The Hard Yes. Faith that Stays.

Death.

Loss.

Heartbreak.

Storm.

Flood.

Fire.

Single parenting.

Widowhood.

Loneliness.

Surgery.

Cancer.

Calamity.

Betrayal.

Divorce.

Infertility.

Miscarriage.

Prodigal children.

Financial collapse.

Job loss.

Chronic pain.

Depression.

Anxiety.

Burnout.

Caregiving exhaustion.

Unanswered prayers.

Waiting seasons.

Loss of identity.

Public failure.

Private shame.

Feeling forgotten.

Losing faith—or fighting to hold onto it.

It’s hard to hold on.

Hard to smile every day.

Hard to act like everything is okay when it isn’t.

Life is not a fairy tale. It doesn’t always wrap itself up with a bow or reward perseverance with instant relief. Sometimes things don’t turn out for the best—at least not in the way we hoped, prayed, or imagined. And pretending otherwise can feel like another kind of loss.

The lie isn’t that hope exists.

The lie is that pain means failure, or that strength looks like pretending you’re fine.

Some days, survival IS the victory.

In some seasons, showing up with tears still counts as faith.

God never promised victory without fighting.

 Winning without enduring.

 A word without waiting.

 Triumph without tragedy.

 Peace without pain.

Yet somewhere along the way, we began to expect it.

We tend to believe that every hard thing comes from God—as if suffering itself is His chosen language. And when He doesn’t step in to stop the storm, we quietly wonder where He is. Why doesn’t he show up in our calamities and simply make things easier?

We count ourselves faithful.

We believe we’ve done the right things.

We’ve prayed. We’ve trusted. We’ve stayed.

And still, hardship comes.

So a conflict forms within us. We feel worthy because we belong to Him—yet undeserving when pain lingers. Chosen, yet overlooked. Loved, yet not spared. How can both be true at the same time?

Maybe the struggle isn’t proof of God’s absence.

Maybe it’s the place where faith is stripped of entitlement and refined into trust.

God watches from the shadows of our lives—

never farther than a whispered breath.

Always near.

Always aware.

Waiting to come to our rescue, yet the struggle is…timing.

Why does God ask hard things of us?

Does He not know how fragile we are, how easily we break, how helpless we can feel when obedience costs more than comfort?

With Christmas only days away, I’ve been thinking about Mary and Joseph—and the hard thing God asked of them.

How hard it must have been to say yes out loud when the angel spoke to her. To accept a calling that would rearrange her reputation, her future, her sense of safety. To carry a promise that looked nothing like a blessing at first.

How hard it must have been for Joseph to say yes—

to love Mary, to take her as his wife, knowing what people would assume.

Knowing his obedience would not come with explanations, only trust.

How hard it must have been to walk into public spaces beneath stares and whispers.

To live inside misunderstanding.

To be faithful and still misjudged.

How hard it must have been to travel nearly ninety miles to Bethlehem—pregnant, exhausted, obedient.

To arrive with swollen feet and weary faith, only to find no room waiting for them.

How hard it must have been not to shake a fist toward heaven.

Not to ask why God, why such a hard thing?

Yet somehow, they kept walking.

They kept trusting.

They kept saying yes—not because it was easy, but because God was present. He spoke, but not often. They lived on a simple word -for miles.

Maybe that’s the mystery of it all.

God doesn’t always remove the hard thing.

But He will walk with us. Standing nearby in the shadows.

When God asks us to do hard things—

 to believe,

 to be patient,

 to wait—

He is not looking for our perfection.

He is looking for our trust.

Not the kind of trust that understands, but the kind that stays.

The kind that doesn’t demand explanations before obedience.

The kind that says yes even when the outcome is unclear, and the timeline feels unbearable.

He already knows how fragile we are.

He is not testing our strength.

He is forming our dependence.

Waiting.

Teaches us who we lean on when there is nothing left to hold on to.

Patience reveals whether we trust God’s heart when we cannot trace His hand.

Belief, in its simplest form, is choosing faith in the dark.

God asks for these hard things not to withhold from us,

but to prepare us.

Because what He promises often requires a depth of character we do not yet possess.

And sometimes, the waiting itself IS the work.

Believing is the obedience.

Patience is the offering.

God is not delaying. He is deliberate.

He is looking for hearts willing to say yes, I will endure.

Mary and Joseph did the hard thing God asked of them.

And their reward was anything but comfortable, but undeniably miraculous.

They were not spared discomfort.

They were not rescued from misunderstanding.

They were not rushed past the waiting or the pain.

They were trusted with the nearness of God in a way few ever have been.

They held Him. Baby Jesus.

They fed Him.

They watched Him breathe.

Their obedience placed them at the center of God’s will, although the path seemed otherwise.

God did not reward them with comfort,

But a reward for their yes.

Not with applause,

but with promise and purpose.

That yes obedience places us where God is at work.

Where the waiting is never wasted.

Where the faith, even if whispered through tears, still carries weight in Heaven.

Mary and Joseph’s reward: Emmanuel—

God was with us. God is with us.

Luke 2:8-14 King James Version (KJV)

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign

unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, And on earth peace, good will toward men.