I got saved when I was just a kid. Third grade, maybe. Life was rough—poor family, moving all the time, barely scraping by. But there was a church that stepped in. They gave us a house. A little blue one off a dirt road. Every Sunday morning, Sunday night, and Wednesday evening, we’d pile into a beat-up station wagon and go to church together. For a while, it became the rhythm of our lives.
That’s where I met Jesus. That’s where I believed He met me. I didn’t understand everything, but I believed. And that belief lit something in me—a little spark that said I wasn’t alone.
But life didn’t stay that simple.
My parents stopped going to church. Something about the smoking. From what I remember, the church gave us an ultimatum—quit smoking or move out. And so we left. That moment planted something in me. A bitterness. A question. Was God really for us?
From that point on, my walk with God got patchy. I’d catch a ride to youth group with a church bus or van. Sometimes I felt close to God, other times I didn’t know if He was even listening. I moved a lot. Never got planted. And with every move, my faith felt more like something I used to know than something I was still living.
Then came the real storm.
Abuse. Chaos. Foster care. Jail. Loss. My family scattered like leaves in the wind. I kept asking, Where are You, God? But silence.
As a young man, I joined the military. Found purpose there—but not peace. Deployed overseas, walking the streets of Iraq and Afghanistan, trying not to get blown up. Came home to betrayal. My wife, at the time, had destroyed our finances, let our house fall into foreclosure, and cheated on me while I was away. She was pregnant with another man’s baby. I found out about the drugs. The lies. The darkness.
And then she told me she didn’t want to be married. Didn’t want kids with me. She was done.
I was wrecked. Numb. Hollow. There were days I didn’t want to exist. I didn’t hear God. I didn’t feel Him. I didn’t even know if He was there.
And in that moment—no perfect prayers, no polished words—I whispered the only thing I could:
“God, if You’re real… I need You to show up.”
That was it. That’s all I had. One line. One thread of hope.
When Doubt Feels Louder Than Faith
I didn’t stop wanting to believe. I just didn’t know if I could anymore.
All the pain. All the questions. They stacked up too high. And my brain? It never stopped spinning. I’ve taken personality tests—I’m an INTP, a logic-first thinker. That kind of wiring doesn’t usually lead people to faith.
But I couldn’t shake the sense that there had to be more.
If this life was all there was—what’s the point of any of it? What’s the point of suffering, of beauty, of trying to be good? Why would I care so much if none of it mattered in the end?
So I started digging. Not into church doctrine, but into truth. I listened, studied, questioned everything. I looked into different religions, different philosophies. I needed to know what I believed—not because someone told me to, but because I couldn’t live in limbo any longer.
And slowly, through the search, I came back. To Jesus.
Not the Jesus of polished Sunday sermons—but the Jesus who sat with sinners. Who wept. Who stayed. Who never once promised a pain-free life, but promised He’d never leave us alone in it.
The Gospel became the anchor. Not because I understood everything. But because it held the one answer that mattered most:
He never left.
What the Darkness Taught Me
I used to think strong faith meant having all the answers. Now I know it just means refusing to walk away. Showing up in the storm. Whispering the same prayer again and again:
“God, I still need You. Even now.”
I started to see the story of Job differently. People say he was patient. I don’t see it. I see a man who suffered, who raged, who questioned—and still stayed.
That was me. I didn’t have poetic prayers. I just said things like:
- God, I don’t get You, but I want to.
- God, I can’t feel You, but I’m desperate.
- God, I’m lost, but You’re the only one I can ask.
I learned that God’s silence isn’t always His absence.
Sometimes He lets us wrestle because the fight forms us. The questions pull us closer. The searching makes the answers sink deeper. Even the not-knowing becomes holy ground.
And I started seeing that even when I felt most alone, I wasn’t. I was still breathing. Still here. Still hoping. And that spark? It hadn’t gone out.
How I Know He Never Left
When I look back, I see it clearly now. He was there in the people He sent into my life. The moments of peace that didn’t make sense. The clarity the through when I should’ve been falling apart.
Even in the silence, He was shaping me. Molding me.
Today, my faith isn’t wrapped in pretty bows. It’s scratched-up, weather-worn, and real.
I believe in grace because I’ve needed it every day. I believe in eternity because this world isn’t enough. I believe in Jesus because even when I tried to run, He never stopped chasing me.
I’ve learned to live with the questions. I don’t have to know how old the earth is. I don’t need a map to the Garden of Eden. I just need to know this: God is real. Jesus is alive. And my story isn’t over.
And if you’re reading this wondering if God still hears you—if He’s still out there—if you’re too far gone?
Let me be the voice that tells you:
You’re not.
He’s still here.
And He’s waiting on the same prayer I once whispered:
“God, if You’re real… I need You to show up.”
Start there. Just like I did. He’ll take it from there.
Need a way to stay grounded in faith—even when it’s hard?
I put together a simple, honest devotional called Start Strong. It’s not polished. It’s not fluffy. It’s just a daily reset for men who want to walk with discipline and stay close to God.
You can download the first month free here.
