trusting God when life is hard Archives - Christy Miller Bell

Is Your Fear Bigger Than Your Faith Right Now?

Jul 8, 2026

Some nights the silence in the room roars louder than any noise. This post is for anyone who has found themselves awake at 2 AM, running the numbers, replaying conversations, and wondering if God is paying attention. It is an honest look at what happens when fear outpaces faith and what Scripture says about the storms that refuse to stop on our timeline.

A Brewing Storm

I’m up again at 2 AM. My mind swirling with a to-do list miles long and all the questions of how I’ll be able to make it all work. The lyrics to a song play on repeat in my head. Words spoken in anger filter through the rubble of my thoughts. People I need to call. Plans to make. Details to figure out. The silence of my room roars in my ears. Lightning flashes in the sky. There’s a storm coming.

Finally, I get out of bed and walk around hoping that will help me relax and let go of the anxious thoughts. But still they follow me. How will I get the money I need? When will I see a return on my investment? Maybe I need to work harder, do more, give more? And I grow more anxious and more awake and more aware of my inability to solve these problems.

Chaos in the Night

Then I remember the words I read just this morning — or by now it was yesterday morning. The disciples were in a boat crossing the sea when a sudden storm takes them by surprise. Angry waves beat against the boat and shove it up and down and sideways. Sheeting rain makes it hard to see and the salt spray from the sea stings their eyes. They’ve been in storms before, but this one is raging. Mark 4:37 describes it this way, “And there arose a fierce gale of wind, and the waves were breaking over the boat so much that the boat was already filling up.” The blasting wind threatens to break the mast like a toothpick while the frantic men expel the water. But it’s no use. All their effort isn’t changing anything. I know what this kind of panic feels like.

During the chaos, Jesus is sound asleep in the cargo hold. His peaceful presence a sharp contrast to the violent uproar of the creation around him. The disciples question to him is my own question so many days — Jesus, can’t you see what’s happening? Don’t you care?

Jesus doesn’t respond to their doubts. He shows them who is in charge.

As I write early this morning before the sun comes up, my thoughts are a violent swarm of chaos. And in this motionless room I hear Jesus saying, “Why are you afraid? Do you still have no faith?”

When the Waves Keep Coming

And my answer is: It’s complicated. Some days faith is easy. When I see the sun rise each day and sing songs of praise on a Sunday morning. But when problems come in wave upon wave and I see no way out and I feel like I’m drowning, faith is hard to grasp. I try so hard to work out the problems on my own and fail. Why is Jesus my last resort?

Do I believe Jesus is still Lord over all creation? Does he care?

The answer is yes. I know it in the way he reminds me of his words in the night. I see it in the sky lit up with lightning. I hear it in the calm brush of the trees.

So I’ll go back to bed now and remember that Jesus still holds power over all the earth. The rain begins to fall on the roof and I can relax. He is strong enough to handle my worries and fears. There’s no problem he can’t solve or situation that is too overwhelming. He cares so much he was willing to die so that I might live. If Jesus can calm the wind and waves, he can calm the storm in my heart.

If this post met you in the middle of your storm, share it with someone who needs it today. And if you want more honest encouragement like this delivered to your inbox, subscribe below. You belong in this community.

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Why God Never Destroys What He Loves, Even When It Rebels

Jun 24, 2026

There is a single three-letter word tucked inside Jeremiah 5:18 that carries more hope than most of us realize. That word is “yet.” This devotion, the fourth in a series drawn from the book of Jeremiah, explores what it means that God’s judgment has a limit, and what that limit reveals about the kind of love he has for us.

“Yet even in those days I will not blot you out completely,” says the Lord.

—Jeremiah 5:18

When I looked into the eyes of my daughter for the first time, my world shifted. The soft baby smell, the warmth of her tiny body close to mine, and the loud scream of her need reminded me each moment that without my care, she would not survive. With joy, I sacrificed time and energy to provide for her.

But, as it goes with children, they grow up. In the beginning I held a measure of control over her actions — where she went, what she ate, how she behaved. Over time, however, the choices changed and my ability to mandate her decisions evaporated. As much as I desired her to make good choices, I wasn’t in control. And every time she walked away from the right choice, my heart broke and I prayed.

The Love That Couldn’t Let Go

Just as I love my daughter and want good for her, God loved the Israelites and wanted them to make good choices. His desire was for their good. Obedience was necessary to fully experience all that God had for them. He was willing to give them all they needed if they would only look to him for their security. But, over and over again, the Israelites abandoned their relationship with him to walk their own way. They lived as rebellious liars, adulterous law-breakers, and exploiters of vulnerable people.

As a result, they experienced harsh punishment. They were exiled from their homes, their city destroyed, and the Temple burned down. The devastation was catastrophic, but not final. Because God loved them, he offered hope for restoration. Laced within the punishment, God promised mercy. Destruction would come, but not completely.

When Rebellion Meets Its Limit

“I, the Lord, define the ocean’s sandy shoreline as an everlasting boundary that the waters cannot cross. The waves may toss and roar, but they can never pass the boundaries I set” (Jeremiah 5:22). God created the waves and the wind. He gave them both power to destroy, yet he set a limit over which neither can pass. These boundaries show me a picture of his ultimate control and mercy. The same control and mercy he desires to demonstrate in my life.

As Israel pushed against God’s boundaries, so do I. Instead of choosing God’s path of obedience, my rebellious heart presses the limits of his love. Without shame, I display my faithlessness. Rather than trusting God to provide, I pursue a higher paying job. In order to be comfortable, I ignore the needs of those around me. And when I choose to walk my own way — when I become the wayward child — God has every right to let me bear the consequences.

The Most Beautiful Word in Scripture

“Yet” is one of the most beautiful words in all of Scripture. Within this simple word is a promise. God desires restoration, not destruction. The same mercy I pray over my daughter when she walks the wrong way is the mercy being extended to me. When I make the wrong choice or choose not to trust God, I fully deserve to suffer the full penalty — death. But, just like the ocean waves are bound by his hand, so is my punishment. God loves me so much he sent his own son to die for the consequences of my choices. When I look back over my life, I recognize the mercy God extended to me over and over again. The waves that could destroy me come no closer. The wind that could tear me apart is calmed.

A Mercy That Holds

God’s love for me moves him to set boundaries that both discipline and preserve. The Israelites learned this through their exile, and I learn it in the quiet places of my own rebellion. God may strip away what I’ve trusted in, but he never destroys the child he loves. His mercy holds firm like the shoreline: immovable, steady, unchanging. As I return, I discover my Father is eager to restore.

Did you miss the earlier devotions in this series? Start from the beginning and walk through Jeremiah from the first word of hope to this one.

Part 1: When The Wait is All You have

Part 2: What Self-Reliance Really Costs You

Part 3: The God Who Doesn’t Walk Away

Where in your life are you pressing against God’s boundaries right now?

I would love to hear your answer. Leave a comment below — your story might be exactly what another reader needs to read today.

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When Your Faith Keeps Falling Apart

May 27, 2026

Some days my faith feels rock solid. Other days it feels like it’s falling apart at the seams. If you’ve ever felt that way — like you keep failing when you need faith the most — you’re in better company than you think. Peter knew exactly what that felt like. And what Jesus did with his roller coaster faith might surprise you.

Rollercoasters. I used to love the thrill of the click of the tracks. The ascent sent my heart racing. Then, the sudden plunge. My body felt weightless as the force of gravity took over and adrenaline rushed through my veins. Up, down, looping around. In seconds, it was over and I ran to get in line to do it again.

I’m not sure if it’s age or some other reason, but no amount of convincing (or money) will ever get me to board another roller coaster. I like the steady security of life on the ground — where my stomach doesn’t plummet and my pulse doesn’t race. Give me a road trip across country any day.

Often, however, my spiritual life has seemed more like a roller coaster than a long, straight road. One day I’m joyful and excited to be a part of God’s work, writing and studying with abandon, the next, I’m in the lowest valley. Scared to move. Doubting my call. Questioning God’s direction. Anyone else?

It turns out I’m not alone in the up’s and down’s of faith.

I’ve always loved Peter, mainly because I think we’re so much alike. He was passionate in his zeal to obey and serve. Firm in his commitment. But I think fear plagued him in the early days of discipleship. One moment he seems ready to make the climb to amazing heights of faith. Then, in the next moment, Peter’s faith seems almost non-existent.

Take the experience described in Matthew 14:22-32. Jesus walked out to the disciple’s boat in the middle of a fierce storm. And Peter, bless his heart, wanted to get out of the boat and walk to Jesus on the water. But, reality settled quick. What was he doing? Fear seized Peter, and he began to sink.

Just a few chapters later, Peter hits another high when he confesses Jesus is the Messiah. I can feel the adrenaline rush he must have experienced when he realized that the Rabbi he had given up his life to follow was indeed the Savior they had been seeking for centuries. Then, the nose-dive of fear as he heard Jesus explain what would happen in the coming days (see Matthew 16:21). After a strong rebuke from Jesus, he is one of the privileged three to be allowed to witness the transfiguration. Talk about a mountaintop experience.

Peter’s life was full of rollercoaster moments. His faith wasn’t stationary. Trust mingled with fear more times than we probably realize. But Peter didn’t slink away and hide when Jesus reprimanded him. He didn’t stop following Jesus because he lost sight of the prize. The concrete reality is that Jesus used him anyway. And Peter was bold enough to keep following relentlessly, no matter how many times he failed.

So often, I allow the click, click, click of fear to drive me to immobility. When I allow fear to rule, I begin sinking into the swirl of my own thoughts and lose sight of all that God has done. That’s the moment I stop. When I can’t see the way ahead, instead of asking God to show me, I freeze. Forward momentum is out of the question. Then, I begin to see only the problems, the lack, the pain around me. My mind stops thinking about the blessings of God and starts questioning God instead.

But, like Peter, no matter how many times I fall, no matter how scared I am, Jesus is always there to take me by the hand and lift me up. He pulls me forward to moments of startling clarity and allows me to experience the reality of my own faithlessness. But with each twist and turn, I can see growth.

Maybe that’s what true faith looks like. Not a motionless point of arrival or a straight road, but a journey of loops and drops. These days, when I feel the panic of the familiar weightlessness begin, I stop and breathe. And remember who holds me in his hands.

How to Worship God When You Have Nothing Left to Give

May 6, 2026

When you don’t feel like worshiping, you’re not alone. Even Jesus asked for another way. Here’s how surrender leads to unexpected joy.

There are some days I wake up and my entire body hurts (a consequence of getting older). The dog leaves me a nice present on the steps (use your imagination). My favorite shirt has a hole in it. And I spill coffee on my pants on the way to the car. Most of the time, this happens on a Sunday morning on the way to church. And when I get there I’m supposed to be kind, friendly, and demonstrate the love of Christ.

Can I get an amen?! ✋

Sometimes the feelings just aren’t there. But does that mean I turn around and go home? Does that mean I’m excused from worship?

When the Feelings Aren’t There

Sometimes worship is hard.

When you’ve been hurt by the church.

When you’ve lost someone close.

When everything in your life seems to be turned upside down.

Lori Behrens and I had a great discussion in the Well Worn Pages Book Club this week that encouraged me. In Desiring God: Meditations of a Christian Hedonist, John Piper puts into words what I’ve always suspected: the struggle is normal. I don’t need to manufacture the good feelings. I simply come to God as I am and allow his presence to fill the gaps — to bring me to the place where I can worship him with all my heart.

It’s a progression of recognizing who God is and who I am in relation to him. It’s a dawning realization that he chose the hard way for me.

He Asked for Another Way Too

That night in the garden, when his disciples were dozing off, Jesus asked for another way. Isn’t that just how it is? We feel abandoned and alone in our most difficult places. And as sweat drops of blood dripped from his face, he recognized something important. There was no other way. His surrender meant torture and death for himself, but life for me. Instead of trying to figure out another way through the difficult journey ahead of him, he inhaled and exhaled these words: “Not my will, but yours.”

The same is true for me. I can seek for another way — the easy way — the path to my own selfish desires. But until I willingly give up my life for him, until I walk the road to my own cross and die to myself, life is impossible. This is what it means to worship. And in the process of dying to myself, I discover joy.

The Joy That Comes Through, Not Around

But here’s where it gets harder. Hebrews 12:2 says, “Because of the joy awaiting him, he endured the cross, disregarding its shame.”

This joy didn’t arise because he was immune to the hardship. It came because of it. In the Old Testament, joy is associated with victory in battle or when God restores what was lost. In both instances, joy is tied to a difficulty. We have to pass through the trial, the battle, the loss in order to know joy.

Just like we can’t smile at the brightness of the sun without experiencing the dark night. We can’t relish in the warmth of a fire without cold temperatures.

The truth is I don’t want to go through the hardship. I’m afraid of the dark. I don’t like pain. But without it, I can’t experience the joy.

Those who have been ransomed by the Lord will return. They will enter Jerusalem singing, crowned with everlasting joy. Sorrow and mourning will disappear, and they will be filled with joy and gladness. — Isa 35:10

And if I’m honest, this is the part I resist most. True self-sacrificing love flows outward —choosing to love someone when they don’t deserve it, offering forgiveness with no strings attached. That’s where the cross stops being theology and starts being my life.

When I walk out of church those mornings with coffee still on my pants, something has shifted. Not the circumstances. Me.

Am I willing to choose the hard way without thinking about how it will affect me? Could I count it all joy just like Jesus?

This kind of love is more than a feeling. It’s a decision.

It’s the way of Christ.

Not easy. Not fun. But pure joy.

Have you ever shown up to worship with nothing left to give? Tell me about it in the comments. What did God meet you with in that hard place?

If this resonated with you, would you pass it along to someone who’s fighting through a hard season right now? And if you’re not already on the list, I’d love to have you — fresh encouragement like this lands in your inbox every week.

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When God Takes Someone You Love: Trusting Him as a Good Father

Apr 29, 2026

The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord. — Job 1:21

Grief has a way of raising hard questions about God’s goodness. Trusting God after loss — especially the loss of someone who shaped your view of him — doesn’t come easy. This is the story of how my daddy and a pair of pink hi-tops helped me find my way back.

My Hero

The year was 1987. Seventh grade awkwardness was in full swing. And the need for acceptance and belonging filled my heart. Amidst the stupidity of teenage decisions and the angst of my emotional roller coaster is buried one of my fondest memories. On this day, my daddy became my hero.

For some reason, my mom, the family shopping expert, was not available. There was a crisis which required me to buy new shoes. So Mom punted this to my dad with a stern warning to be frugal. He smiled, kissed her and took me and my 8-year-old sister to the mall.

With a world of possibilities open before me, there was only one pair of shoes I wanted. These particular shoes held the key to getting me noticed. The crowds of classmates would swarm around me begging to know where I got them, wanting to emulate my style, and I would be catapulted to instant popularity — every 7th grader’s dream.

Daddy fed us lunch in the food court (an adventure in itself) and off we went in search of the perfect shoes. After a few stores, we stepped into the largest department store in the mall and there they were. Cue the spotlight and angelic harmonies. Bright pink hi-top sneakers splattered with paint like a Jackson Pollock painting.

That day, as my daddy handed money to the lady at the counter, it felt like we were conspirators in a great heist. Maybe he felt it too. But like a good father, he wanted to give this good gift to his little girl. All my 7th grade dreams fell to the wayside, because the acceptance I had searched for was the gift he gave me.

The Year Everything Changed

Through tumultuous years, my daddy remained my strong defender. The one I could count on to support me and love me through the hard times. And then he was gone.

The year was 2016. Spring was in full swing. Family gathered in the waiting room and one by one we said our goodbyes. Then my daddy entered his eternal home in the presence of the God he served for 69 years. And each April, I still feel the grief.

Separation is hard when you love someone so fiercely. When you don’t understand why and there are so many unanswered questions. Could we have made different choices? Gone to a different hospital? Tried more? I’ve sat with those questions long enough to know there are no answers. So instead, I made a choice.

Grief and the God Who Still Gives Good Gifts

Even in the not knowing — when my heart ached and emptiness filled the rooms where he once stood — I resolved to remember that God could still be trusted. I didn’t understand his ways, but his character never changed. His ways are higher and better. His purposes unfathomable. When I fix my eyes on God instead of my loss, my perspective shifts. He still loves. He still cares, and he is still the giver of good gifts — just like my daddy.

The grief continues, but I don’t grieve like those who have no hope. I know I’ll see my daddy again. He was a faithful follower of Christ. A quiet teacher of the Word, a man who never counted the cost of loving us.

And the man who once handed money across a counter for a ridiculous pair of pink hi-tops taught me, without knowing it, something true about God: He’s a good father who gives good gifts. Even now. Even still.

Have you had to choose to trust in the middle of grief and unanswered questions? I’d love to hear your story in the comments.

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