trusting God when life is hard Archives - Christy Miller Bell

Have You Forgotten What God Has Already Done For You?

Jul 22, 2026

Most of us believe God is faithful. We’ve seen it. We’ve lived it. And then worry comes anyway. Our stomach churns and our minds won’t rest. Sometimes even a seasoned faith doesn’t silence an anxious heart. Here’s an honest look at what a single boat ride in the Gospel of Mark has to say about the peace we’re desperate to find.

My son called this morning. He’s just starting out — newly married and about to begin graduate school. They are trying to make it on their own, and it’s hard. There are so many unanswered questions about their future. Yet, my son is not afraid. “God will take care of us,” he tells me.

I wish I had that kind of faith.

You would think that, after years of being a Christian, I would have reached the point where I could blindly trust God. He’s been so good. He’s done so much. Provided in miraculous ways. But last night I couldn’t sleep. Again. Tossing and turning. Worrying about the future and my own unanswered questions.

When I Can’t Sleep, I Pray

Lord, I know you don’t want me to be anxious, but I don’t see a way through. Will you calm my anxious mind? Will you show me new things in your Word to give me peace and confidence? Don’t give up on me yet. I’m slowly learning. And I need you…

The next thing I know, it’s morning and, though a headache pounds, I open my Bible to the passages I’ve been meditating on for days. Mark 8:1-21.

If a racing mind at night is a familiar place for you too, I wrote more about that season here.

One Loaf, No Faith

“Now they had forgotten to bring bread, and they had only one loaf with them in the boat” (Mark 8:14).

I thought about passing by this verse. After all, it’s only a description of their circumstances. But Mark’s words are intentional. Every verse packed with meaning.

There they are in the boat. Their stomachs growling with only one small loaf among them.

“What are we going to do? How much will each of us get? Why didn’t we plan better?”

And Jesus replied, “Why are you worried about bread? Don’t you understand? Have you forgotten all that I’ve already done?”

Over and over again, Jesus demonstrated his power, provision, and patience to those who followed his ministry. He performed miracle upon miracle. Providing bread for thousands. Not once, but twice. Healing the sick and the lame. The blind and the deaf. How could the disciples question such a small thing as one loaf of bread when the Bread of Life was in the boat with them?

Like the disciples, I am slow to learn. Slow to believe. I allow the worries of the world to crowd in and push out my faith. But Jesus reminds them — and me — of the facts.

“When I broke the five loaves for the five thousand, how many baskets full of broken pieces did you take up?” They said to him, “Twelve.” And the seven for the four thousand, how many baskets full of broken pieces did you take up?” And they said to him, “Seven.” And he said to them, “Do you not yet understand?”

— Mark 8:19-21

Have You Forgotten?

How many times have I gone without food? None. How many times has God let me go without what I truly needed? Not once — even when I couldn’t see how it would come.

Notice that Jesus didn’t simply provide enough. He provided in abundance. The people he fed ate as much as they wanted until they were satisfied, and still the baskets leftover were full. Each number a reminder of God’s continual provision for the people of Israel throughout the Old Testament. The same God who provided in the past is with the disciples in the boat.

And this same God is present and active in my life today through the dwelling of the Holy Spirit. And it’s not just enough. There’s an abundant life waiting for me if I’ll just believe. More than enough of God’s grace and goodness. More than enough power and provision. More than enough love and compassion.

So I don’t have to worry about where the money will come from or how the problem will be solved. If God has led me and I have been obedient, I can count on him to provide.

Faith Passed Down

When my son called this morning, I didn’t tell him about the tossing and turning, or the prayer I prayed in the dark. I just listened to him speak with confidence — God will take care of us — and for a second, I let myself believe it the way he does.

I think that’s the way faith gets passed down. Not because I’ve mastered it, but because he’s seen me reach for it over and over again, in front of him. My mind can rest, not because the questions are answered, but because I know who holds the answers. And he’s there for you, too, when you’re struggling in the night.

When is the last time you counted the ways God has come through for you? Pull out a piece of paper. Write down three. Put them near your bed for the nights you can’t sleep and need a reminder.

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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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