Where’s God?

I can’t stop asking it, and I hate that I do—Where are you, God? I feel myself screaming this into the void sometimes, my chest tight, my hands trembling. I know the answer, of course. I believe it with every fiber of me. Yet believing and feeling are not the same thing, are they? And my feelings? They’re tired. They’re frustrated. They’re angry.

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Let’s see who can answer the below question correctly…..

If a woman has an abortion, can she still get into heaven?

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Isaiah 55:8–9 keeps whispering in my mind: “My thoughts are not like your thoughts. Your ways are not like my ways. Just as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts higher than your thoughts.”

I underline the word like every time I read it. It burns. God’s thoughts are not like mine. They’re not even in the same neighborhood. I worry about my body. He worries about my soul. I want a promotion at work, a little more stability. He wants to raise the dead. I avoid pain and long for comfort. He uses pain to bring peace. I want to live before I die. He says, die so you can live. We rejoice at our wins. He rejoices at our confessions.

I want to scream sometimes because I can’t see this plane He operates on. I’m here, stumbling over potholes in my life, getting cut by people I thought I could trust, struggling with sins I can’t seem to conquer, and I feel like I’m drowning. But He? He’s in a different dimension. His throne is higher than my mess. And I hate that I have to trust that without seeing it.

Lord, forgive me for the anger. Forgive me for the doubt. I feel it in my chest like fire and ice at the same time. Yet I know that even my anger is not outside your knowledge. Even my fury is not beyond your control.

What controls me doesn’t control Him. What troubles me doesn’t trouble Him. What fatigues me doesn’t fatigue Him. An eagle does not flinch at traffic. A whale does not panic during a hurricane. A lion does not cower at a mouse. And yet I am quaking at so much less. How much more, then, is God able to soar above, plunge beneath, and step over the troubles of this earth? Matthew 19:26: “With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.”

I can’t help but ask: How can God be everywhere at once? How can He hear all the prayers whispered in crowded churches, shouted in bedrooms, whispered in car rides? How can He be Father, Son, and Spirit, all at once? And yet, perhaps it’s because heaven runs on different physics than this messy, broken earth. Perhaps our understanding is simply too small.

So I pray. I pray with trembling hands but with faith as well. I pray because He is above, and yet bends low. Psalm 34:18 says, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” And that’s the paradox that keeps me alive: He is everywhere above, yet He bends close enough to touch my tears.

I confess, Diary, I want certainty. I want to see the blueprint, the grand design. But I know better. I know that trusting God’s dimension, His plane, His realm, is all I can do. And that is enough. He does not need my understanding. He needs my faith.

Lord Jesus, remind me today that you are the ruler of the universe. Remind me that even when I cannot trace your steps or comprehend your ways, you are working. Remind me to lift my eyes, to see your hand in the small things, to rejoice in confession, to bend my knee in humility.

I want to stop my petty measuring of life against my own desires. I want to stop resenting the pain that He allows. I want to trust that what seems like chaos is just a shadow of His greater plan. I want to rest, Diary. Truly rest, in the knowledge that He bends near, that He hears, that He sees, that He loves.

God, I entrust you with my future. I entrust you with my life. Protect my soul, guide my feet, teach me patience, refine me through this fire. I don’t want just comfort—I want endurance. I don’t want just temporary peace—I want eternal joy. Help me to remember that Your thoughts are not mine, and yet they are good. Help me to remember that Your ways are not mine, and yet they are righteous.

Amen.

And so I close my eyes tonight, clinging to the truth, even when my heart thrashes: God is in heaven, God is in control, and God is bending close to me. I don’t have to see the whole picture to know that it is perfect. I don’t have to understand every step to know that He is faithful. And somehow, that is enough to keep breathing, to keep praying, to keep living in hope—even when the world is loud, and the pain is raw, and my anger is real.

Lord, help me trust your higher ways.