside is quietly unraveling. It’s not dramatic, not even visible. But it’s real.

I think of those nights when I’ve knelt in prayer and cried until the tears dried on my face and still... nothing changed. At least not the way I hoped. Those are the moments I wrestle with heaven in the silence. I know God is there. I know He’s good. But waiting like that? It can chip away at your hope if you're not careful.

I remember sitting in church once, during a song about miracles, and just whispering under my breath, “But what if the miracle hasn’t come yet?”

That soft ache in my chest, hope and hurt sitting side by side.

And sometimes, the deliverance I long for… is from my own thoughts. The anxious ones that show up at midnight. The guilt that sneaks in when I forget something small. The fear that maybe I’m not enough for what He’s asking me to carry.

I’ve come to believe that crying out isn’t weakness. It’s worship. It’s surrender. It’s that raw, unfiltered trust that says, “I don’t see the end yet, but I believe You’re already there.”

That’s what faith looks like to me these days.

Not loud declarations. Not perfectly crafted affirmations. Just simple, tired prayers that say, “Lord, I need You here.”

Because sometimes, deliverance doesn’t look like escape. Sometimes it looks like peace in the middle. Or just enough strength to take one more step. Or the kindness of a friend who texts out of nowhere, and somehow that helps you breathe again.

If you’re in a season where you’re crying out-I want you to know, I get it. And I believe He does too.

Even when we don’t see it.
Even when it takes longer than we hoped.
Even when we wonder if we’re the only ones holding on.

He is working.
He is near.
And He hears.

Always.