I Believe, Lord—Help My Unbelief: Clinging to YHWH in the Dark

I feel like everything I wrote in my last post was a lie. Or maybe God is just testing me. Or Satan’s harassing me—looking to see if I’ll really “praise Him in this storm” while the waves become tsunami-level dangerous. Or maybe this is just…life.

Recovering Alone

Recently, I learned that the facility where I was receiving physical therapy (PT) removed everyone who wasn’t a doctor, nurse, or physician’s assistant and moved them to another organization that doesn’t accept my insurance.

And now, separate health problems are arising as I’m trying to get through knee surgery recovery—alone.

I’m in the process of finding a new physical therapist—one who takes my insurance—but I haven’t had PT in over a month and I definitely feel the effects.

Despite doing home exercises, I’m still struggling to walk correctly. I think that’s mainly due to the prolonged use of the knee brace. I can’t bend my knee while wearing it, so when I take it off and walk around the house, I have a tendency to drag my leg forward instead of bending it—as my family often reminds me. My knee is still stiff 3 months later, and having to consciously remind myself to bend my knee with every step I take is tiring.

It’s been 3 months post-surgery. And even though my orthopedic surgeon said it would take 6 months to 1 year to fully regain strength and range of motion, I can’t help but feel like I’m failing in my recovery.

Drowning in Debt and Despair

Late last month, I called the billing department and found out that because I had my surgery in December instead of the original January 7, 2025 date, I’m responsible for the bill. Coupled with copays from various doctor’s visits and other debt, it’s all just too much. I am significantly overwhelmed.

After I got off the phone with the financial assistant, I cried for the rest of that evening.

While crying, I texted my therapist, J., “I want to break my covenant. I’m sorry.”

He texted back: “I know you want to but you can find solid ground.” (I think that was supposed to be a question: “…can you find solid ground?”)

Me: “Not tonight.”

J.: “Even tonight.”

Me: “I can’t. I can’t see past my tears, past the debt, past my pain.”

J.: “I’m praying now. See if you can talk to God despite all the circumstances.”

Internally, I said, Challenge accepted, and texted him probably the most vulnerable prayer I’ve prayed in a while.

God, Why?

I prayed:

“God, why? Why are you letting this happen? What character development are You trying to process in me?… what are you doing?

I know you have me in your hands but it feels like you’re waterboarding me. I want to trust you. Please help me. Please don’t turn a deaf ear to my cries or a blind eye to my pain and troubles. You’re Jehovah-jireh, please provide a financial way out. Please give me the strategy and wisdom and discipline to upsill and/or make more money so I can tackle this mountain of debt. Please. I wanna break my covenant but I’m too broken and tired to make an actual plan so I guess that’s good haha. Please give me strength for work tomorrow, for rest tonight.
In Jesus’s name I pray,
Amen”

Wrestling with Faith

My faith isn’t matching my experiences (or maybe it’s the other way around). Either way, it’s a hard place to be.

2 weeks ago, I told my friend and Theological Nerd, Eric Lowdermilk, about my struggle. I said, “I know following Yeshua is not all sunshine and rainbows, I know suffering is part of the call to “come and die”—an essential part—but this…just…hurts.”

My thoughts are getting darker.

It doesn’t help that this week is the trauma anniversary of my suicide attempt and subsequent Baker Act. I should be grateful, but I’m too stressed to appreciate the irony.

As I said in There’s Always Tomorrow to Kill Yourself: “When I am in a low place… I whisper, in a teary voice so quiet I doubt even YHWH can hear me, “Please put me out of my misery. Please kill me.”

And yet, despite my begging, YHWH refuses to let me go.

How ironic is it that the One who died for me won’t let me die?

He commands that I “join Him in suffering” now, and my reward will be great in Heaven—all while tears cascade down my face as I puke nearly every single meal.

Almost daily.

In spite of the meds the doctor gave me that are supposed to help with stomach inflammation.

I feel like a lab rat being experimented on.

Yesterday, I texted my other Theological Nerd, Michael Patton, “I’m struggling with trusting Him. Like my pain doesn’t matter because “the knowledge of Him surpasses everything.”

And still, YHWH demands my trust.

Struggling to Trust

While I was cleaning my room, a thought popped into my head. I don’t know if it was me or Holy Spirit (probably the latter) but the thought that came to me was this:

“What good does it do you to doubt the One who gave you life?”

On the one hand that feels like emotional manipulation but on the other hand, that’s a painful rhetorical question from the Creator to the creation He loves intimately and unconditionally.

I thought I had found a sliver of an answer in the Psalms:

“To you, O Lord, I cry, and to the Lord I plead for mercy: “What profit is there in my death, if I go down to the pit? Will the dust praise you? Will it tell of your faithfulness?”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭30‬:‭8‬-‭9‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I mean, it makes sense: If I die, I leave the earth with the burden of bearing witness to YHWH’s goodness. I can’t exactly “walk before the Lord in the land of the living” (Ps. 116:9) if I’m no longer here.

But the pain of this season is great, and I just want everything to stop.

I Believe, Lord, Help My Unbelief

I feel like the season that I’m currently in is “I believe, Lord, help my unbelief.”

The tension is strong.

I’m oscillating between light and dark, hope and hopelessness. Constantly switching between KB and Linkin Park, between Lecrae and Citizen Soldier. It’s the worst see-saw ever.

I’m hanging onto the hem of His garment by my fingertips while silently screaming, begging for Him to give me some kind of relief.

But life moves by YHWH’s timing, not mine.

And I’ll just have to get used to that.