Faith doesn’t always remove the pain… sometimes it teaches you how to carry it

I’ve definitely questioned God.

Not once.
Not lightly.

Real questions.

Real frustration.

Because before fibromyalgia, there was already history.

Twenty years ago, I dealt with a groin injury.
Seven surgeries.
A low chance of having children.
Two near-death complications.
Losing a testicle.

And somehow…

I understood that season better.

I felt like God was using my health to keep me close to Him.

So even when it hurt, I had peace with it.

But then 2019 happened.

I lost Jamis.

The onset of fibromyalgia came.

And suddenly this didn’t feel temporary anymore.

Now it felt like:

“Okay…something is really wrong.”

That changed the conversation between me and God.

Because I’m sitting there like:

“Why this?”
“Why now?”
“Why does it have to be this hard?”

Especially when I finally felt like life was getting into rhythm.

I was content.
Focused.
Moving forward.

And then everything shifted.

So yes…

I’ve had moments where I was angry.

Moments where I didn’t understand.

Moments where I looked around and thought:

“Everybody else seems okay…why am I carrying this?”

But eventually…

I stopped asking “Why me?”

Because deep down?

I already knew.

I believe God chose me for war.

And I think if I’m called to help people through darkness…

I have to understand what darkness feels like.

That doesn’t make the pain easier.

But it gives it purpose.

My faith has taught me something most people don’t want to hear:

When you ask God to use you…

Sometimes He actually does.

And when He does?

A lot of people fold.

A lot of people stop showing up.

A lot of people love God…until obedience gets uncomfortable.

But I answered that call a long time ago.

And I meant it.

I’ve said this before and I still mean it:

I would die for my purpose.

Because I know what I’m called to do.

I’ve seen it.
Felt it.
Been prophesied over it.

I know there’s something bigger attached to my life.

And strangely enough…

The suffering sharpened my connection with people.

Not surface-level connection.

Real connection.

Because when you’ve actually gone through something…

Your presence changes.

Your empathy changes.

Your words hit different.

People feel when you’ve survived something.

That’s why I keep showing up.

Even broke.

Even broken.

Even exhausted.

Even hurting.

Because vulnerability is the flex.

People have more excuses than money.

And right now?

I may not have all the money I want…

But I refuse to live in excuses.

Has this journey matured me spiritually?

Absolutely.

Mentally too.

Emotionally too.

Because if I’m going to carry what I’m called to carry…

I have to become stronger.

Not just physically.

Spiritually.

And to anybody who feels abandoned by God because of pain…

I understand that feeling too.

Feel it for a moment.

Be honest about it.

Be angry if you need to.

God can handle your honesty.

But don’t stay there.

Because He’s still there.

Even when you can’t feel Him.

Sometimes your pain becomes so loud…

That it drowns out your awareness of what’s still growing inside you.

Your perspective.
Your endurance.
Your spirit.
Your awareness.

And I think part of faith is learning how to seek God even when He feels quiet.

That means:

• prayer
• scripture
• positive voices
• protecting what enters your spirit
• healing the trauma underneath the pain

Because I’ve learned something important:

A lot of this doesn’t start with the diagnosis.

It starts way before that.

Trauma.
Stress.
Survival mode.
Childhood wounds.

Things your body held onto long before symptoms arrived.

Doctors help.

But they only know so much.

At some point, you have to go deeper too.

And even if the damage is already there…

You can still change how you move forward.

So yes…

Have your moment with God.

Cry.
Question.
Feel it.

But then?

Get back up.

And get to work.

Faith isn’t pretending the pain doesn’t exist. Faith is believing God still has purpose for you while you’re carrying it.