You Tired of Waiting, Hoping? What if this is the Real Answer to Your Prayers?

This brilliant woman has discipled me for more than decade and I couldn’t love her more. I’ve long believed that those most acquainted with suffering are often those most intimately acquainted with the heart of God. And that’s exactly what you’ll find in this powerful story from Vaneetha Risner, a woman who knows the ache of grief—and the hope that holds when life unravels. Vaneetha has walked through deep loss: the death of a child, multiple miscarriages, a painful divorce, and life with a debilitating disease. She has wrestled with God in silence and suffering—and found, sometimes in the ashes, that the presence of Christ is more than enough. She’s not writing theory. She’s writing from the frontlines of grief and grace, offering what every weary heart longs for: honesty, hope, and a clarity that comes from suffering well with Jesus. I’m so grateful to share this tender glimpse into her new devotional, Watching for the Morning: 90 Devotionals When Hope Is Hard to Find. This one? You’ll want to read it slowly—and then pass it on to someone who desperately needs to know they’re not alone. It is the utmost honour to welcome my dear friend, Vaneetha to the farm’s table today…

Guest Post by Vaneetha Risner

Years ago, I remember having coffee with a couple I’d recently met, as we each shared our lives and our stories.

We didn’t know each other well, but the conversation quickly moved into vulnerable territory.

I’d just told them about Paul’s death, which was on the heels of three miscarriages. Before I could finish, the husband interrupted me and said, “Don’t take this wrong, but we prayed for our children, and all of them were born healthy.”

I sat in silence for a few seconds as I took in his words. How exactly did he expect me to take that remark?

Did he think I hadn’t prayed?

Were they blaming me for our son’s death?

Did he believe my miscarriages were all my fault?

My mind was reeling after that conversation, but this attitude wasn’t new.

“My questions went unanswered—but His presence was undeniable.“

From the day we learned of Paul’s heart problem when I was pregnant, concerned friends assured me Paul would be fine if we prayed in faith. Their confidence was unwavering. It was all up to us. “Pray, believing you will receive,” they urged from James 5:15–16, “and he will be healed.”

So I prayed. I fasted. I recited set prayers. I read books on healing. I asked friends to pray. I begged God. I did everything I knew to do.

But months later, sitting beside Paul’s empty crib, I had more questions than answers. What had I done wrong? Why didn’t God heal Paul? Was I to blame? Or was God?

Nothing made sense. And in the ensuing months, I poured myself into theology. I wanted to understand this God whom I claimed to worship but couldn’t figure out. My questions went unanswered—but His presence was undeniable. I couldn’t explain Him, but I couldn’t walk away from Him either.

After a long time of searching, I realized that I’d always assumed my faithfulness would result in God’s blessings. That trouble was a result of my failings. And that by fulfilling my end of the relationship, God would have to fulfill His. If not, what was the point of obeying God?

In his book The Prodigal God, Tim Keller referred to this subtle but dangerous expectation when he wrote, “If, like the elder brother, you seek to control God through your obedience, then all your morality is just a way to use God to make him give you the things in life you really want.”

“God is not after comfortable mediocrity. His artistry is unrivaled. He is creating masterpieces. God brushes unexpected color across the canvas of our lives, says no when we beg for yes, and offers His presence when we want His presents—because He has a much bigger plan for us.“

That was exactly how I viewed things.

My morality was little more than a way to use God to get the things in life I wanted. Prayer was essentially a good luck charm, a way of controlling my environment so I could live a happy, easy life. It had become less about communion and more about control.

As I searched the Bible for answers, I realized that my delight needed to be in God and not His gifts. The best gift He can give me is not health or healing or happiness but more of Himself. And that gift is often clearest in suffering because that’s when my dependence on Him is the greatest and my fellowship the sweetest. He meets me in breathtaking ways when I call out to Him. He has never failed me, and He never will. Even when everything in life fails, I can cling to God who is my portion forever.

It took losing Paul to show me that God’s faithfulness doesn’t always look like rescue.

Sometimes it looks like presence in the middle of pain. Sometimes it looks like peace that passes understanding, not answers that tie everything up in a neat bow. Sometimes it looks like tears on the floor by an empty crib—and the quiet comfort of a God who weeps with me.

I don’t know what’s best for me. I want easy answers, fill-in-the-blanks, pain-free predictability. I want a paint-by-numbers life. But God is not after comfortable mediocrity. His artistry is unrivaled. He is creating masterpieces. God brushes unexpected color across the canvas of our lives, says no when we beg for yes, and offers His presence when we want His presents—because He has a much bigger plan for us. A plan that glorifies Him and brings us everlasting delight.

Looking back, I can see how that conversation over coffee—jarring as it was—opened my eyes to how easily we equate blessings with effort, as if God were running a cosmic vending machine: insert prayer, receive miracle. We like formulas because they make us feel in control. But God’s ways are too deep for formulas and too personal for predictability.

“…God’s ways are too deep for formulas and too personal for predictability.“

I realized that others, like this couple, might not understand the gifts God gave me when my prayers weren’t answered exactly as I’d asked. To them, the outcome reflected my lack of faith or weak prayers. Yet I know God always hears us and wants to give us His very best, sparing nothing that would be good for us. God doesn’t grant our every request even when we pray faithfully—but He is always there, faithfully walking with us through every trial. And His presence is a far greater gift than any outcome we can imagine.

There was a time I didn’t know what to make of unanswered prayer—it felt like absence, like being forgotten. But now I know it can be the very place God draws near. While He didn’t spare Paul’s life as I had asked, I’ve come to see that through Paul’s life, God was doing something deeper—something eternal.

And in my grief, I met Him there.

REFLECT:

How have you been tempted to believe that your faithfulness would result in God’s blessings?

What would it look like to release a “God owes me” ideology, knowing that the true riches of God are found in His presence?

What would it mean to let yourself grieve what you lost, even as you hold onto the One who never leaves?

I try to read every word this woman writes — her words are that good, that rich.

Vaneetha Risner writes and speaks about finding hope in suffering. Her story includes childhood bullying, losing an infant son, developing post-polio syndrome, and experiencing an unwanted divorce. She is the author of Desperate for Hope, Walking Through Fire, and The Scars That Have Shaped Me, and she writes regularly for Desiring God.

Her latest book, Watching for the Morning: 90 Devotionals When Hope Is Hard to Find, is a tender companion for dark seasons. Each day offers biblical truth, honest reflection, and Christ-centered hope for anyone walking through grief, waiting, or weariness.

These 90 devotions are for anyone who is waiting in the dark, wondering when life will get better. Some reflections will encourage you to press on, some will help you process your losses, others will make you laugh, and still others will show you the gift of lament, in both its grittiness and grace.  Ultimately, they’re all intended to draw you closer to the God who is always for you – who is nearer than you know and loves you more than you can imagine.

Weeping may last for the night but joy comes in the morning.  Psalm 30:5

You can find Vaneetha’s writing and podcast at vaneetha.com and follow her on Instagram: @vaneetharisner and Facebook: vaneetharisner

{Our humble thanks to B&H Books for their partnership in today’s devotional.}