When the Darkness Feels Heaviest

There are days when the darkness overtakes me. A black sea of depression engulfs me completely. After spending every ounce of energy just trying to keep my head above the water, my strength finally gives out—and I begin to sink. Down and down I spiral, as my mind tries to grasp and make sense of the chaos and destruction my situation has forced me to endure. Emotions rush in like waves, crashing one after another, leaving me feeling lost, exhausted, and hopeless.

Why is this happening to me, God?
Why are You allowing this? Surely this cannot be Your will.
What have I done to deserve this?

Does any of this sound familiar to you, my brothers?

As Christmas draws near—a season meant to be filled with joy, family, and togetherness—the weight of these questions often grows heavier. For alienated fathers, holidays can magnify the absence, the silence, and the grief. While the world celebrates, many of us are simply trying to survive. The empty space where our children should be can feel louder than any celebration. And in that quiet, the darkness has a way of creeping in.

I spend so much time praying and striving to do right by the Lord—almost as if my obedience could somehow earn enough favor for Him to finally pull me out of this storm. I wrestle with doubt. I question whether He truly hears my cries for help, even though deep down I know He has been with me the entire time. This tension—between what we feel and what we know—is where many of us live during our wilderness seasons.

And this is the truth we must cling to and continually remind ourselves of: we are not alone.

As we traverse the rough terrain of our wilderness seasons, God does not abandon us. In fact, it is often in these darkest moments that we grow closest to Him—not because the pain disappears, but because we finally have nowhere else to turn. The wilderness strips us of our illusions of control and leaves us dependent on God alone.

Take Elijah, for example.

Elijah’s story begins in 1 Kings 17:1, when God sends him into hiding during a time of drought and famine. God commands him to retreat to the Kerith Ravine—a place of isolation and obscurity—where he would drink from a brook and be fed by ravens. Day after day, Elijah depended entirely on God for survival. There was no audience. No affirmation. Just obedience and trust.

Eventually, the brook dried up.

Imagine that moment. The very provision God had supplied was now gone. Yet even then, God had not abandoned Elijah. Instead, He called him forward—to Zarephath—where God would provide again, this time through a widow with barely enough to survive herself. Elijah obeyed, and once again, God proved faithful.

But the wilderness didn’t end there.

Later, after Elijah boldly confronted the prophets of Baal and witnessed God’s power in undeniable ways, he was threatened by Queen Jezebel. Despite everything he had seen and experienced, Elijah collapsed under the weight of fear, exhaustion, and despair. He fled into the wilderness, sat beneath a broom tree, and prayed that he might die. He was depleted. Broken. Done.

And yet—this is where the beauty of God’s character shines.

God did not rebuke Elijah. He did not shame him for his weakness. Instead, He met him with gentleness. God allowed Elijah to rest. He provided food and water. And then, in a quiet whisper—not in the wind, earthquake, or fire—God reminded Elijah that he was not alone, that his story was not over, and that there was still purpose ahead.

Elijah pressed forward—not because he felt strong, but because he trusted God enough to obey, one step at a time.

My brothers, Christmas reminds us that God enters the darkness with us. Christ came not into comfort, but into chaos. Not into celebration, but into suffering. And just as God sustained Elijah in the wilderness, He will sustain us too—especially in seasons where the pain feels unbearable.

If you find yourself sinking today, hear this: your weakness does not disqualify you. Your exhaustion does not mean you’ve failed. And your wilderness is not wasted.

Keep pressing forward. Keep obeying. Keep trusting—even when the path makes no sense. God is still working, even when the brook dries up. And the same God who met Elijah in his lowest moment is with you now, guarding your heart and carrying you through the storm.

You are not forgotten.
You are not alone.
And this wilderness will not have the final word.