the beginning of a truth i can no longer carry in silence
It grieves me to post this.
For years I’ve tried so hard to believe in a God I can’t see, can’t hear, can’t feel, and honestly don’t see working in my life. I’ve wrestled, begged, waited, and tried to convince myself that pain and suffering are somehow necessary for growth — but I no longer believe that. I don’t believe suffering makes you stronger, and I’m tired of pretending it’s a requirement for blessing or proof of faith.
Because of that, going forward, I will not be writing, talking, or sharing anything faith‑based. I can’t keep forcing myself to speak from a place I no longer recognize.
These words were written in April of 2025, and I’ve edited them now because my beliefs have been shaken. They still speak for the part of me that is questioning everything — even whether God is there at all.
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I cried myself to sleep last night.
I cried because I’m tired, weary and exhausted from life and all of its demands.
I cried because faith and endurance sometimes aren’t enough.
My heart is unpleasantly disturbed.
The testing of my faith has transformed into something that resembles resentment, rather than spiritual growth.
It has become painfully obvious that I don’t agree with the idea that we must walk so much of this life through long, tedious and excruciatingly painful valleys in order to get to a place where God is satisfied with our progress.
I once thought I understood the reasons behind all the “why,” yet the question still lingers, unanswered and unresolved.
I’m not being defiant or trying to be displeasing. These are simply my true feelings, and I’m human and vulnerable enough to finally admit them. If I’m judged for that, so be it — but I can’t deny what’s real inside me anymore.
I am simply finite, flawed, and covered in flesh and bone.
I’m like the dust in the wind, here one moment and gone the next.
Life is fleeting, yes.
It is but a mere breath.
I’m incapable of understanding the plan for my life, and yet circumstances far beyond my control continue to plague my mind.
Pain and suffering is not a choice anyone would willingly make for themselves, and it often feels cruel to imagine it being necessary for growth or learning.
It bewilders me to think that if there was a divine intention for humanity, we’ve drifted so far from it that pain seems to overshadow any sense of purpose or meaning.
It is deeply perplexing, and it has left me feeling disconnected from everything I once believed.
I honestly feel as if I’m wandering through the desert for a drink of water to quench my dry, thirsty, and burdened soul.
Discontentment has become my new best friend, and my perception of life has been clouded and consumed with doubts and confusion.
I’ve become a weakened vessel that’s been slowly drifting out to sea.
Questions are consistently lurking deep within me.
My heart simply cannot contain them all.
The biblical promises I once clung to now feel too impossible to believe.
I’m not certain I am capable enough to keep believing in that which I can’t see.
Holding on to unpredictability feels like a fast‑moving stream that flows straight through to the other side of the river, dries up, and then ceases to exist.
Will any of that which is unforeseen ever come to pass?
My faith feels too heavy to carry.
I’m troubled beyond belief.
Will I ever be free from the unending fear I loathe — the ache that swells in the pit of my stomach?
Will I ever be able to overcome it?
Will my desire to keep following the faith‑path I’ve always known slip away from me like a thief in the night? And if it does, will I be too afraid of what might happen if I no longer follow it?
My flesh has been overpowered by temptation’s lure, and the loss of my youthfulness has grieved me deeply.
Why do I so often feel like I’m failing at the life I’m trying to live?
How can I keep following a path of faith when that very faith has been shaken?
I’m having a hard time believing that He is working all things out for my good.
Is it wrong to admit that my beliefs no longer make sense to me?
sometimes healing is a flicker, sometimes it’s a return to the wound. but even in the unraveling, i’m learning to move forward with courage— one honest breath at a time.
there is room for your mourning and room for your dancing morning comes gray with rain asking its old questions of the heart joy waits quietly inside the ache sometimes the rain must finish speaking before the sun is allowed its say i am learning to dance where i stand not against the drops, but with them both ways of being are holy
*a quiet reminder that life’s beauty, value and significance often lie in its smallest, most ordinary of things — the everyday, often-overlooked aspects of life. we get to choose what we reach for…
a quiet reminder that imperfect faith is still faith
do you ever feel like you’ve stumbled in your walk with god? like something you said or did might cause others to question your faith? do you feel that quiet conviction of the holy spirit when that happens? and do others sometimes criticize you for not living up to a picture‑perfect standard of righteousness?
if there’s one thing i’ve learned on this journey, it’s this: there will always be someone who makes you feel inadequate — like you’ve let the lord down. there will always be messy moments when life gets in the way and you trip over your own intentions.
but let me remind you:
we are all imperfect. we are all messy. and i’m not ashamed to say that my faith is messy too.
i need god. i need the holy spirit. and as long as i’m trying — truly trying — to live in truth and righteousness, i believe god sees past my flaws and failures. he sees my heart. he sees yours too.
he sees you rise each morning, trying again to lead others toward him. and maybe we don’t always get it right — but the goal was never perfection.
if all you have to offer is a messy, real, raw, and authentic faith, that is enough.
you are loved. god loves you — even in your mess.
so have a blessed day, even if it’s imperfect. even if it’s filled with effort and not ease. it counts. it all counts.
keep growing. keep trying. keep showing up.
love, tina ♡
—
Today’s quiet reflection is resting on my substack, if you’d like to read it.
… “live and breathe beauty”— fully immersing oneself in the aesthetic and wonder of life, finding joy and inspiration in the beauty that surrounds us.
… “beauty is all the earth” hints to nature itself is a manifestation of beauty, and the earth being a “canvas of its LOVE” points to beauty is an expression of divine or universal love. It’s a poetic way of describing the interconnectedness of beauty, nature, and love.
(we) all is intertwined by beauty, love and nature and our lives are a canvas for both…
Personally, I’m finding that with each passing day, I’m becoming more authentically myself — more aligned with who He created me to be. And I’m eagerly anticipating deeper intimacy with Jesus and greater alignment with His purpose for my life tomorrow.
May you grow more into your authentic self with each new day, finding joy in the journey of discovering and embracing your true identity in Christ. May tomorrow bring you even greater clarity, peace, and confidence in being beautifully, wonderfully you, rooted in His love.
A psalm of brokenness and restoration. May these words be a sanctuary for your heart today.
—
I carry shame for actions, words, and thoughts. The inability to trust You still escapes me.
Though doubts and confusion make me feel so weak, still You call me worthy— more than I can believe.
Even in my most broken state, You still call me daughter. How can You remain so faithful when I continually falter?
I often wonder if I am truly chosen, or destined to a life undone by the world, when trials shake me to my core— when I cannot feel Your Presence, and Your voice seems so distant, the silence pressing in like stone.
You whisper:You are not defined by misery, nor by a life without purpose. The refining fire is painful, even breaking at times, yet beyond the surface a greater work is unfolding.
You stretch the limits of my sight, so I may see through clouded glass, bask in surrender’s light, and drink deeply of living water— drawn into intimacy with You.
The burden I carry, the weight of my heart, is being woven into a tapestry, a work of art.
You are preparing me. In the stillness, You mold and shape me, making room for my story that will propel me forward— not perfection, but mercy, a blessing that lingers in the lives of others.
My testimony will no longer be bound by pain. For when I walk in my calling, a lioness will rise forward to guard the hallowed ground with reverence. Your strength will be my armor. Your power will be my shield.
Not perfection, but grace. And in You, I am made whole.
There are moments when weakness feels louder than faith, yet I have found a deeper truth: even in my frailty, His love calls me His. What seemed like breaking has become shaping, and grace has carried me into wholeness.
Do you hear that same love naming you, even in your own fragile places?
