I was reading the Bible at my kitchen table before dinner. My youngest asked me what I was reading, and I said I had been reading Romans. I could tell he had a lot on his mind, but before I could ask if he was okay, he asked me if I was. He said that I haven’t been myself lately.
I could tell he was concerned, so I asked him what he meant by that. He said he noticed that I haven’t been going to church (four weeks now which is a blog for another day) and that he was worried about me.
At first, I thought about what I could say to comfort him and assure him that I wasn’t backsliding, but everything that came to mind felt like I would be lying. So, I told him the truth. I told him that I just feel “spiritually empty.”
I could tell that wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but I told him that, as believers, we often go through hard seasons. I guess I’ve never allowed them to see me in those seasons, or anyone for that matter. So, this was unfamiliar territory for him, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. I didn’t try to fill the silence or explain more than that, I just hoped God could use this moment somehow.
After a few seconds, he asked if he could pray for me. I said, of course, and as I sat there listening to his prayer, my heart filled with relief and gratitude because he understands the importance of giving our concerns to God. Even if he might not know why we struggle, he still knows what to do when we struggle. And as a parent, what more could we ask of God?
Many might think that letting him see me in a low place could discourage him, but what I saw God doing in that moment was laying the foundation for what he may one day be called to do as a member of the body of Christ. I believe I’m already seeing evidence of that calling through the gift of encouragement at work in him.
Sometimes, especially as parents and believers, we can feel this unspoken pressure to always appear spiritually strong. We want other believers or our children to see our faith, but we may struggle with letting them see the moments when our faith feels difficult to practice.
But there is a difference between teaching our children that we should always be strong and teaching them what it looks like to remain honest with God when we aren’t. Because truth is I don’t want a work-based faith for them. I want one that endures.
I don’t want them to have a faith that worships or praises God only when it’s good. I want one that runs to Him when it’s not. I want a heart that remains.
What people often fail to realize is that suffering not only produces perseverance and matures our faith, as James 1:2–3 describes, but it also reveals where we stand with God. It causes us to examine our hearts and ask ourselves, “Is my faith conditional? Do I remain faithful only when things are going well, or does my heart remain with Him even when they aren’t?”
Right now, I feel empty, but I am neither distant from God nor running away from Him. I am simply abiding. This is not my season to flourish, it is my season to remain. To be still, to stay rooted, and to trust that even in the emptiness, God is still at work. I may not be blooming, but I am still attached to the vine.
