Face down

Sometimes you find yourself face-down before the Lord, your tears soaking the ground, your voice raw from begging, your heart laid bare in desperation. You’ve brought the same prayer again and again, the same cry that echoes through the hollow places of your soul. And then—right beside you—someone else receives the very miracle you’ve been aching for. Their arms full. Their answer comes. Their healing blooms before your eyes. And you’re left there still, on the ground, empty-handed, wondering why your hands remain open while theirs are filled.

The questions press hard: Is something wrong with me? Did I not pray hard enough, believe deep enough, wait long enough? The silence feels cruel at times, as if heaven has passed you by, as if your prayer slipped unnoticed into the vastness. You wrestle with the ache of comparison, the sting of delay, the weight of unfulfilled longing. And yet—you’re still there. Knees pressed into the ground. Face in the dust. Refusing to walk away from the only One who can do what you cannot.

What you cannot see in that ache is that nothing in heaven is ever idle. Delay is not denial. Silence is not absence. Even when it looks like you’ve been overlooked, the unseen hand of God is at work, weaving answers in a realm you cannot yet touch. Every whispered plea has been bottled. Every tear has been counted. The waiting ground is not wasted ground—it is the place where roots are driven deep, where faith is tested and proven, where intimacy with Him is forged in fire.

Perhaps the answer hasn’t appeared yet because God is not only after the miracle—He’s after you. After the shaping of your heart. After the refining of your trust. After the surrender that can only come when you’ve wept until your soul feels emptied, and yet you still whisper, “Nevertheless, I will trust You.”

So don’t mistake the stillness for abandonment. Don’t mistake your neighbor’s breakthrough as your rejection. Their miracle doesn’t cancel yours. Their healing doesn’t diminish your hope. God is big enough to move mountains for them and still prepare one to move for you.

Stay on the ground if you must. Stay there until your knees bruise and your prayers run dry. For heaven is moving, even when earth looks still. The throne room has not forgotten your name, your story, your cry. And when the answer finally breaks through, it won’t be late—it will be right on time, drenched in glory, marked with eternity’s fingerprints.

Hold fast, soul. Everything is moving in heaven. And heaven has not passed you by.