Journal
Reflections on faith, Scripture, and the deeper life.
I remember sitting in church one Sunday, staring at the worship lyrics on the screen, but feeling nothing. Everyone around me seemed moved—hands lifted, eyes closed. But inside, I felt hollow.
It was 2:17 a.m. when I stared at the glowing numbers on my alarm clock, wishing I could fall asleep. My mind was racing—replaying conversations, imagining worst-case scenarios, worrying about things that hadn’t even happened yet.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve prayed with tears in my eyes, only to feel like the heavens were silent. One night stands out. I was on the floor beside my bed, clutching a pillow, whispering the same prayer I had prayed for months: “Lord, please… please answer me.”
There was a season in my life when I kept a box of tissues on the nightstand and a bottle of medicine on the counter. Some nights I cried because my body hurt. Other nights I cried because my heart hurt. Sometimes it was both.
I can still picture the room. The blinds were drawn, the chair sat empty beside me, and the silence felt heavier than words. I scrolled through my phone contacts but didn’t call anyone. I told myself, “Don’t bother them. Just get through it.”
I’ll be honest with you: I didn’t always trust the Bible.
I’ll never forget the day I sat in my car in the grocery store parking lot and cried. Nothing “big” had happened. No tragedy, no loss, no crisis. Yet there I was, gripping the steering wheel, wondering if anything I was doing actually mattered.
I remember the hospital waiting room like it was yesterday. The smell of coffee that had been sitting on the warmer too long ?, the harsh fluorescent lights, the sound of the clock ticking too loudly for the silence in the room. I sat there clutching my Bible, but truthfully, I didn’t feel like reading it.
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I’ll never forget the night. It was 2:17 a.m. and I was staring at the ceiling, wide awake, heart pounding like a drum I couldn’t silence. My thoughts were racing, and every possible “what if” felt louder than the voice of God.
Let’s be real: in a world that shouts “me first!” everywhere you look—Instagram feeds, corporate ladders, even grocery store lines (don’t even get me started on people who cut in front of you at self-checkout)—choosing to serve others stands out like a neon light.
Once upon a time, prayer meetings meant folding chairs in the church basement, a pot of coffee brewing and someone’s Bible held together with duct tape. But now, Thanks to technology, prayer meetings can happen anywhere—in your living room, in your car during lunch break, or even across time zones.
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