IN ALL THESE THINGS
The growing pains of faith.

By Emily Grace Galbraith

For several years, my husband and I went through a series of overlapping challenges. First, he saw his income as a commission salesman sliced in half when his company stopped carrying their best-selling home improvement products. He was understandably angry, and that anger spilled into our once peaceful home.
Then politics invaded our other sanctuary, the church. My husband was serving on the deacon board, and I was working in the church office when a serious division arose in the congregation. We both became targets for rude comments from unhappy members. Friendships I thought would last forever got caught in the crossfire. I grieved their loss.
During the same period, our youngest son —a sensitive, nervous child— battled rejection at school and church. His emotional pain led to severe depression and, eventually, a breakdown. Our hearts ached night and day for him.
Our two teenagers struggled to adjust to our lower income. They found jobs and paid for their own clothing, entertainment and gas. They tried not to grumble when we sold our second vehicle. We planned to cover their university costs but, when the time came, our savings accounts were empty. It hurt to see them strapped with student loans and working late hours at part-time jobs.
These challenges led to a faith crisis for me. Every facet of my life seemed under siege. The strength I gained from my early morning devotions drained away before the day was half over. Broken, worried, and spiritually desperate, I looked to Sunday sermons for encouragement. But during these months, I often left church as empty as when I had arrived.
After one evening service, overwhelmed by my family’s needs and deeply discouraged, I headed straight to our bedroom to pray. The dark room matched the gloom in my heart.
On my knees by the bed I lamented, “What’s going on, God? It’s me here. Don’t you remember?” When I was in my twenties, God revived me from a backslidden condition and healed the wounds I’d brought upon myself during those prodigal years. He had given me a believing husband and children – everything I’d always wanted. My list of miraculous answers to past prayers was long. I couldn’t identify with people who talked about going through spiritually dark times. I thought there must be something wrong with them. I was a simplistic Christian who believed that faith made all of life’s problems go away.
That night in my bedroom, I pleaded with God to communicate with me. But an hour passed, and no comforting words came from heaven. No Scripture jumped into my heart. No encouraging thought came to mind — nothing. The vault of heaven seemed shut, and I didn’t have the combination to unlock it.
Disappointed, I rose from my knees and gazed out the window into the night yard. The most important prayer I ever prayed was when I gave my life to Jesus. This night, I prayed the second most important prayer of my life:

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