Provision of HOPE

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This topic is potentially a tender topic for some of my readers. As we walk through this topic, I want to invite you to honor your own boundaries. Sometimes, God invites us to step into difficult spaces, but sometimes He invites us to step into safe, professional care. If this conversation feels overwhelming rather than enlightening, I strongly encourage you to speak with a therapist or counselor. I am just a fellow Christian sharing my story and writings, not a licensed professional, and I want to ensure you are safe and supported.

When Flames Break Our Peace

This week my heart has been deeply connected to the community of Spokane, Washington and surrounding areas — the region in which I live. We are still in the midst of devastating fires and their aftermath — Old Trails, Autumn, Fairview, and more — each one carving through neighborhoods, farmland, and wilderness as thousands of families have been and are still evacuating in places; and now we wait, watch, and pray.

This reflection is longer than my usual posts — a slow, gentle walk through smoke, ash, and rebuilding. If you need to read it in pieces, please do. Let it meet you where you are, and take your time with it.

Across the country, people have been walking through seasons of loss, upheaval, illness, injustice, and unanswered prayer — moments when the flames of life hand us wounds we never asked for and burdens we never wanted. There are far too many stories that break our hearts and stretch our faith.

But whether the flames are literal or symbolic, the deeper struggle is the same: trying to feel God’s presence when life is burning around us, and facing the quiet, aching question rising in so many hearts: “Lord, where are You in all of this?”

And now, with the recent arrest and confession of the man who admitted to starting the largest fire — the Old Trails Fire — less than five miles from my home, that question feels even heavier. One person’s free will. One person’s decision. And entire communities are grieving — those who have suffered loss, and those of us who did not, yet carry a deep heartbreak for the ones who did. Homes. Beloved pets. Possessions. Treasures. Businesses. Livelihoods. Gone. Up in smoke. Reduced to ash.

In moments like this, we are reminded of a truth we would rather not face: we do not always have control over what happens to us. People use their God‑given free will — sometimes for the good of others, and sometimes at the detriment of others. And when someone’s destructive choice ripples outward, harming lives and shattering peace - with seemingly unanswered prayers - we find ourselves crying out: “God, where are You? Lord, why do You ignore Your people?”

There are moments and seasons when faith feels altered, bent, broken, or even lost. When we pray and pray, and yet the world seems to unravel. When the more we seek God, the more ignored we feel. I have felt that. Many of us have. Especially in seasons like this.

When Prayer Seems Ignored

Over the years, I have sat with friends who have been walking through their own valleys — losses, illnesses and health concerns, abuse, broken relationships, and long seasons of unanswered prayer. Each one has said some version of the same cry: “God, do You hear me? Do You even care? Why have You abandoned me?” These are not faithless questions. They are the honest cries of hearts stretched beyond what they can carry — the beginning of lament, which is the soul’s way of bringing its pain to God rather than turning away from Him.

And Scripture does not silence these cries — it gives them a voice.

Jesus himself cried out from the Cross, voicing not only his own agony but the profound human suffering and sense of abandonment carried by all of us: “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?” [see Matthew 27:46]. By crying out the opening line of Psalm 22, Jesus entered the deepest human anguish and gave language to the cries we struggle to articulate — the cries that rise from places deeper than words. In that moment, Jesus stood in full solidarity with every heart that has ever wondered where God is, why He feels silent, or why suffering seems to go unanswered.

• David cried the same:

  • Why are You so far away when I groan for help?” [see Psalm 22:1–2].

  • “How long, Lord? Will You hide Your face from me?” [see Psalm 13:1].

  • “Why, Lord, do You reject me?” [see Psalm 88:14].

• Job cried out, “Why have You made me Your target?” [see Job 7:20].

• Habakkuk pleaded, “How long must I call for help, but You do not listen?” [see Habakkuk 1:2].

These voices — Jesus, David, Job, Habakkuk — stand with us in our questions. They remind us that lament is not a failure of faith; it is an expression of it. Lament is what the heart does when it still believes God is listening, even when His silence feels unbearable. It is faith reaching toward God from the place of pain, refusing to let go even when understanding is gone. Lament is not rebellion — it is relationship. It is the cry of a soul that still turns toward God, trusting that He hears even what we cannot feel.

And when I hear these cries from others, I recognize them — because I have prayed them too. There are prayers I have carried for years — specific intentions I have placed before God with trembling hands — prayers that seem unanswered, untouched, unheard. In moments and seasons like this, discouragement rises quickly. Frustration may follow. And sometimes even anger sneaks in.

But every time I turn to God — through Scripture, quiet prayer, stillness — I am reminded of one truth: HOPE is not something we generate. HOPE is something God gives. And even when prayers seem unanswered, even when the enemy tries to twist our discouragement into despair, Jesus keeps whispering: “Stay close. I am still here.”

When Human Freedom Wounds Us

One of the hardest truths of our faith is that God created every person with a free will — and in His Love that never forces the human heart, He does not override it or force a change of heart. And sometimes, the choices of one person unleash devastation on an individual, or ripple outward to wound thousands.

I return to the example of the man who confessed to starting the Old Trails Fire in my local area. One person’s will. One person’s decision. One person’s actions. And thousands now walk through smoke, loss, shadows, and ash - because of a choice made in someone else’s free will.

And there are others — stories of people from the preborn to the aged, being harmed by the free will of another. Abuse. Violence. Neglect. Betrayal. Exploitation. These are the wounds that make us wrestle hardest with God, because they strike at the core of our longing for justice, safety, and goodness. We find ourselves asking: “Lord, why didn’t You stop him? Why didn’t You restrain her? Why didn’t You intervene?” “Why are you not answering my prayers?”

During these moments — in my own life, or when I hear news of another person’s fires, figurative or literal — I draw on the faith I had when times were good, when “everything was wonderful.” I remember the moments and seasons when I experienced the goodness of God. Those memories steady me, keeping me from always falling into despair, and they become a quiet source of spiritual strength - a reminder of the God who was faithful then and is faithful now.

I have been there once – in the depths of utter despair — not too many years ago. I had moments within that season when I did not think I would breathe again – as though my soul itself had forgotten how. I could not see the sun, nor feel the breath of life against my face when the breeze passed by. Every sense felt muted, as though the world had gone dim around me. I was lost. And although my supportive family — my husband, my children, and my grandson — surrounded me, I felt so alone.

I have spent years sharing with others the message of HOPE, often saying: “If we have no HOPE, we have nothing — there is always HOPE!” It is one of my Anchor Affirmations. But in that emotionally dark valley, a heavy numbness overtook me, and my heart could no longer hold onto HOPE. Much like Mother Teresa, who served faithfully even when she could no longer feel God’s nearness, my inner world had gone quiet — flatlined. HOPE had not left me; its warmth was simply veiled beneath the deep shadows of my soul, waiting for God to draw back the darkness.

How does God draw back the darkness? He does it in many ways, but one of the most faithful and steady is through His Word. In the shadows, His voice becomes a quiet invitation, urging us to draw close to Scripture. These are the words He has left us for seasons and moments like this — words that steady the heart, anchor the soul, and breathe HOPE back into places where feeling has gone numb.

Examples of HOPE in the Old Testament

• Isaiah 42:4 — HOPE that does not fail. “He will not grow faint or be discouraged until justice is established.” [see Isaiah 42:4]

• Isaiah 49:6 — HOPE for the nations. “I will make You a light to the nations, that My salvation may reach the ends of the earth.” [see Isaiah 49:6]

• Isaiah 11:10 — HOPE rooted in Christ. “The nations will seek the Root of Jesse, and His rest will be glorious.” [see Isaiah 11:10]

• Genesis 12:3 — HOPE promised from the beginning. “Through you, all families of the earth shall be blessed.” [see Genesis 12:3]

These passages echo through the New Testament in Matthew, Luke, Acts, and Romans — revealing that HOPE has always been God’s plan.

Examples of HOPE in the New Testament

• 1 Peter 1:3 — HOPE born from resurrection. “By His great mercy, God has given us a living HOPE through the resurrection of Jesus Christ.” [see 1 Peter 1:3]

• Romans 15:13 — HOPE that fills the heart. “May the God who is the source of HOPE fill you with peace and trust, so that HOPE overflows even in the shadows.” [see Romans 15:13]

• Colossians 1:27 — Christ our HOPE within. “Christ lives within you — and His presence is your HOPE of glory.” [see Colossians 1:27]

• 1 Timothy 1:1 — Jesus Himself is our HOPE. “Jesus Christ is our HOPE — steady, present, and faithful.” [see 1 Timothy 1:1]

• Titus 2:13 — HOPE in His return. “We wait with HOPE for the appearing of Jesus, our blessed Savior.” [see Titus 2:13]

These passages remind us that HOPE is not abstract. HOPE is a Person. HOPE is Christ.

Three Scriptures for the Valley

Throughout Scripture, we discover messages and stories shaped by great suffering. When we turn to these passages, we find mentors and reminders that we are not alone. Scripture does not erase suffering — it anchors us inside it, holding us steady when everything else feels unstable. Scripture is our anchor to Christ, and the Cross of Christ is our anchor in life.

These three passages are examples of what we find when we cling to Scripture:

• Job’s Cry and God’s Hidden Work: “Job sat in the ashes, unable to understand God’s ways — yet God was present in the silence, and suffering did not have the final word.” [see Job 42:1–6]

• Paul on HOPE That Survives Fire: “We are pressed on every side, but not crushed; struck down, but not destroyed. The Spirit strengthens us when our strength is gone.” [see 2 Corinthians 4:8–10]

• Jesus on Persevering Prayer: “Jesus teaches that even when answers seem delayed, the Father hears every cry and gathers every tear.” [see Luke 18:1–8]

The Fires Outside and the Fires Inside

The fires outside mirror the fires inside — the ones that burn through our certainty, our confidence, our sense of safety. But just as firefighters battle the flames we can see, God battles the flames we cannot. He stands with us in the smoke. He walks with us through the ash. He rebuilds what we cannot rebuild alone.

The Smoke — Disorientation, Crisis, and Prayer That Barely Forms

In the smoke, everything feels chaotic. You cannot see your own footing, your own path, or your own strength. Old coping mechanisms stop working, and prayer becomes difficult — sometimes barely touching your lips or your heart. In this phase, we often withdraw inward, not out of rebellion, but because the soul is overwhelmed and disoriented.

What God does: He stands with you in the smoke, gently loosening your grip on self‑reliance and tethering you to Him by pure trust. He becomes the One who “goes before you and stays beside you” [see Deuteronomy 31:8], steadying you when you cannot steady yourself. And even when you cannot see Him, His presence surrounds you like the promise that “His light still shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it” [see John 1:5]. When your own prayer falters, Scripture reminds us that God surrounds His people with help we cannot see — “angels who always behold the face of the Father” [see Matthew 18:10]. In the disorientation, He becomes your unseen steadiness — holding you when you cannot hold Him.

The Ash — Grief, Emptiness, and Prayer That Must Be Carried

Ash is what remains after the fire. It is the cold reality of what has been lost — the place where grief settles and numbness can take root. In the ash, prayer often feels impossible. Words disappear. Feelings flatten. The heart grows quiet. This is the phase where prayer is not something we offer — it is something God receives from the depths of our spirit, even when we cannot feel it. Scripture reminds us that God does not leave us prayerless in these moments; He surrounds His people with angelic help — “ministering spirits” sent to serve those who will inherit salvation” [see Hebrews 1:14]. And He becomes the One who “collects every tear and keeps them before Him” [see Psalm 56:8], receiving even the silent cry of the heart. In the heaviness of grief, He draws near to the brokenhearted and binds up the crushed in spirit [see Psalm 34:18]. Even when we cannot speak, even when our spirit feels muted, His angels guard, guide, and accompany us in ways we cannot see. In this emptiness, He becomes your quiet companion, present in every breath.

What God does: He walks with you through the ash so you do not get stuck in it. He honors your grief, gathers your tears, and teaches you holy surrender — the kind that makes room for His healing work. In this emptiness, His angelic help continues to guide your prayer from the silent places of your soul to the Father who hears even what you cannot speak. God becomes your quiet companion, present in every breath.

The Rebuilding — Resurrection, New Life, and Prayer Returning to the Spirit

Rebuilding is constructing a new life with new materials — humility, resilience, identity rooted in Christ. It is the phase where HOPE begins to rise again, not loudly, but quietly, like dawn breaking through the last traces of smoke. In this phase, prayer returns to your spirit. It may still be small, but it is alive — a whisper of trust, a breath of gratitude, a renewed willingness to draw near to God.

What God does: He gives “a crown of beauty instead of ashes” [see Isaiah 61:3]. He rebuilds your heart with supernatural peace and unshakable HOPE. He becomes the One who “restores the years the locusts have eaten” [see Joel 2:25], renewing what was lost in ways only He can. And as He strengthens you, His promise echoes like a quiet resurrection: “those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength; they will rise again” [see Isaiah 40:31]. In the rebuilding, He becomes your strength and your future. Prayer begins to flow again — not because you forced it, but because God has gently restored what the fire tried to take.

The Progression of Prayer Through the Valley

• In the smoke, prayer is fragile — barely formed, carried by your Guardian Angel, who stands before the Father on your behalf, as Jesus teaches [see Matthew 18:10].

• In the ash, prayer is silent — held by God when you cannot feel or speak it, for “He draws near to the brokenhearted and carries the crushed in spirit” [see Psalm 34:18].

• In the rebuilding, prayer returns — rising gently as HOPE awakens again, for “those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength; they will rise again” [see Isaiah 40:31].

This is HOPE. Not loud. Not dramatic. But steady, faithful, and deeply rooted in the God who never leaves you in any phase of the fire.

Saints and Apostles Who Walk This Road

Many have walked before us with HOPE. Their stories remind us that if they could get through it, then so can we.

• St. Monica — Mentor of Persevering Prayer. She prayed for decades with no visible answer. Her HOPE was not in what she saw, but in the God who sees all.

• St. John of the Cross — Mentor of the Dark Night. He endured imprisonment, isolation, and spiritual desolation. His HOPE grew in the silence where God seemed absent — yet was deeply present.

• St. Peter — Mentor of Faltering Faith. He knows what it is to feel abandoned, confused, and afraid. Yet Jesus restored him tenderly, proving that HOPE is stronger than failure.

Scripture Illuminates Our Path

When life feels heavy and God’s silence presses against the heart, Scripture becomes a lantern in the shadows — not because it removes suffering, but because it reminds us of what our emotions cannot hold: that God has always drawn near to His people in their darkest valleys.

And Scripture reminds us that our HOPE is not only for today, but for the future God is preparing. We do not know the day nor the hour of Christ’s return — nor does He desire for us to know. Instead, He invites us to live with hearts awake, anchored in His Word, clinging to the Cross, and holding fast to the inheritance promised to us in Christ. This is not fear; it is HOPE. It is the steady, quiet readiness that grows from love.

Let these words meet you gently, like light finding its way through smoke:

“The day of the Lord will come quietly, like a thief in the night, and everything temporary will fall away. Since these things will pass, we are invited to live with hearts turned toward God — steady, faithful, and ready for the grace that will be revealed when Christ returns.” [see 2 Peter 3:10–12]

The Provision of HOPE

HOPE is not the denial of suffering. HOPE is the refusal to let suffering have the final word.

And even when we cannot feel Him, Jesus is still holding our hearts inside His Heart. This is the provision of HOPE He gives us: the grace to keep walking, even when the path is shadowed.

• “May the God who is the source of HOPE fill your heart with quiet trust, so that even in the shadows you may overflow with His peace.” [see Romans 15:13]

• “The Lord draws close to those whose hearts are shattered, and He rescues the ones who feel crushed beneath their burdens.” [see Psalm 34:18]

• “When you walk through fire, the flames will not consume you, for I am the One who carries you.” [see Isaiah 43:2]

And the saints echo this HOPE. For example:

• Mother Teresa reminds us that even decades of darkness cannot extinguish love: “If I ever become a saint, I will surely be one of darkness…”

• St. John of the Cross teaches that God’s silence is not absence but deeper presence: “In the darkness, God’s presence is not absent — it is deeper than our senses can perceive.”

• St. Thérèse of Lisieux shows us how to trust when nothing is felt: “I believe even when I do not feel; I trust even when I cannot see.”

Companions for the Journey

We do not walk our journey alone. God provides companions for the road — loved ones, friends, relatives, co‑workers, priests and pastors, medical providers, counselors, therapists, and even strangers who appear at just the right moment.

And He also provides the saints — men and women whose stories have been preserved so we can learn from their courage, endurance, and spiritual tools. They have waded through the waters, withstood the storms, and escaped the fires. We will do well to bring at least two or three along our Journey of Life, turning to their stories to discover how they walked with Christ through their own valleys.

Scripture itself encourages us to look to those who have gone before us. Hebrews 12 speaks of the “great cloud of witnesses” surrounding us — men and women whose lives testify to God’s faithfulness in every kind of valley. Their stories are not meant to replace Christ, but to point us toward Him. They remind us that endurance is possible, HOPE is real, and we are never alone on the Journey.

If you feel unsure about the saints, know that they are not just a Catholic ‘thing’. Many Christian traditions — including Anglican, Lutheran, Methodist, Presbyterian, and Evangelical communities — study the lives of faithful believers who have gone before us. The saints are simply men and women who followed Jesus with courage in their own valleys, and their lives can mentor any believer who seeks HOPE. Their witness shines like lanterns in the shadows, helping us continue our Journey with perseverance and trust.

If you feel drawn to explore the lives of saints who might quietly accompany you in this season — or any season along your Journey — you can get started with this simple doorway of discovery: Catholic saints and their stories

A Note From Brenda:

If you are still wrestling with HOPE, or if God feels distant, or if these words feel hard to believe right now, please know this: every believer walks through seasons when faith feels thin and God feels silent. You are not alone, and you are not failing. These reflections are simply meant to offer companionship in the shadows — not pressure, not perfection, and not easy answers. Take what meets you gently, and let the rest wait for another day.

Closing Prayer

Lord Jesus, You who walk with us through fire, smoke, shadows, and ash —

draw near to every heart reading these words.

To the one who feels nothing, breathe life again.

To the one whose HOPE feels buried, uncover its warmth.

To the one whose soul has gone quiet, speak Your gentle whisper.

To the one whose path is darkened, let Your Word become our lantern.

Lift the shadows that have settled over our hearts,

and steady us with the HOPE that does not fail — the HOPE that is You.

Teach us to cling to You even when we cannot feel You,

to trust You even when our strength is gone,

to rest in You even when our prayers seem unanswered.

Walk with us through the smoke,

sit with us in the ash,

and rebuild us with Your mercy.

Surround us with companions for the journey —

the saints who have walked this road before us,

and the loved ones You place beside us now.

And as You draw back the darkness,

anchor us again in Your Word,

in Your Cross,

in Your Heart.

Jesus, our HOPE,

hold us close,

carry us gently,

and lead us into Your light.

Amen.

Reflection Prompts

These prompts are not meant to be rushed through. You may want to return to them slowly over the coming days, letting each one open a quiet space in your heart. Some may speak to you deeply; others may not connect with your current season — and that is perfectly okay. Simply receive what meets you gently, and let the rest wait for another time. Bring these prompts into prayer, inviting God to meet you in the places they uncover. His light often comes quietly, like HOPE finding its way through the shadows.

1. HOPE in the shadows: Where have I experienced the kind of numbness that made HOPE feel distant, and how might God be gently drawing me back toward His light?

2. Human freedom and suffering: How have the choices of others impacted my journey, and where might God be offering healing, protection, or restoration?

3. God’s hidden work: In the smoke or ash of my own story, where might God be working in ways I cannot yet see?

4. A companion for my Journey: Which saint’s story — Monica, John of the Cross, Thérèse, Mother Teresa, or another — speaks most deeply to my current valley?

5. A small act of turning: What simple act of trust — opening Scripture, whispering a prayer, sitting in silence, or asking for grace — can I offer God today?

6. Rebuilding with God: Where might God be inviting me to rebuild with new materials: humility, resilience, identity, HOPE?

7. Listening for the whisper: In the quiet places of my soul, how might God be whispering through Scripture, memory, or the witness of the saints?

© 2026 Brenda Wheeler / Brenda Wheeler Ministries. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations are taken from public‑domain translations. Scripture references marked in brackets are paraphrased in the devotional voice of the author.