Learning to trust God Archives - Christy Miller Bell

How To Hear God When Everything Falls Apart

Apr 15, 2026

When church leaders wound you, when ministry dreams die, when everything you’ve built crumbles—these are the moments that test whether your faith can survive. It’s difficult to hear God’s voice. But when we go through devastating rejection, we can learn to recognize God’s presence in our deepest pain. Even when we’re fed the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, our Teacher never hides himself.

The day felt like it was closing in. The four walls pulled tight together. My mind swirled as I recalled the words that cut like daggers. A double-edged knife thrust from the mouth of the pastor. “We don’t want you here. Don’t come back.”

We had given almost two years of our lives to this church, and now we were being told our work was faulty. Lacking. What’s worse is that our children had established friendships here. We had built a ministry from the ground up. It was thriving. The people loved us. They were our family. The hurt was so raw I imagined it was a little like cutting off an arm without anesthetic.

In our brokenness and hurt, we could have left it all. Walked away from the church. From God.

And no one would have questioned our decision.

But we couldn’t.

In the shadow of those painful days, we groped for answers. But God continually reminded us that he was present in our pain. And he was still sovereign. The darkness nearly suffocated us, but the promises of God became the light we needed to keep going.

And though the Lord gives you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, yet your Teacher will not hide himself anymore, but your eyes shall see your Teacher. And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, “This is the way, walk in it,” when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left. — Isaiah 30:20-21

It was a balm for the gaping wound. A healing word in the midst of the hurt. That God had not abandoned us. It was by his leadership we found ourselves in this place. Just as he led the people of Israel through the wilderness to teach them how to rely on him, we were learning to stretch our faith when we didn’t understand or see the way.

And Though He Gives…

Years before, God had confirmed his call on our lives. Fresh out of Seminary and eager to begin a life together, my husband and I waited for God’s hand of blessing. But we soon learned the hard truth. From his hand comes both the bitter and the sweet. Through experience, we began to see how God weaves them together for a grander purpose we often don’t see. Even Job recognized that God’s hand sent both the rain and the drought.

…Should we accept only good things from the hand of God and never anything bad? — Job 2:10

The Psalmist exposes the pain of his heart as a reminder that all things we experience in this life come through the filter of his hand.

You have fed us with sorrow and made us drink tears by the bucketful. — Psalm 80:5

So often I want to run for shelter. To seek escape from the trials of this life. I want things to be easy and smooth. To know exactly what comes next. To be comfortable. And even though he comforts me in my struggle, I am never promised the easy life.

Paul’s words tether me to reality. “My grace is all you need.”

— 2 Corinthians 12:9

…The Bread of Adversity And The Water of Affliction…

As much as I want the bounty of the good life, I am often fed with the scant provisions of the bread of adversity and the water of affliction.

How can I survive when the food I need for life is laced with difficulty and struggle?

The term used in Isaiah 30:20 that is translated as adversity literally means a pebble, or a tight place. Then the writer builds the pressure by using the word affliction. It describes being squeezed hard or hemmed in. The crushing weight of our distress makes survival uncertain. Yet in the midst of the strain the promise remains. God is present.

No matter if our trouble is momentary and easily fixed or if we are constrained to the point of death, God is with us. Through every tribulation, every trial, every trouble, we are never alone.

…Your Eyes Will See…Your Ears Will Hear…

The promise for Israel then is a promise for me today. When the days are lean, I still don’t know how we will get through. When the road is rough, I long for a rest. When the path leads me in unfamiliar territory, I still question and doubt. On my own, I fail him.

Every.

Single.

Day.

But his grace is never about what I do or don’t do. It’s a certain promise that exists outside of my actions. And that’s the best part. Even when I don’t understand why, he never stops leading me.

It’s the beautiful dance of delight and joy with sorrow and suffering. Each coming in its perfect time.

The trials of my younger days are no less painful remembering, but here on the other side, I can see the way God led us. I’ve learned to recognize his voice whispering direction when I come to a crossroads. I understand that no matter what I go through, he is with me. And even if I don’t know the reasons why, I can trust that everything he does comes from a heart of love.

When the walls threaten to close in on me now, I search the landscape to see his hand guiding. I move forward with my ears tuned to the tender whisper behind me.

What has God taught you through your wilderness season? Share in the comments below—your story might be the encouragement another reader desperately needs today.

Need help hearing God’s voice in your pain? Download my free 5-day devotional guide based on Isaiah 30:20-21. Get daily reflections, journaling prompts, and prayers for your wilderness season.

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How To Trust God When You’re Afraid

Mar 19, 2026

Trust feels like a lost way of life. We’ve been hurt, betrayed, and let down by people we thought we could count on. But the deeper issue isn’t just about trusting others—it’s about trusting God. This post explores how fear and faith can coexist, and how we can learn to place our full weight on God even when life feels uncertain.

When I am afraid, I put my trust in you. In God, whose word I praise, in God I trust; I shall not be afraid. What can flesh do to me?

—Psalm 56:3-4

We heard the boom. Somewhere up the road, a truck now limped along on a busted tire. Moments later, a man walked into our driveway asking for help. He didn’t have a spare and he was miles from home. Could we help him get it fixed? My husband talked to the man for a while and then gave him the spare off his own truck with a promise that the man would return it the next day. I was skeptical.

A Lost Art

Years ago, trust was an unwritten rule, an unspoken agreement. It was signed with the shake of a hand. A person’s word was enough. But these days it’s harder. Who can we really trust? Who’s telling us the truth?

We’ve been hurt—betrayed, deceived, and stabbed in the back. It’s no wonder we don’t trust other people. Even within the church body, the place where I should be able to share my deepest hurts and needs, there is an undercurrent of suspicion and doubt. How often do I shake hands with those around me and smile, but refuse to allow anyone to get below the surface to see the real pain I’m walking through?

Trust seems like a lost way of life.

The Real Problem

Sometimes this distrust of others comes from our own experiences with people who have hurt us. But more often, if we dig a little deeper, we might find that we don’t trust others because we don’t trust God. My journals are full of prayers and passages describing the full assurance I should have in God’s constant presence and power, yet even now, I am aware of my failure to fully grasp the truth that God is trustworthy. I want to trust God, but when I get to the heart of the issue, I realize I’m afraid.

I’m not alone in my doubts and fears. Even David, the writer of Psalm 56, bares his heart describing the struggle between his faith and his flesh. People have done him wrong. He’s been chased, threatened, and attacked. He clearly tells us that he is afraid. But fear doesn’t have the last word. “When I am afraid, I put my trust in you.” This is a deliberate act of placing trust in God.

The Hebrew word used here is batach, which indicates confidence, boldness, and security. The idea is being able to place our full weight on him. It means we can rely on God. But the value of this trust is not based on the one doing the trusting. Instead, the value is determined by the object of our trust: God.

Learning to Trust God

When David’s enemies surrounded him, he went back to God with his fear and doubt. He reminded himself that God can be trusted to take care of him. He believed that as long as he trusted God, there was nothing anyone could do to hurt him. His life was in the hands of his God.

David teaches us a valuable lesson. Trust doesn’t mean an absence of fear. It means leaning on God in the middle of our doubt and questions. David didn’t trust God because his circumstances were safe. He trusted because over and over again, God had been faithful.

The next day, the man returned the spare tire with a smile and a handshake. I’ve thought about that stranger more than once since then. Because the truth is, my husband didn’t loan the spare tire because he did a risk assessment. He loaned it to the man because it was the right thing to do and it didn’t matter if he brought it back or not. His trust wasn’t in that man. He placed his trust in God to take care of our needs as we help meet the needs of others. That’s the kind of trust that David had.

Trust doesn’t wait for proof before it acts. It doesn’t need a guarantee before it gives. It proclaims that, even in the middle of the fear—what can flesh do to me? My life is in God’s hands. And that is enough.

Where are you being asked to trust God right now—before the proof shows up? I’d love to hear your story in the comments.

3 Things This Puppy Taught Me About Walking With God

Mar 12, 2026

Through the daily struggle of training a new puppy, God revealed something unexpected: my resistance to obedience looks a lot like Scout when he tries to pull away from his leash. I’m learning what it means to walk worthy of our calling—not perfectly, but together with God.

I therefore, a prisoner for the Lord, urge you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love…

—Ephesians 4:1-2

So, some exciting news…we got a puppy! I’m still not entirely sure this is good news. The last time I had a puppy I was 20. Things were a little different then. There were few responsibilities. Sleep was overrated. And I had plenty of time.

Now, I’d pay real money for a good night’s sleep. Time is at a premium, and I have more responsibilities than I care to admit. So what made me think this was a good idea? Not to mention that I’m significantly older now.

So with a momentary lapse in my faculties and the pure cuteness of this adorable little dog—here we are. Scout is officially a family member. A few days in and I think we’re finally getting used to each other.

Now, we are training. Leash training. Command training. Potty training. Crate training. Lots of training.

The Struggle

Today, I took him for a walk. It’s been a constant struggle to get him to stay with me instead of pulling away. Walking beside me is an important training exercise to accomplish. He pulls and tugs to try to go his own way, but I apply gentle pressure to keep him in line with my steps. He whines, tries to run ahead of me, then stops and digs his heels in the ground. He’s a strong puppy. But with consistent training, the experts tell me he will eventually succumb to my way.

God uses everyday moments to teach me significant lessons.

I’ve been meditating on Ephesians and what it means to walk with God. As I was training Scout to walk beside me, I heard God say, “Look at how he pulls away and tries to go his own path. You do that, too. Listen to me and submit to my leadership just as you want the dog to submit to yours.”

It’s true. Like Paul said in Romans 7:19: “For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing.”

There is deep within me a desire more money and more things. I feel the need to work hard so I can make those things a reality. But God’s word says I am to seek first his kingdom and trust him to provide what I need. At other times I feel pulled to seek recognition instead of God’s presence or experiences instead of God’s power. And each time God’s hand of correction is firm.

Training Scout has shown me more about myself than I wanted to see.

Practice…

It takes patience and repetition to learn good habits. We don’t get it right the first time. Scout needs the regular exercise of walking beside me. Of going his own way and being pulled back to my side. He needs to practice walking to match my gait, my speed, and my direction. As he learns my ways, the walks become easier.

Submitting to God means giving up my own way. It means making the choice to bend to his will. God’s grasp is firm, but gentle.

No discipline is enjoyable while it is happening—it’s painful! But afterward there will be a peaceful harvest of right living for those who are trained in this way. —Hebrews 12:11 NLT

Obedience takes practice. It is active forward motion. Practicing habits that lead to transformation. Over time, I begin to feel the stress lighten. The discomfort diminishes. Before long I am walking beside him keeping in step.

Patience…

One of the lessons I’m teaching Scout is to wait patiently while I open his kennel. But, sometimes he whines and cries to try to get his way. When he does this, I turn my back. His desire is for me to hear him, to notice him. But I don’t give in to his whims of wanting to get out of the crate. I wait patiently for him to stop. As soon as he quiets down, I open the door.

Just like Scout, I find myself crying and whining about the things God does or hasn’t done. But those cries are demands for attention—it’s me allowing my emotions to run rampant without restraint. These cries reveal my true heart. I’m no longer seeking God to build a relationship. Instead, the whining shows me a rebellious heart that wants only what God can give.

Trust…

Scout pulls away because he doesn’t trust me yet. He doesn’t know that just beyond the yard lurks all kinds of danger. If I allow him to go his own way and do whatever he wants without restraint, he could end up hurt or even dead. His safety is a priority, so he has to learn obedience by listening and following my lead. When Scout learns to listen and obey, eventually he will be able to go anywhere with me.

My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me. —John 10:27 ESV

Just like I have a purpose in mind as I train Scout, God has a purpose in mind for my life. Training is uncomfortable. Submission is not fun. It can be downright frustrating and even painful sometimes. But the reward is worth the effort. Trusting God when I can’t see a way forward takes practice and determination. It takes listening and obeying even if it doesn’t make sense to me.

Yesterday, Scout walked beside me for almost a full minute before he pulled away. It was just a moment—but we both felt it. That ease. That rhythm of moving together without fighting. I know God is pleased, when I finally stop digging my heels in and just walk. I think that’s what Paul meant by walking worthy of the calling. Not perfectly. Not without stumbling. Just—together.

This week, notice moments when you’re pulling away from God. Write down one specific area where you’re resisting God’s direction. Then ask: what would it look like to walk in step with him today?

If this encouraged you, share this article with a friend!

What To Do When God’s Silence Becomes Unbearable

Feb 26, 2026

Every believer faces seasons when prayers seem to hit the ground and heaven feels empty. This post explores the painful reality of God’s silence and offers biblical strategies for maintaining faith when you can’t hear his voice. Drawing from Psalm 42 and King David’s honest struggle, you’ll discover that spiritual silence isn’t abandonment—it’s often God’s way of deepening your trust.

As the deep longs for streams of water, so I long for you, O God.

—Psalm 42:1

It felt like my prayers hit the ground. I was seeking answers. Looking for the next step. Trying hard to follow after God and be obedient. I love God. I trust him. I know he can see the future and I can’t. So I was doing all I could to wait and watch. To listen and trust. But the more I prayed, the deeper the silence. Soon unanswered prayers about my future turned into hopeful prayers begging God to speak to me. To let me know he was hearing the cry of my heart.

I tried everything. Praying. Reading Scripture. Fasting. Yet there was no answer. Silence. Had I done something? Sinned in someway that would make God stop hearing me? I couldn’t think of anything. I confessed everything I knew to confess. There was nothing that I could think of that I had done to make God stop listening to me. So why? What purpose did he have in mind?

God’s Silence

This is the part of living in faith that no one talks about. We all want to soar, but what happens when believing becomes difficult? When it takes all our energy just to put one step in front of the other each day? When God’s silence becomes so heavy that we are unable to move?

I’ve been watching hawks lately, learning how they soar in the wind. But once they learn how to fly, how do they keep going? What happens when the wind stops blowing? The soaring isn’t so easy then. They have to pump their wings harder and climb higher to find the breeze. Hawks need wind to soar just like our faith needs trust…even when we can’t feel God’s presence.

Unfortunately, for humans, gravity keeps us tethered to the earth. It pushes us down, holds us in place, and sometimes forces us to fall. This is the work of God’s silence. It bring us back to the truth of where we place our trust. Do we really believe God will work in our situation? Do we trust that he has our best interests in mind? Even when we can’t hear him?

A Look Inside

King David opens the curtain so we can peek into his experience with God’s silence in Psalm 42. He says, “O God, my rock…why have you forgotten me? Why am I discouraged? Why is my heart so sad?” This is the prayer of a man who once knew the joy of communion with his God. He felt the warmth of God’s presence and saw him perform miracles of provision. Yet here in this heartfelt cry we see a man who is starving for a word from his God.

“I long for you, O God. I thirst for God, the living God” –Psalm 42:1-2

The silence of God is a kind of forced fast.

A fast is a denial. It is a hunger for something that we aren’t getting. When God withdraws his presence we feel the loss. The emptiness of wondering without knowing causes us to search for him. The lack of hearing from God compels us to look harder—to seek more diligently. His silence distills our desires. It shows us the truth about ourselves and the utter impotence of our own abilities. It reveals the truth about our trust.

Looking Inside

David looks deep within his own heart to find the source of his sadness. As he continues to examine, he acknowledges the power of the swirling circumstances that threaten to pull him apart. “I hear tumult of the raging seas as your waves and surging tides sweep over me” (Psalm 42:7). The uncomfortable truth is that the difficult circumstances in David’s life—in our lives—are still a part of God’s plan. He is sovereign. This means that—good or bad—everything that happens can be used to shape us.

But what can we do when God goes silent?

David’s model gives us three concrete moves.

Remember God’s Faithfulness

David REMEMBERED God’s past faithfulness. In Psalm 42:6 David says, “I will remember you.” Remembering God’s acts in the past give us confidence that he will continue to work on our behalf in the future. I go back to those moments God came through when I wasn’t sure he would. Reciting the work of God reminds us that he is powerful enough to handle whatever comes our way.

Speak Honestly About Pain

David SPOKE HONESTLY about his pain. He didn’t tidy up his prayer. The man after God’s own heart, the one God called to slay giants walked right up to God and asked “Where are you?” It’s proof that a connection exists—that we can be secure enough in our relationship with God to ask the hard questions.

Preach Truth to Yourself

David PREACHED TO HIMSELF. He interrupted his own despair with truth. It was the kick in the pants he needed to get back on track. To stand up when the trials of life threatened to push him away from God. David fought back against his own self-doubt. Even when he couldn’t see God’s hand, he trusted anyway. It means saying it out loud: God’s been faithful before, he will be faithful now—even when everything we feel says otherwise.

“But each day the Lord pours his unfailing love upon me, and through each night I sing his songs, praying to God who gives me life” (Psalm 42:8).

When the nights are long with worry, sing.

When the days are filled with pain, pray.

When God is silent, trust in his love.

He hasn’t forgotten us. He hasn’t left us alone to fend for ourselves. David’s words remind us that we can have confidence in God. Even when we don’t see him working, we can live in expectation that the silence will end. Keep seeking. Keep hoping. He is faithful.

When we can’t see the wind, soar anyway.

What Red-Tailed Hawks Taught Me About Waiting on God

Feb 12, 2026

Waiting on God feels like doing nothing. It feels like wasting time. But what if waiting is actually the spiritual strength training we need most? This post explores what red-tailed hawks can teach us about building faith, trusting God’s timing, and learning to soar.

The sun shines bright this morning. I’m sitting outside listening to the high pitch “caw-caw” of two red-tailed hawks. They soar high above the tree line. Their white and red feathers a stark contrast to the clear blue sky. Then a third joins the chorus. Watching them float, wings spread wide gives me a sense of their freedom. They catch the updraft and let it lift them higher. Circling and calling to each other. Letting the wind take them wherever it blows.

A Rough Start

These hawks make flying look effortless, but I wonder—did these graceful creatures start as terrified fledglings, tumbling from the nest? The baby birds would be content to sit in the nest, mouths wide open, waiting for mama to bring them food every day. But mama knows the only way her babies will learn is with practice. She entices them to the edge of the nest and gently nudges them over the side.

Wings start flapping aimlessly. Panic sets in. The mama hawk doesn’t worry. Neither does she sit high above laughing at her children, ignoring their needs.

No. She keeps a watchful eye on her little ones and, at just the right time, swoops in to catch them on her back. Then she carries them back to the nest. She does this over and over until the fledglings have built up strength in their wings and they can soar without falling.

As a person bound by gravity, I can’t fly like the birds. I can’t soar on the wind. But maybe that’s exactly what Isaiah meant when he said those who wait on the Lord will “mount up with wings like eagles.” Not that waiting magically gives me wings—but waiting is the falling, flapping, terrifying practice that builds the strength I need to soar.

“But they who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.” –Isaiah 40:31

Why Is Waiting Hard?

It seems counterproductive to wait. It feels like doing nothing. Like wasting time. But our 21st century brains understand waiting differently than the prophets like Isaiah. Surely this can’t still be true. Can it?

Full disclosure, I often question God when I have to wait. I wonder if he is choosing to withhold something from me? Or maybe he’s being unkind or devious? Is he ignoring me? Does he care?

“Waiting is always affected by the character of our thoughts about the one on whom we wait.”

—Andrew Murray, Waiting on God

These questions reveal my heart. I doubt God’s love. I distrust his character. I question his methods. My anxious and restless heart can’t sit still doing nothing.

But waiting is not doing nothing.

What Waiting Actually Means

First, waiting is restrained action. It is a deliberate, patient expectation that remains until the person arrives or the activity is accomplished. It is a twisting cord, a tension-filled posture of gathered strength. Scientists call this potential energy—all the energy is there, holding back until the right moment for release. Waiting is knowing God will act and a willingness to submit to his perfect timing.

But, waiting also builds spiritual strength. Just like a fledgling hawk has to practice flapping its wings to gain strength, I have to practice trusting God to build my spiritual muscles. Strength training is necessary. It requires hard work. Pain. Sweat. Resistance. These are the tools God uses to build my endurance so I can stand strong in the face of persecution and trial. But I have to let go of my own stubborn will and learn to rest in his goodness.

“The LORD is good to those who wait for him, to the soul who seeks him.” –Lamentations 3:25

And here’s what waiting reveals—my weakness. Most of the time, I don’t see my struggles as strength exercises. Instead, my resistance to waiting exposes my doubt. When I can’t sit still and I grip at control with white-knuckles, I’m revealing what I actually believe about God. Do I trust him? Do I believe that he is good? The hard part is admitting that I don’t believe God will come through for me. That’s the honesty that waiting demands. I have to acknowledge what I really believe about God’s character when his timeline doesn’t match my expectations.

“From of old no one has heard or perceived by the ear, no eye has seen a God besides you, who acts for those who wait for him.” —Isaiah 64:4

Finally Soaring

Waiting is not easy. But it’s worth the effort. It’s a daily battle. It’s a moment by moment release of my anxious thoughts. Waiting with hands and heart wide open takes practice. It takes falling and getting back up, again and again. Then the moment comes that I look back and realize I am soaring. Effortlessly. Stillness settles over my fearful heart. In that moment, there is peace.

Take Action…

This week, identify one area where you have trouble giving up that white-knuckle control instead of waiting on God. Write it down. Then ask yourself this question: What do I believe about God’s character? What does that show me about myself?

Find hope in the journey with me