Hope: The Silent Killer

I don’t have a neat, hopeful answer for this.

I wrote this because I needed to say it because I’ve prayed, I’ve waited, I’ve believed, and I’m still here, wondering if any of it has even mattered.

If you’ve ever felt like faith is a weight you’re carrying instead of a light guiding you, then maybe this is for you too.

Prayer for When You Feel Like Giving Up

Father, I don’t know if I have it in me to keep going.

I’ve prayed. I’ve waited. I’ve believed and yet, here I am tired, empty, and wondering if any of it has even mattered. My heart is weary, my faith feels thin, and honestly, I don’t know if I have the strength to keep asking for what never seems to come.

God, if You’re still listening, if You even care, I need You to show me something. I need You to remind me that all of this hasn’t been in vain. Because right now, I don’t see the point. I don’t want to pray empty prayers anymore. I don’t want to hope just to be disappointed. If You have a plan in all of this, I need to see it.

I’m at my breaking point.

I won’t pretend to have faith that I don’t feel. I won’t say the right words just to sound strong. I’m being real with You, God. If You’re still working, if You still have something for me, I need You to make it clear.

And if not then at least give me peace. Peace to release what I’ve been holding onto for so long. Peace to let go of what will never be. Peace to stop fighting for something that maybe was never mine to have.

But if there’s still something left for me, if there’s still a reason to keep going, then meet me here. Right here, in my exhaustion. In my frustration. In my surrender.

I can’t do this anymore.

When Hope Feels Like a Curse

Hope is supposed to be the thing that keeps you going. The light in the darkness. The belief that something better is on the way. But what happens when hope becomes the thing that keeps you trapped? When hope turns into suffering?

No one talks about how hope can break you. How it keeps you waiting for things that may never come. How it convinces you to stay in places you should have left, praying for change that isn’t coming. How it keeps you searching for signs, holding onto prayers, trying to make sense of why life looks nothing like what you asked for.

They say “Don’t give up before the breakthrough.”

But what if there is no breakthrough?

What if the waiting is all there is?

What if this is as good as it gets?

That’s the part no one talks about. The moment where

hope doesn’t feel like a gift

Hope is a curse.

I know what it’s like to wake up and feel nothing.

To stop expecting things to change.

To lose count of the times I’ve prayed the same prayer, cried the same tears, and waited for the same miracle.

I know what it’s like to question if I should just stop hoping altogether.

Because hope, when it’s left unmet, when it’s stretched thin and exhausted, can feel like it’s slowly killing you.

But here’s what I’m learning

maybe hope isn’t the problem.

Maybe it’s what I’ve been hoping for.

Maybe the real suffering comes from hoping for things to be different instead of accepting what is.

Maybe peace isn’t in the waiting.

Maybe it’s in the surrender.

Maybe it’s not about hoping for more, but learning to live in the now even if the now isn’t what I wanted it to be.

Maybe suffering is my lifestyle.

Because hope isn’t supposed to hurt.

Hope isn’t supposed to feel like waiting to exhale.

Hope isn’t supposed to be a slow death.

So maybe I stop hoping for what I can’t control.

Maybe I stop hoping for life to look like I thought it should.

Maybe I stop hoping for things that won’t happen.

Not a new life. Not a miracle.

Just peace.

But Even That Feels Impossible

What if peace is even too much to ask for?

What if the best I can do is numb myself to the waiting?

What if the real lesson isn’t surrender, but survival?

What if I was never meant to feel full, only to manage the emptiness?

Because the truth is, I don’t know what it means to live without waiting for something. Without wondering when things will change. Without questioning if they ever will.

What does life even look like when you stop hoping for more?

What’s left when you’ve accepted that this is all there is?

I don’t have the answers.

Maybe that’s the real weight of it.

That after all the prayers, the rituals, the belief, the striving

I’m still here.

Waiting.

For what, I’m not even sure anymore.

And Then There’s the Bible…

This is where the confusion gets even deeper. Because scripture says:

Pray without ceasing – “Pray without ceasing.” (1 Thessalonians 5:17)

Acknowledge that we don’t always know what to pray for – “We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.” (Romans 8:26)

Pray and let go – “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” (Philippians 4:6)

Ask and you shall receive – “Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.” (Matthew 7:7)

Believe that you have received it – “Therefore I say unto you, what things soever ye desire, when ye pray, believe that ye receive them, and ye shall have them.” (Mark 11:24)

Pray once and stop repeating yourself – “And when you pray, do not keep on babbling like pagans, for they think they will be heard because of their many words.” (Matthew 6:7)

So which one is it?

Am I supposed to pray until something happens?

Or admit that I don’t even know what to ask for?

Or pray once and walk away?

Because I’ve prayed every way I know how. I’ve prayed endlessly. I’ve prayed and let go. I’ve prayed and picked it back up again. I’ve prayed through tears, through silence, through exhaustion.

And yet, here I am. Empty.

Empty of expectation because I’ve learned not to get my hopes up.

Empty of tears because I’ve cried every version of this prayer already.

Empty of words because I don’t even know what else to say to God.

Empty of belief because I’m tired of convincing myself that something is coming when nothing ever does.

And yet, somehow, still here. Still breathing. Still waking up to another day that looks just like the last.

I don’t know if that means I’m strong or just stuck???

What if I’ve been praying the same prayer too long?

What if I’ve been asking for something that was never mine?

What if I stopped hoping and just… let it be?

Maybe prayer isn’t about getting an answer.

Maybe it’s not about getting what I want at all.

Maybe it’s just the thing that keeps me sane while I sit in the unknown.

Maybe I don’t need to understand it.

Maybe I don’t need to believe it works.

Maybe I just need to keep whispering into the void, even when I’m not sure anyone is listening.

Because if I stop praying, if I stop speaking, if I stop asking

Then what’s left?

Then what’s left?

They say prayer changes things.

That faith moves mountains.

That God makes a way out of no way.

But what if prayer changes things for everyone but me?

What if my mountain refuses to move?

What if the way has already been made, and I just wasn’t meant to walk it?

The Bible speaks of long-suffering, a fruit of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22), a sign of endurance, of patience, of faith that withstands the test of time. But what if my test has no end? What if I was meant to suffer long, but never reap the reward?

Maybe I wasn’t meant for years of joy, only fleeting moments.

Maybe my purpose is not to live in abundance, but to catch glimpses of it… brief sparks of hope before they fade into the background again.

Maybe I am meant to witness signs and synchronicities, but never fully step into them.

Maybe my role is to share the hope I will never hold for myself.

Maybe my hell on earth is supposed to be my heaven on earth.

Maybe this is what it means to carry a cross.

Not the one I expected.

Not a grand calling or a destined purpose, but the quiet burden of watching joy but never holding it.

Feeling the nearness of answered prayers, but never seeing them fulfilled in my own life.

They say weeping endures for a night, but joy comes in the morning (Psalm 30:5).

But what if morning never comes?

What if I was meant to dwell in the night?

What if the only joy I will ever know is the memory of what almost was?

They say God gives His hardest battles to His strongest soldiers, but what if I never wanted to be strong?

What if I never asked for the battle?

What if strength is just another word for survival?

And if this is survival

if this is my path

then all I can do is keep walking it.

Not because I believe it will lead somewhere better, but because stopping isn’t an option.

Because if I stop, then what’s left?

If I Keep Going… How Do I Keep Going?

Maybe I just keep going with no expectations at all.

Maybe I wake up, go to work, pay the bills, eat when I’m hungry, snack for comfort, and sleep just to do it all over again.

Maybe I stop searching for meaning in it. Maybe I stop asking for more.

Maybe I stop believing there even is more.

Maybe I do the podcast simply because I committed to it… not because I feel inspired, not because I believe in the words I’m saying, but because I said I would.

The routine is easier than the alternative.

Muscle Memory.

And maybe that’s what life is.

Maybe it’s just existing in the motions. Moving through the steps not because they lead anywhere, but because it’s what I know.

Can you truly encourage others when you don’t even know if you believe in God yourself?

Can you pour out words of faith when you’re not sure you have any left?

Maybe that doesn’t even matter.

Maybe people don’t need certainty.

Maybe they just need to know they’re not alone.

So maybe I keep speaking, not because I have the answers, but because I know what it’s like to ask the questions and hear nothing back.

Maybe I just keep going.

Not for hope. Not for healing.

But because stopping wouldn’t change anything either.

Maybe I don’t want to say Can you truly encourage others when you don’t even know if you believe in God yourself?

Because I do believe in God.

I’ve never stopped believing in Him.

I just don’t know if He believes in me.

Maybe this is what miracles look like for me. Not in the grand, undeniable ways that rewrite my entire life, but in the whispers

the quiet moments where heaven meets earth in glimpses only I seem to notice. Maybe my miracles aren’t in overflowing abundance, effortless joy, or an unshakable peace, but in the fleeting beauty of a rainbow cloud, the unexpected presence of an animal, the way the sky paints messages I can almost understand.

Maybe I’ve been waiting for the wrong kind of miracle.

Maybe the signs were never meant to lead me to more, but to remind me that I’m already in it.

Maybe this is my portion.

Maybe this is the kind of life where less is more where prayers don’t move mountains, they just help you survive being buried under them.

Where the blessings aren’t about what you gain, but about what doesn’t break you.

And if that’s the case, then maybe this is it.

Maybe this is as good as it gets.

Maybe miracles aren’t about rescue, just reminders.

Maybe life isn’t about ease or joy or prosperity, just endurance.

I don’t know if my vision is aligned with Him.

They say it’s already written, so maybe it doesn’t even matter.

Maybe no amount of prayer or effort changes anything because the story has already been decided.

Maybe I’m just walking a path that was set long before I even had a choice.

Maybe that’s why it feels robotic… because if it’s already written, then I’m not creating anything, I’m just following a script I never got to read.

And maybe the hardest part is knowing that some things will never change, no matter how much I pray.