Where were you?

Where were You?

That’s the question that burns in the silence, the ache that spills into the night.

Where were You when everything fell apart?

Where were You when my heart cracked wide open, when I was left in pieces no one could gather? Where were You when I collapsed on the bathroom floor, drowning in tears no one else could see? Where were You when sleep mocked me, and the ceiling became my confessor in the hours too dark to name?

Where were You?

These questions haunt me, echoing through the hollow corridors of my chest.

But then—Your voice, steady, unshaken, not cruel but cutting, asks me back:

“Where were you when I flung the stars into the heavens and called them each by name?

Where were you when I carved the foundations of the earth with nothing but a word?

Where were you when I poured color into the sky and drew the first rainbow across the storm?

Where were you when I spoke light into the choking dark and chaos bowed at My command?

Where were you when I turned My face from My only Son, because He bore YOUR sin upon His shoulders?”

And I tremble.

Because the truth is—I did not see.

I did not hear.

I did not recognize You in the shadows, groaning with me on the floor.

I did not notice how Your arms caught me when my strength gave way.

I did not know the countless unseen dangers You shielded me from, or the thousand threads You were already weaving, bending broken strands into beauty.

But my blindness does not alter Your presence.

The facts remain:

You were there.

Always.

Not distant, not passive, not coldly watching.

But present. Engaged. Holding. Bearing. Groaning with me in the agony of my nights.

Every moment. Every tear. Every unanswered question.

You were there.

And now, when I dare to whisper, “Where have You been all this time?”

You whisper back, not with condemnation, but with fierce remembrance:

“Where were YOU when I knit you together in your mother’s womb?

Where were you when I numbered every hair on your head, and every day in your story?

You were not forgotten. You were formed. You were seen. You were carried. Even then.”

And suddenly, the ache is pierced by a different kind of knowing—

that in every hidden place, in every lonely cry, in every breaking,

the answer has never changed:

You were here.

You are here.

You will be here.

Always.