To the Ones Who Pray in the Dark

This isn’t the kind of faith you talk about at Bible study. It’s not tidy. It doesn’t look good on Instagram. It’s the kind where you whisper “God?” and wait in silence. The kind where you’re holding on by a thread you’re not even sure is still there.

But you pray anyway. In the dark. When no one’s watching.

And I want you to know… that kind of prayer might be the bravest thing you ever do.

I don’t know how you got here.

Maybe it was loss.

Maybe it was trauma you never told anyone about.

Maybe it was the kind of silence from heaven that makes you wonder if you’re still loved.

But if you’re praying in the dark—this is for you. Because I’ve been there too.

Not the kind of dark that just feels like a bad day. The kind that seeps into your bones. The kind that doesn’t lift by morning. The kind where even saying “God?” feels like shouting into a void.

And yet, somehow… you still do. You still pray.

Maybe you whisper it while driving. Maybe you cry it into a pillow. Maybe it’s not even words anymore—just a groan, a breath, a single tear.

That still counts. That is a prayer.

I don’t think we talk enough about this part of faith.

The in-between. The aching middle. The space where the healing hasn’t happened yet. Where the miracle hasn’t come. Where you’re not sure if you’re clinging to God or if God is the only thing holding you up.

Sometimes I think we’ve glamorized healing so much that we forgot to honor the ones still bleeding.

If that’s you—I see you.

And more importantly, God sees you too.

Even when you can’t feel Him. Even when the prayers come out shaky. Even when all you have to offer is a bruised hallelujah.

He’s not waiting for you to “get it together.” He’s not disappointed in your fear. He’s not standing at a distance.

He’s in the dark with you. Right there. Closer than your own breath.

“Even the darkness is not dark to You; the night is as bright as day.” – Psalm 139:12

He’s not afraid of your darkness.

He won’t walk away from it.

He enters it. And He stays.

So keep praying, friend.

Even if your voice shakes.

Even if you don’t know what to say.

Even if it feels like you’re the only one.

You’re not.

You’re surrounded by a quiet army of brothers & sisters in Christ who’ve whispered prayers in hospital rooms, in empty bedrooms, in bathrooms with the door locked, in cars with the music too loud to think.

We’re out here… still praying. Still hoping. Still holding onto the hem of His robe.

And we’re not letting go.

Neither is He.

If you’re praying in the dark, you’re not failing. You’re faithful.

And I want to walk with you in that.

Every week, I write letters or lessons like this. Unpolished. Unfiltered. Unafraid of the hard questions. If you’re tired of curated Christianity and need a sacred space where real faith meets real life—you’re already home.

Love, Sarah x.

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