In the Pit with Jeremiah

Jeremiah was faithful. He spoke what God told him to speak, even when it cost him. And it did cost him. In Jeremiah 38:6 (NLT), we read:

"So the officials took Jeremiah from his cell and lowered him by ropes into an empty cistern in the prison yard... There was no water in the cistern, but there was a thick layer of mud at the bottom, and Jeremiah sank down into it."

That image has stayed with me. A prophet, stuck in the dark, sinking into mud, abandoned by the very people he was trying to help.

I’ve never been thrown into a literal pit, but I’ve known what it feels like to sink. Depression, for me, hasn’t always been dramatic -- it’s been slow, heavy, and quiet. There have been days when I couldn’t pray, couldn’t feel, couldn’t move forward. Days when I questioned whether I was still called, whether I was still useful, whether I was still seen.

And yet, God didn’t leave Jeremiah there. He sent help. Not a miracle, not a flash of light, but a quiet advocate named Ebed-Melech who saw him and acted. That part of the story reminds me that God doesn’t always rescue us with thunder. Sometimes, He sends someone who simply shows up.

Even in the pit, Jeremiah’s voice wasn’t silenced. His story didn’t end there, and neither does mine. Neither does yours.

I’ve learned that being stuck doesn’t mean being forsaken. Feeling spiritually dry doesn’t mean God has walked away. Some of the most honest moments I’ve had with God have come when I had nothing to offer but my presence. And He met me there.

Jeremiah also wrote Lamentations 3:19–24 (NLT):

"I will never forget this awful time... yet I still dare to hope."

That line has carried me. Depression may cloud our view, but it can’t cancel God’s presence. Even in the pit, we are seen. We are held. And we are not alone.

Reflection Questions

• Have you ever felt stuck emotionally or spiritually?
• What helps you “dare to hope” when everything feels heavy?

Prayer

God, I feel stuck. I don’t have the words, and I don’t feel strong. But I’m here. Thank You for meeting me in the quiet, in the dark, in the pit. Thank You for sending help, even when I don’t know how to ask for it. Help me dare to hope again. Amen.