To Laura in Charlotte
“Michael, I used to feel close to God. Prayer came easily, worship moved me to tears. But now, nothing. I still read my Bible. I still go to church. But I feel numb — like I’m going through the motions. I wonder if something is wrong with my faith. Why would God go silent now, when I need Him most?”
Laura,
You’re not broken. And you’re not faithless. You’re just in the wilderness. The kind that Scripture doesn’t skip over, even though most sermons do.
We’ve been taught somewhere along the way that spiritual vitality should feel electric. That faith should always move us emotionally. That if we’re really connected to God, we’ll feel peace, warmth, clarity. But Scripture never promised that. It promised presence, not always sensation. That’s what makes your numbness not a curse but a call.
You say you’re still reading the Word, still praying, still showing up to church. That’s not you going through the motions. That’s you holding the line when the weather turns cold. That’s not fake. That’s faith.
The Psalms are full of this kind of holy confusion. “Why, O Lord, do You stand far off? Why do You hide Yourself in times of trouble?” (Psalm 10:1). God didn’t rebuke that question — He preserved it as Scripture. Because this kind of doubt, this aching spiritual dryness, is part of the sacred journey.
You’re not numb because you’ve failed. You’re numb because you’re growing roots. Emotional highs may have carried you into the faith. But maturity grows in the dry places, where you learn to stand even when heaven goes quiet.
Don’t mistake silence for absence. The God who feels distant is still God, still present, still holding you, still working beneath the surface.
You might not feel it, but the act of praying when it feels hollow is one of the most honest things a person can do. It’s not performative. It’s not polished. It’s real. You’re not using God for a spiritual buzz. You’re seeking Him even when there’s no immediate payoff. That’s not empty religion. That’s covenant love.
But let’s be practical too.
Sometimes this dryness is spiritual. Sometimes it’s emotional exhaustion. Sometimes it’s grief, trauma, or burnout that hasn’t had room to breathe. Sometimes your nervous system is just so frayed that your soul can’t feel joy the way it used to. That doesn’t mean God is gone. It means your body and spirit need mercy — not judgment.
So, what do you do?
You keep praying — not for fireworks, but for endurance. You sit with the Scriptures — not to feel something, but to be shaped by truth. You speak out loud to God — even if it feels like talking into the wind. And you talk to someone trusted. You don’t go it alone.
You may not feel like a strong Christian right now. But let me tell you — the spiritual strength you’re forming now will outlast all the mountaintop moments. You’re becoming the kind of believer who doesn’t just praise when it’s easy, but who stays when it’s hard.
The threshing floor is where emotion gives way to substance. Where the husk is stripped off, and the grain remains. That’s where you are. And though it feels like dying — it’s really refining.
You’re not forgotten. You’re not cast out. You’re in the part of the story that no one wants to write — but everyone who walks close to God eventually lives.
The numbness will not last forever. But the growth from it will.
Keep walking. Even if you can’t feel Him — He feels you.
You are seen. You are held. And you are still on holy ground.
On the Path with you,
— Michael Vowell
Michael Vowell: Reflections on Grace, Love, and Leadership 