Many days I pray the same prayer again and again and wonder if God is listening. I ask Him to heal someone I love, change a difficult situation, give me direction, protect my family, or answer a prayer I have carried for months—sometimes years—and still I wait.

When nothing seems to change, God can feel far away. His silence can begin to feel like His absence.

Then today, I came to Psalm 22. David begins with some of the most painful words in Scripture:

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Psalm 22:1)

What strikes me is that David does not simply cry, “Why have you forsaken me?” Even in his anguish, he calls Him “my God.” His circumstances made God seem distant, but David was still reaching toward Him.

Centuries later, Jesus would cry those same words from the cross:

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46)

Knowing that Jesus spoke the opening words of Psalm 22 changes the way I hear them. On the cross, Jesus entered unimaginable suffering. Yet the cross also reminds me that God can be at work even when all I can see is darkness. What looked like defeat became the means of our salvation.

That truth reaches into my ordinary days of waiting. When prayers seem unanswered, circumstances refuse to change, and I cannot understand what God is doing, I don’t have to pretend the silence doesn’t hurt. Psalm 22 permits me to cry out honestly while continuing to hold on.

That is what David did. He began in anguish, remembered God’s faithfulness, continued to pray, and eventually arrived at praise:

“You who fear the LORD, praise him!” (Psalm 22:23)

The anguish did not get the final word. God did.

That is what I want to remember when heaven seems quiet. I may not be able to trace God’s hand, but I can trust His character. I can remember His faithfulness, bring Him my questions, and keep praying while I wait.

Sometimes faith sounds like joyful praise. Sometimes it sounds like a desperate cry from the darkness. Both are the voices of hearts still reaching for God. David cried, “My God.” Jesus cried, “My God.” And when I have prayed the same prayer again and again with no answer in sight, I can still say, “My God.”

I may not understand the silence, but the cross reminds me that God can do His deepest work when I can see it the least. So I will keep praying, keep trusting, and keep calling Him “my God,” because God’s silence is not God’s absence.

Prayer

Lord, when You seem silent and I cannot understand what You are doing, help me remember who You are. Remind me of Your faithfulness in the past, strengthen my faith in the present, and teach me to keep calling You “my God” until my questions become praise. Amen.