Mojo and the Mess

Dear God,

I’m not the most religious person. I don’t go to church every Sunday. I don’t quote scripture. But I have always believed in You. I’ve carried that belief quietly, like a thread woven through my life. Tonight, though, that thread feels frayed and torn.

Because I am angry with You.

Why won’t You heal me? Why did You make this my story? Out of all the lives I could have lived, why did You choose the one where sickness is stitched into my skin, where pain becomes my shadow, where hope keeps slipping through my fingers?

Why give me glimpses of a future I’ll never hold? A life I thought would be mine — one filled with love, with little hands, with laughter that carried my blood in it. That was a dream I tucked deep in my heart, a dream I thought You had written for me. And now it sits there, empty, a hollow echo of what will never come.

It feels cruel, God. To let me imagine it. To let me ache for it. To let me believe it was possible, only to take it away before it ever began. I don’t understand how that fits into any plan.

You keep waking me up, day after day. My chest rises, my heart beats, my eyes open. And yet my body stays broken. The sickness lingers. The pain deepens. Another sunrise, another reminder that I’m still here — but not whole, not healed, not free. It feels like a punishment, not a gift.

I cry out to You. I beg. I whisper. I scream. But it’s always the same silence in return. Just the hum of machines, the ache in my bones, the weight of another night spent wondering if You even hear me at all.

They say You don’t give us more than we can handle. But You have, God. This is more. This is too much. This is drowning. This is breaking. And if that was Your intention, then I don’t know what kind of God You are anymore.

I’m not writing this to inspire anyone. I don’t have the energy to make this sound like faith. I don’t have the words to turn this pain into purpose. Today, I am not strong. I am not resilient. I am just sad.

So I’ll ask You again, even though I never get answers:

Why won’t You heal me?

Why did You make this my story?

Why show me futures I’ll never have?

Why keep waking me up if You’re not going to save me?

I don’t need verses. I don’t need lessons. I don’t need someone to tell me “everything happens for a reason.” Tonight, I just need You to know I’m broken. I’m furious. I’m heartbroken.

And I don’t know how to keep believing in You.

—Me