We don’t enjoy going through trials, but I think we can all agree—we seek God more when we’re in the middle of them. Trials aren’t fun. But somehow, in our suffering, the veil between heaven and earth feels thinner. Maybe it’s because we’re praying more, seeking more, desperate for more of Him.

When Kenzie was going through a week of testing, God was speaking. That doesn’t mean I liked what He was saying, but He was speaking nonetheless.

I no longer believe in coincidences. Maybe you don’t agree, but I’ve learned that when God wants your attention, He finds a way to send the same message over and over. A word or phrase keeps appearing. Different people give you the same advice. A dream repeats itself. Or maybe, for five days straight, you get in the car and hear the exact same song—every. single. time.

That’s exactly what happened during Kenzie’s testing. Every time I drove, this one song played. And when I finally stopped to listen, these lyrics hit me:

“I know You’re able and I know You can
Save through the fire with Your mighty hand
But even if You don’t
My hope is You alone
I know the sorrow, and I know the hurt
Would all go away if You’d just say the word
But even if You don’t
My hope is You alone”

I knew at that moment what God was telling me. Whatever this was—whatever battle we were facing—it wasn’t going away anytime soon. And that made me so mad.

“Why aren’t You fixing this, God?” I yelled in my car. “I know You can! Why won’t You?”

“Do not be afraid or discouraged, for the Lord will personally go ahead of you. He will be with you; he will neither fail you nor abandon you.” -Deuteronomy 31:8 

I couldn’t see past my pain. The cycle of tests, no news, bad news, no news, more bad news—it consumed me. My mind spiraled. I felt like a bad mom. Again. My thoughts were a mess. And when I desperately wanted God to tell me something that would calm my panic, all He confirmed was that this storm was here to stay.

One evening, as I rocked my daughter to sleep, I played that song on repeat, letting the words sink in. I realized the focus wasn’t on the fact that the Lord wouldn’t take this away anytime soon—it was on where my hope truly lay: in Him alone. In the midst of my anger, I was reminded of a truth I knew deep down—God had promised peace in the storm. I needed Him, and He was calling me to draw near.

But I was mad.

“Okay, God. I get it. This is our new normal. I don’t like it, but it’s here. There’s something wrong with my daughter, and I need You. She’s my baby, Lord. Please don’t take her from me.”

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world, you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” -John 16:33

God never promised life would go as planned. But He did promise to be with us.

You’d think this was the moment I surrendered completely, drew near to Him, and never wavered again. And I did… for that night. But with every setback—every sickness, every doctor’s appointment reminding me my daughter was “special” (which never felt like a good thing)—my anger turned to sadness. My sadness turned to depression. And my faith? It crumbled.

I justified the distance. God was failing me. At least, that’s how it felt. And as my relationship with Jesus grew cold, my marriage started falling apart. I struggled as a mother, a wife, a teacher. And, most of all, as a Christian. I prayed—sometimes. Read my Bible—sometimes. I showed up at church—always. But I was emptier than ever. Church wasn’t filling me like it used to. That made me angry, too.

And then, six months after Kenzie’s diagnosis of juvenile idiopathic arthritis—we learned things were much worse than we had thought. I needed Jesus more than ever.

But I wanted nothing to do with Him.