In the Absence of Answers

There are times in life when you look around and wonder if anyone is even listening. I’ve been there—feeling like I’m calling out into some vast, empty expanse where no one answers back. I grew up hearing about a God who was always there, who knew every detail of my life and had a plan to prosper me, to give me hope. But sometimes, it seems like all those promises are just hollow words from some distant past.

I remember the days when I believed my life would turn out differently. I had dreams, plans, even glimpses of what felt like “divine confirmation”—signs, if you will, that things would eventually work out. Relationships that would be “the one,” career opportunities that would “open doors,” a sense that God’s hand was somehow steering me towards something big. I clung to those promises, trusted them, and built my hopes on them.

But then life happened. Somewhere along the line, that hopeful road became a series of dead ends.

The relationship that was supposed to be my forever turned out to be anything but. We invested years together, talked about dreams, and imagined a future that never came to pass. I loved deeply, and I believed they were the one God had set aside for me. But that relationship ended, and with it, a piece of my heart. I spent months afterward wondering what I did wrong, why God had let me believe in something that was bound to fail. I’d prayed, I’d waited, and I’d given it my all—so where was God when everything fell apart?

And then, there’s the job search—a seemingly endless cycle of applications, interviews, and rejections. Each rejection stings like a reminder that I’m somehow not enough. No matter how much I put myself out there, it feels like I’m banging on closed doors, hoping someone, somewhere, will give me a chance. I wonder if God sees the endless cycle, the creeping frustration, and that weight of self-doubt that grows with every “thank you, but we’re moving forward with other candidates.”

People tell me it’s all part of a bigger plan, that God is teaching me patience or building my resilience. But when you're in it—when every step you take feels like a step backward—it’s hard to see it as some kind of divine lesson. Instead, it feels like abandonment. Like I’m standing here, watching my life go nowhere, asking myself if God’s silence means I’m on my own.

I’ve spent nights wrestling with questions I don’t have answers to, replaying memories of past dreams and wondering if I somehow misunderstood them. Maybe it was all in my head, or maybe I’d let myself believe in promises that were never really there. I don’t know. I just know that the silence can be deafening, and it feels like everything I thought I knew has been stripped away, leaving me with nothing but doubts.

So where is God in all of this? I wish I had an answer. I still struggle, still feel the ache of emptiness, and the confusion of not knowing why things turned out this way. But maybe, just maybe, this silence isn’t the end of the story. It’s not easy, and it certainly doesn’t feel comforting, but there’s a part of me that still wants to believe—maybe even needs to believe—that this isn’t where it all ends.

Maybe the silence isn’t a sign of abandonment, but an invitation to keep going, to hold on to hope even when there’s no evidence of it. I don’t know what lies ahead, and I don’t know if those promises I once heard will ever come to pass. But for now, I’ll keep walking through the silence, even if that’s all I have.