Navigating Mental Challenges After LossSample

Clinging to Faith in the Unknown

"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God." - Philippians 4:6 (ESV)

There's a kind of grief that doesn't shout anymore; it just lingers. It hums in the background, shows up in pauses, in the in-between spaces. This verse, "Do not be anxious about anything…" (Philippians 4:6, ESV), didn't feel like a command to stop feeling anxious. It felt more like an invitation to bring that anxiety, that ache, into prayer. Into His presence.

Paul wrote these words from prison, not from peace. He was confined, uncertain, yet anchored by the God who had never left him. And I think of Abraham, who followed God into the unknown, trusting promises he couldn't yet see. Every altar he built was a declaration: I may not understand, but I trust the One who walks with me.

Depression often lurks in the unknown, the long seasons of waiting, uncertainty, and pain. Like the Apostle Paul, who openly wrote about his "thorn in the flesh," many believers face ongoing struggles that test their faith. Paul's message reminds us that God's power is made perfect in weakness. Holding onto faith doesn't mean we won't struggle with dark thoughts or feelings; it means trusting God's presence even when the light feels dim.

I've seen this trust lived out in the story of Jay and Katherine Wolf. After her massive brain stem stroke, their life was rerouted entirely. There was no return to "before." And yet, they discovered that their limitations didn't define their story; God's faithfulness did. They let their pain give birth to something new: 'Hope Heals', a ministry and non-profit that supports people with disabilities, suffering, and caregiving burdens, without needing to tie a bow around it.

My journey hasn't been nearly as visible, but it's been just as inwardly complex. There were days I didn't know what to pray, so I simply read Scripture aloud like a lifeline:

"Seek first the kingdom…" (Matthew 6:33) became my compass: Lord, help me find You when I'm lost in the fog.

"If Your presence will not go with us, do not bring us up from here…" (Exodus 33:15, ESV) became my daily whisper: Don't send me where You won't walk beside me.

"All things work together for good…" (Romans 8:28, ESV) became the quiet question: God, can You still work good here, in this?

There were no instant answers. But His presence remained. Steady. Gentle. Unmoving.

Grief doesn't end in a straight line.

It ebbs, flows, loops back, and sometimes surprises us with both tenderness and ache.

But what I've come to know is this: God meets us in every stage.

Whether we're shattered, steady, numb, or just trying to get through the next hour, His presence doesn't flinch. It stays.

Over the past seven days, we've walked through layered truths: that grief is personal, that healing is uneven, that peace and pain can coexist. We've seen how biblical faith didn't shield people from sorrow, but helped them walk through it: Hannah with her raw honesty, Elijah in his state of burnout, and Paul with his thorn.

Maybe your story doesn't look like mine. Maybe your loss feels unspoken or too complex to put into words. That's okay. What matters is this:

You are seen. You are loved. And God isn't rushing you to be okay.

He's just asking you to stay close.
To keep your heart soft.
To find Him not just at the finish line of healing, but here, in the messy, sacred middle.

So walk slowly.
Let joy and sorrow take turns.
And know this:
Healing is not forgetting.
It's the quiet decision, every day, to keep living.

Reflection Questions:

• What verse is helping you anchor your faith today?
• Where are you learning to walk slowly with God?

Prayer:

God, thank You for being near, even when I’m unsure. Help me to hold space for both sorrow and hope. Let Your presence be my steady place. I don’t need all the answers—just the assurance that I’m not walking this alone. Amen.