You’ll Know That It Hurts So Bad When You Start Questioning God
Sometimes, we think faith means never doubting. That trusting God means you’re never supposed to feel lost, never supposed to break down, never supposed to ask why.
I grew up in the church. I was the “church girl,” the one who never missed a Sunday service, who sang hymns beside her father, who closed her eyes in prayer every morning and every night. My faith was something I held onto tightly—because that’s what my parents taught me. "Trust God with all your worries,” they said. “Lift it all up to Him.” And I did. I really did.
But then my father died.
And nothing could have prepared me for that kind of pain.
I never thought it would hurt me so much—so deep, so raw—that I’d begin to question the very God I had always believed in. I never thought the girl who bowed her head in every prayer would one day lift her eyes and whisper, “Why did You let this happen?” I never thought my faith would shake so violently that I’d wonder if God even heard me at all.
You’ll know it hurts so bad when you start questioning God.
And I guess... we all go through that.
We reach a point where the pain becomes too heavy, too confusing. Where we beg and plead and still lose the people we love. Where we kneel in prayer, only to be answered by silence. And in that silence, the questions grow louder. Why him? Why now? Why me?
Grief changes the way you speak to God. At first, I tried to stay strong. I still said my prayers. I still went to church. But my heart wasn’t in it. I’d sit in the same pew I once sat beside my father in, but now, the emptiness next to me screamed louder than any sermon. I’d hear people say, “God’s plans are greater than ours,” and I’d nod—but inside, I was screaming, Then why did it feel like mine was just to suffer?
I felt guilty for questioning Him. Guilty for crying out in anger. Guilty for feeling so abandoned. Because I thought faith meant being okay. I thought loving God meant I wasn’t allowed to fall apart.
But grief taught me something else: that even in my questioning, even in my silence, even in my doubt—God was still there. He didn’t leave me when I stopped praying the way I used to. He didn’t turn away when I cried out in frustration.
Sometimes, the strongest kind of faith is the one that survives even when it’s broken.
It's the kind that still shows up, even if it doesn’t understand. The kind that clings, not because it sees the light, but because it’s desperate to believe it’s still there—somewhere.
And slowly, I’m learning that questioning God doesn’t mean you’ve lost your faith. Sometimes, it just means you're human. It means your heart is hurting. It means you loved deeply—and that love left an ache no words could explain.
I don’t have all the answers. I still cry sometimes when I think of him. I still look up and wonder if God really needed him more than I did. But I also know that the God I once questioned is the same God who held me through the nights I couldn’t hold myself.
So if you’re in that place right now—if you’re angry, confused, or just tired—I want you to know: it’s okay. Your pain is real. Your questions are valid. And your faith, though shaken, is still yours.
You’ll know it hurts so bad when you start questioning God.
But you’ll also know healing begins when you realize that even in your questions, even in your anger, even in your heartbreak—He never stopped listening. And He never stopped loving you.
