I'm Still Here God...(Even if I can't hear you.)

“Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.” — 1 Corinthians 13:7

I’ve always believed in God’s goodness. I’ve walked with Him through some of my darkest moments and have felt Him near when I didn’t think I could go on.

But this week? This week I can’t find the words to pray.

A flood ripped through a beloved girls' camp—one where faith and joy were freely given—and six of the campers were students from our studio. One of them, Janie, held a special place in my heart. They all did. And just like that… they’re gone.

Since Friday night, I’ve scrolled and scrolled, hoping for something—anything—that might bring hope. But the updates only confirmed what my heart didn’t want to believe.

There are no answers. Only aching questions.

Where were you, God?

That’s not a rhetorical question. It’s a real one. Where were you when the river rose? When the cabins flooded? When little girls clung to each other, terrified?

My faith tells me You were there. That You caught them. That You carried them straight into a joy we can’t yet understand. But my humanity is still reeling.

I’ve sat with grief before. I’ve asked the Two Chairs questions:

1. Do You know the situation?

2. Is this too big for You?

3. Do You have a plan?

This week, I asked them again. And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t have answers.

Because this feels too big. Because no plan could possibly justify this. Because even though I believe God knows, I don’t understand why He didn’t stop it.

Some part of me is whispering, "This isn’t too big for God." But most of me? Most of me is just hurting.

And yet—I’m still here.

Even if I can’t sit in my two chairs. Even if sermons sound like Charlie Brown’s teacher. Even if I can’t finish a blog titled Where Was God in the Flood.

Today, I opened Corinthians and found this:

“Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.” – 1 Corinthians 13:7

That verse was a lifeline.

Love doesn’t eliminate grief. Love enters it.

Love holds space for doubt and sorrow. Love allows us to be both faithful and furious. Love doesn’t fix what’s shattered—but it stays. It bears. It hopes. It perseveres.

So that’s where I am right now.

I’m not standing strong. I’m clinging.

To the memory of these girls. To the hope that they were swept into God’s arms before fear could even register. To love.

So if your faith is shaken today, if your soul feels raw—I just want you to know: It’s okay to not be okay. It’s okay to cry out. It’s okay to not have the answers.

God isn’t afraid of your questions. He isn’t distant from your heartbreak. He isn’t asking you to perform strength you don’t have.

He’s love. And love is still here.

Even when I can’t hear Him. Even when I can’t pray. Even when I feel like I’m barely holding on.

I’m still here, God. And I believe—deep down—so are You.