It was fall of 1991, 8:30 in the evening, when tragedy struck Jerry and his family. In just a few short minutes, Jerry went from feeling on top of the world to staring a hopeless life in the face.

He and Lynda, his wife of twenty years, were driving home from observing a Native American powwow with their four children and Jerry’s mom, Grace. It was a “field trip” for their two oldest children who were learning about Native American culture in homeschool.

As they rounded a corner during a lonely stretch of road, an oncoming car driving extremely fast jumped the lane and smashed head-on into their minivan. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion.

After recovering his breath, Jerry turned around to survey the damage. His children looked in terror, grappling with what had just happened. Horror struck Jerry as he saw the unconscious and broken bodies of Lynda, his four-year-old daughter Diana Jane, and his mother. He pulled Catherine (then eight), David (seven), and John (two) out of the van through his door—the only one that would open.

He scrambled to take pulses and do mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, trying to save the dying and calm the living, but he couldn’t stave off the growing panic he felt as he watched Lynda, his mother, and Diana Jane all die before his eyes. As people began to gawk and emergency vehicles started to arrive, Jerry felt as if he was sinking into a darkness from which he’d never again emerge as a sane, normal, believing man.[1]

In the days and weeks that followed, Jerry faced a flood of questions which threatened everything he believed about God.

Where is God, after all, when people close to you are prematurely snatched out of this life? Is He responsible for taking Jerry’s wife, daughter, and mom?

Why didn’t God stop the car—why did He allow the car to meet Jerry’s van at that precise moment in time? A half second earlier or later and his family would all still be together.

Why didn’t God keep his family safe?

Laura and her husband, Martin, had been married a year and were getting ready to move to Atlanta, Georgia, when she began noticing some unusual symptoms in Martin. He’d become more forgetful than normal. Somedays he wanted to do nothing but sleep and other days he wouldn’t sleep at all.

They moved to Atlanta, but the symptoms only got worse. He would fall asleep on her in the middle of a conversation. Eventually, it got to the point where even when they were out with friends, he would fall asleep in the middle of someone’s story.

They began looking into it, seeing five different physicians. But none of them could find anything wrong.

Others started picking up on Martin’s symptoms and offered their opinions of him just being lazy or needing counseling.

Finally, nearly a year after the initial symptoms began, they found a doctor who ordered a CT scan and MRI of the pituitary gland. The scans revealed that Martin had a tumor on his brain pushing against his pituitary gland, knocking his hormones out of whack.

Laura remembers the call vividly. It changed her life. No, the call didn’t lead to Martin’s death, but it marked the beginning of a long, slow journey in her marriage.

The tumor was eventually removed, but Martin suffered from acute memory loss. When Laura first walked into the room after the surgery, Martin said, “LAURA STORY! What are YOU doing here?” She told him they were married, to which he responded, “We are?! Yes!”[2] Nearly two years after their wedding, they were starting their marriage all over again.

Why didn’t God fix Martin’s tumor?

How come God allowed it to require surgery?

Why was this the way her marriage had to start?

Jeremy had met Melissa during his first week at college and quickly fell head-over-heals for her. Around the time he was ready to propose to her, Melissa found out she had ovarian cancer. The doctors weren’t sure she would live very long.

Jeremy was committed to marrying Melissa—he wanted to walk with her through whatever amount of life they had together. He was also convinced God was going to heal Melissa from cancer.

And He did.

After a lengthy bout and many chemo treatments—just as they were getting ready to do a hysterectomy—the doctor found the cancer was gone. Melissa would live!

Six months later, the two were married and they began their miraculous life together. Jeremy was a growing Christian music artist and would tell Melissa’s story of healing on stage and in his songs everywhere he went.

But then the cancer came back, stronger than before. Within a few days, Melissa was gone.

She died. No miracle. Nothing bringing her back. Jeremy was alone, a widower.

Why did God allow Melissa’s cancer to come back?

Why did He heal her, in the first place, if He knew she would eventually die from it?

Jeremy had prayed hard for his little brother when they found out he would be born with disabilities. He prayed for healing, that his little brother could be born without disabilities. But God hadn’t answered that prayer, either. His brother was born disabled.

Why does God allow people to go through intense times of darkness and suffering? What is He doing when he seems absent and unconcerned?

In the months that followed my mom’s death, there were times where I felt as if I was alone in an empty room.

I’d cry, pray, agonize, and search God’s Word for comfort, but it all felt empty. It felt like nobody was there.

This is how it feels when tragedy strikes.

Sometimes the tragedy doesn’t come from losing a loved one or facing cancer. Sometimes it comes in the form of getting injured in way that hinders you from ever using your skillset again.

Tragedy comes in the form of infertility, mental instability, unfulfilled desires, loneliness, family members who don’t share your faith, never-ending cycles of unwanted behaviors, or prayers repeatedly going unanswered.

As Laura put it in her book, When God Doesn’t Fix It, “We’re all just one phone call away from learning the results of a test or the news of an affair, the death of a loved one, the loss of a job, or a thousand other ways our hope can be shattered.”

If we haven’t already, we will likely one day wake up with the feeling that life as we know it is hopeless.

Where is God on those days?

It might be tempting to conclude that these things prove there is no God. That it’s all been a myth, a fairy-tale created in a big, black book called ‘The Holy Bible.’

After all, there are many people around us today who have also drawn this conclusion. Many of them seem to be living just as happy and fulfilled a life as we are. Maybe even more. What if we really have been hoodwinked all these years?

But then, if there is no God, what hope do we have? There isn’t any. Such a conclusion ends only in Nihilism. Narcotics and suicide are our only escape, and those simply continue the suffering here in this life.

Maybe Confucius was right: heaven really is silent.

The only way to experience a good life is to realize the moral potential in ourselves.

But then what do we do when no matter how many times we try or how many meditations we recite we continually feel a raging anger or the hallow ache of isolation within ourselves?

Perhaps Buddha had it better: we simply want too much.

If we had less desire, we would experience disappointment less and therefore not face anger or despair.

But desires come out of nowhere. It’s depressing to attempt to rid myself of desire. I’ve attempted a form of that kind of life and I went crazy!

Muhamad taught that the pain we experience comes as the result of our sin—which he defined as rejecting right guidance. If we followed Allah’s guidance, we would do what is good and therefore experience no pain.

But that seems so random. Lynda, Diana Jane, and Grace died because they did not rightly follow God? What if Jerry had lived a perfect life—why does he now suffer because of their sin?

But Jerry didn’t live a perfect life. We all know we regularly reject right guidance. We don’t always do what is right, no matter how hard we try.

What are we then supposed to make of the hopelessness we face?

For many Christians, we know these other alternatives don’t offer better answers. But neither do we have any real confidence God is present and cares about us in hopeless times. We believe God speaks, answers prayer, brings healing, loves us, never lets us down or “puts us to shame,” but now He seems silent. So, we sink into disillusionment and despair.

What does God’s Word say about where He is when life feels hopeless?

I wish that everyone who reads this would take the next year to read the whole Bible through at least once, if not two or three times.

The whole story of scripture begins with a good God making a good and whole creation. But humanity chose not to honor God as God and rebelled against His Kingship. Just like any rebellion in any kingdom, this rebellion opened the way for God’s creation to be infiltrated by sin and corruption.

The rest of the story is God faithfully pursuing redemption for His creation by restoring His relationship with mankind so that man can rule and reign according to His likeness as He originally designed.

I don’t have the space to walk through the whole Bible narrative here, but I’m going to highlight a few moments throughout the story that help us understand where God is when He feels absent.

The Feeling of God’s Absence Is the Result of Mankind’s Sin

As already observed, we face seasons in life when God feels absent. Even if we have already, we will likely face another season where God seems silent.

This isn’t unique to us. David—the one scripture says was a man after God’s own heart—had thoughts of death because it seemed God wasn’t answering him:

“I pray to you, O LORD, my rock. Do not turn a deaf ear to me. For if you are silent, I might as well give up and die.” -Ps. 28:1

“Come quickly, LORD, and answer me, for my depression deepens. Don’t turn away from me, or I will die.” -Ps. 143:7

In times of hopelessness, we long with such gut-wrenching anguish for God to hear us and respond that when he doesn’t seem to respond death feels like the only option before us.

But what kept David from dying? He literally had people trying to kill him, what gave him hope? Why didn’t he resign to the fate that he saw? Why didn’t he “fall on his own sword” and remove himself from the pain of despair?

Psalm 69 perhaps captures David’s own agony more completely than any other Psalm. Again, he begins by crying out for God to hear him, that it feels as if he is sinking into deep waters that are going to sweep over him. Darkness and death are not that far away from David’s mind.

But as the Psalm continues, David acknowledges something that can be easy to miss: “O God, you know my folly; the wrongs I have done are not hidden from you.”

David was intimately in-tune with his own sin.

He was not frustrated by his sinfulness, as if he was attempting to live a life of perfection and couldn’t make it happen. He was broken by the reality that he was a man of folly.

In Psalm 25, David cries out that God remember His mercy and steadfast love—and not the sins of his youth or his transgressions (vs. 6-7). David realizes that any response from God comes because of God’s mercy and grace. David sees himself as potentially being cast away from God’s presence because of his sin. Any holding together of his life—which seems to be falling apart at various times—is sign of God’s mercy and grace toward him.

To David, simply not being defeated (or “put to shame”) is a response from God. It testifies that there is a God from long ago whose steadfast love continues to endure. His sole aim, then, is to sit in the sanctuary of the Lord where His presence dwells, and to meditate in the Lord’s temple day and night (Ps. 27:4).

So, here’s the first thing I take away as I observe the biblical story: I feel God’s absence because we as mankind are sinful. Our sinfulness led us to be cast out from God’s presence (Gen. 3), and we’ve ached for the presence of the Lord ever since.

Despite Our Sinfulness, God Calls Us by Name

To back up to the beginning of the story just after Adam and Eve initially rebelled against God by seeking to be gods, themselves, the first thing God did was call for Adam (Gen. 3:9). At the moment immediately after God’s good and beautiful creation had been broken—the moment you would think all hope had been lost—God calls for Adam.

This paradoxical theme continues throughout scripture. Immediately following Genesis 11, perhaps the most depressing chapter of the whole Bible because it seems like humanity is at its zenith in walking away from God, God calls Abraham (Gen. 12).

There is a picture developing here that when the world is at its darkest time, God steps into the chaos and calls His people to Himself.

When Israel continued to choose to walk away from God, which He had said would lead to exile, they are taken away into exile. But, as we see through the prophet Isaiah, right as Israel is staring this devastating reality in the face, God tells them: “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine” (Is. 43:1).

Instead of separating Himself from rebellious Israel, He identifies them as His people, as the one’s He will watch over and see through the trial.

As we continue through the story and get to the end of the Old Testament, when it seems like all hope has been lost, God comes in human flesh. Jesus Messiah comes as the exact imprint of the Father in Heaven (Heb. 1:3, 2Co. 4:4, Col. 1:15).

And if we look forward, biblical eschatology understands that times will seem increasingly hopeless, but that in the darkest moment is when we can expect the salvation of King Jesus (Mt. 24:29-31). The point of focus for our eschatological vision should not be the darkness (the beast, riders, or other scary things of Revelation). The point of focus should be the redemption God has promised and which we can rightfully expect because, as we have gone through the biblical story, we see that it was in the darkest moments God came and called His people by name.

Despite Our Sinfulness, God Looks for Hearts Through Whom He Can Show Himself Strong

Not only does God seek us out even though we’ve caused a separation in our relationship, He actually wants to be with us in spite of our brokenness.

2 Chronicles 16:9 says, “…the eyes of the LORD run to and fro throughout the whole earth, to show Himself strong on behalf of those whose heart is loyal to Him.”

We face an innate desire to fix whatever is wrong in the world—especially when we have messed something up. Part of the hopeless feeling we face comes by the slow realization that our human efforts aren’t enough to fix the problem we feel inside or experience in the world around us.

God is not looking for men and women who can fix the problem.

He is looking for people whose hearts are turned towards Him. People who trust Him. People who recognize they need Him, in the first place, and who believe He is enough to sustain them when all hope is lost.

Instead of relying on other kings around them to protect them from defeat, God wished king Asa (2Chron.) had relied on Him.[3]

Despite Our Sinfulness, God Goes with Us into the Darkness

As Ezekiel sat in his house before the elders of Judah, he received a vision of what was to happen when Judah would be taken into exile. In his vision, he saw was the glory of God ascend out of the temple and into the city, and then eventually away from the city and into Chaldea—where they would be exiled (Ez. 10:1-22, 11:22-25).

This dramatic representation of what was going to happen when Judah was brought to demise mirrored what Isaiah spoke of in chapter 43, where God calls Israel by name.

Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;

I have called you by your name; you are Mine.

I will be with you

when you pass through the waters,

and when you pass through the rivers,

they will not overwhelm you.

You will not be scorched

when you walk through the fire,

and the flame will not burn you.

Isaiah 43:1b-2

Despite our sin that has caused separation in our relationship with God, He calls us, seeks to show Himself strong in us, and commits to walking with us into the darkness.

We might wish that God would remove us from trial altogether. I don’t really understand why God allowed mankind to bring suffering on themselves. But I do know that God doesn’t leave us when life feels hopeless. He isn’t standing back aloof and unconcerned about our pain.

When we’re sinking into despair because of having watched those close to us die, He is right there with us, grieving and suffering with us.

Just as Israel’s exile was intended to awaken within them an ache for God and their need for His deliverance, the darkness of relational isolation can be a subtle (or obnoxious) invitation to turn our hearts toward God recognizing we need Him and His deliverance.

Something about trials creates in us a more perfect expression of His image, which seems to be the whole point of salvation (Js. 1:2, 1Pet. 1:6, Ro. 8:18-29). These “light and momentary afflictions, as Paul puts it, work for us “a greater weight of eternal glory” (2Co. 4:17), and proves God’s eternal deliverance as we continue through the trials with trust instead of fear (Phil. 1:27-31).

Times of darkness can be extremely lonely. Often, other people around don’t understand why life feels hopeless. And even if they can imagine why it would, they don’t necessarily feel it with us.

Perhaps this is why Jesus chose to close out His final words to His disciples by promising He will be with us “even to the end of the age” (Mt. 28:20). It’s going to be tough, but He’s going to be there with us the whole way through.

Despite Our Sinfulness, God Conquered the Grave So We Could Hope in Eternal Fellowship with Him

If you question whether God really calls you by name, whether He really goes with you into the darkness and shows Himself strong in you, simply look to the cross and the empty tomb.

Nothing shouts “I am with you in darkness” like the King of Kings hanging on a tree (Mt. 27:38-56). Nothing convinces that there is some hope left in the world like that same King’s tomb sitting empty and Him now standing in your house asking for something to eat (Luke 24:36-49).

Hope is not the same thing as wishing. Hope is a fixed reality. You might wish I have a short sermon, but you know for certain that if I don’t preach too long you will make it home in time for lunch. At least that is one fixed component to experiencing your desired reality.

Our hope in the middle of darkness is Jesus Christ.

He did enter the grave and He did rise again. And because He did this, we will have eternal fellowship with God (1Co. 15:12-28). This is a fixed reality. It is our hope.

So whatever pain and sorrow we carry, whatever loneliness and desperation we feel—however hopeless life feels—we cling to the empty tomb as proof that redemption really is in the works. This painful season really will one day pass.

If the same Spirit who raised Jesus from the dead lives in us, He gives life to our mortal bodies (Ro. 8:11). He makes it possible to endure through the darkness. And nothing can separate us from the love and the presence of the Father who watches over us and cares for us in the middle of it all (Ro. 8:31-39).

To quote Laura again,

It’s hard to understand why sometimes Jesus heals and sometimes he doesn’t. When it feels as though he’s turned his back and walked the other way, it’s hard not be disappointed. Maybe even angry.

But while we’re focused on the unhealed sickness, hurt, and pain in our lives, God is focused on a bigger picture. Something else is broken, and it has eternal consequences if it doesn’t get fixed.

It’s our relationship with our Creator.

When God Doesn’t Fix It p. 40.

Where is God when life feels hopeless?

He’s inviting us back into Himself, back into His presence, back into the safety of His arms.

The Next Question for Us to Ask

It’s okay to ask the question “Where is God when life feels hopeless?” because it sends us looking for answers that reminds us He’s right here with us. He is in the chaos with us and wanting to show Himself strong through us. But as Laura put it, we can get so focused on having God fix things that our question of where He is may not have much to do with finding out His location. It might have more to do with seeing if He’s going to fix things.

Which is why the next question we ought to ask ourselves is, “Am I willing to let God show Himself strong through me?”

And this question hinges on the question, “Do I actually trust God?”

David ends Psalm 28—the one where he’s begging God not to be silent or he may as well die—by declaring that he trusts the LORD with all his heart (28:7).

We really only have two options in the middle of hopeless times of life. Either we despair and give up, or we trust God with all our hearts.

Paul tells us in Romans 8:17-25 that we will experience the same resurrection Jesus experienced if we are also willing to experience the same suffering He endured. He says all of creation is held in bondage to corruption. All of creation groans in agony because of the sin unleashed in the world.

Perhaps the most startling statement Paul gives in this passage is that even those filled with the Holy Spirit will experience corruption in their bodies. Apparently, the Holy Spirit is not a ticket to get out of pain. Rather, the Holy Spirit helps us in the pain and is the guarantee that we will actually make it through (Ro. 8:26-27, cf. Eph. 1:14).

Just as Jesus was glorified through suffering, we too will be glorified through suffering.

The suffering hurts—not doubt about that. After all, Paul compares it with childbirth! The inward groaning we face in times of hopelessness is and will always be intense.

But in those moments, we hope in the fact that the suffering works together for good, conforming us into the image of Jesus, and restoring our relationship with God (Ro. 8:28-30). That’s what it means for God to “show Himself strong through us.”

So, ask yourself, “Am I willing to let God show Himself strong through me, right now, today?”

There have been four distinct seasons of my life where things felt hopeless.

The first came when I was sixteen years old. My two older siblings were off at Bible school and our church was going through a rough time. Dad was lead pastor, but he had experienced something that felt like a betrayal. Both Dad and Mom were struggling with depression/grief. I felt like I had to be the strong one of the family.

Making matters worse, there were a couple youth events planned for local churches during that time which many of my good friends were a part of. Typically, our church would have been invited as well, but because of who planned these, we weren’t. Not only did I feel like I needed to be the strong one in my family, but I also felt really alone.

I remember frequently having the thought run through my head, “I may as well either give up on God altogether or give Him everything I have.”

Through this time I took up writing and discovered that I could pour out my heart to God in journaling. I had some of the sweetest times with God as I devoured the Psalms and then wrote about what I was feeling and facing in life. I felt close to Him.

Another time came several years later when I was at my wits end in my battle with lust. I had tried so hard to “get free,” but I couldn’t. I kept falling back into sinful habits.

One night I was so fed up with the struggle that I took a drive out to Malibu and spewed off to God. I felt that there was no point in pretending to be a Christian if I couldn’t live with integrity in my private life. I felt like a fake.

On the drive back, when I had calmed down and was riding in silence, I heard God say in near audible voice, “I forgive you, Son. And I love you.”

I had never had Him speak to me quite like that before. And I thought he would be disappointed in me and as frustrated that I couldn’t get things together as I was. Instead, He was right there patiently walking with me, forgiving me, in spite of my sinfulness.

Another time was the months following Mom’s death: I wanted to sleep life away. Teresa and I were newly married—we should have been bubbling over with excitement and joy, taking every adventure that came our way. But I could barely get up in the mornings.

What made this experience more difficult was that I never had any breakthrough experience with God telling me something specific. Mom died in November, and I remember by the end of January and beginning of February still feeling like I was talking in an empty room when I would try to pray. The grief hurt so bad, I didn’t really like being still and quiet. Floods of emotion would sweep over me.

But I was challenged through Jerry Sittser’s book, A Grace Disguised, to do the work—yes work—of sitting still and letting the darkness overwhelm me. He compared it watching the sun set: the shortest way to see it rise again is to walk East, into the darkness, instead of chasing it around the globe.

Over the next several months, I dedicated periods of time to do just that: to cry, to journal, to listen to music that brought the grief to the surface instead of music that drowned it out. Eventually, I began feeling like there was Someone in the room with me, after all.

I began sensing God’s presence again.

Later that year, we were asked to move to Thailand. I can remember praying to God about it, and, at first, I didn’t hear any answer or get any kind of direction. Eventually, however, God did answer some specific prayers. I didn’t receive near audible voice, but specific things we had prayed about were answered and it seemed right to make the move.

Then during our time in Thailand there was some interpersonal conflict between people close to us. It hurt to watch it happen, and it hurt even more to hear the things they would say to us about each other. I wanted so badly to see reconciliation, but none came. As the years went on, things only got worse.

I remember pulling into the parking lot for a meeting and sitting on my motorbike waiting to go inside. My soul felt as if it was weeping. I felt similar inside to the grief and disappointment after Mom had died, but I had no tears. I didn’t feel any hope for conflict resolution, and it made me ache deep inside.

There wasn’t any resolution. There was a parting of ways. To this day, I’m not really sure what those relationships are like, but I am not aware that there has been any meaningful reconciliation.

When I am focused on God fixing that situation, I find it difficult to pray passionately for anything. But when I am focused on drawing near to God right now, today, in the middle of questions, disillusionment, and confusion, I can pray with all my heart that the same can happen for those individuals.

Our relationships and experiences in this life are marked by the painful separation of sin.

God cares so deeply for us that He has spent history pouring out everything He is to draw us back to His presence—the only place where life has hope.

The question for us is, do we trust Him?

You can share feedback in the comments below.

[1] Jerry Sittser, A Grace Disguised (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2004), 25-26.

[2] Laura Story, When God Doesn’t Fix It (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2015), 1-14.

[3] This theme runs throughout Scripture.

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