Emotion is not evidence

Sometimes the weight comes crashing in. That familiar ache in my chest—the one I can’t name, only feel—settled in like an unwelcome visitor who never really left. I sat in silence, not because I had nothing to say, but because everything inside me felt too heavy to speak aloud. My prayers came out fractured, barely whispered, more like gasps than glory.

And in this hollow stillness, a lie came creeping in like a shadow across the soul:

“If you feel this low… surely, you are far from God.”

But that is not truth.

Because I’ve learned that the presence of despair is not the absence of God.

And the most depressed feelings do not prove that your soul is in peril.

Even Jesus, sinless and surrendered, once cried out, “My God, why have You forsaken Me?”

Even He felt the silence.

So if the Savior felt the silence, why do I shame myself for mine?

This ache is not a verdict.

This fog is not a sentence.

This darkness—thick and stifling—is not proof of my peril. It is the proving ground of my faith.

I am still His, even when I feel lost within myself.

I am still held, even when I cannot feel the arms that hold me.

I am still chosen, even when I feel unworthy of choosing.

Oh soul, don’t confuse emotion with evidence.

Don’t let the lies of the pit define what the cross has already declared.

I may feel buried, but seeds are buried too—only to rise again.

I may feel like I’m drowning, but even here, His mercy goes deeper still.

So tonight I will not curse the night. I will not let this pain preach a false gospel.

Instead, I will remind myself—again and again if I have to:

The presence of sorrow does not mean the absence of salvation.

The depth of your ache does not determine the security of your soul.

You are not forsaken. You are not forgotten. You are not failing.

You are still found.

And perhaps—just perhaps—He is doing a deeper work in this darkness than I could ever fathom in the light.