Wrestling With Unanswered Prayers: When God Seems Silent

Faith in the Storm Series

Wrestling with Unanswered Prayers: When God Seems Silent

The Weight of Silence

When I was in college, I worked at the church I grew up in and was there one afternoon on a historic weather day for Nashville. Multiple tornadoes went through downtown and plowed across the mid-state all day long. 

While in the church office, our team was alerted that a tornado was headed our way. I stood outside and watched what looked like a million black specks floating in the sky as they began to swirl around to form a funnel. As it reached toward the ground, I quickly headed to our safe spot, and suddenly all became silent. 

This is what happens before a tornado. There are crashes of thunder, loud gusts of wind, then a sudden silence falls over you. It can be terrifying. Sometimes the scariest part isn’t the crashing thunder–it’s the stillness after, when you don’t know what’s coming next. 

Storms that come upon us in our lives, whether physical, relational, financial, or spiritual, can feel this way. There may be a moment of shock, the roar of everything coming to a head, and then a sudden silence. 

In the silence, we pray and wait to hear from God. We may pray for days, weeks, months, even years for the same thing, and yet it may seem as though God has grown silent. We crave signs, directions, answers. But in our faith, the silence can start to feel like absence. As prayers go unanswered, doubt and frustration begin to build within, and the silence can become unnerving.

So, what do we do when God doesn’t give us the answer we’re desperate for?

Wrestling, Not Resigning

Scripture is full of unanswered prayers–from David’s cries in Psalms: “How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?” (Psalm 13:1-2), to Paul’s thorn in the flesh as he writes: “Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me.” (2 Corinthians 12:8) And still, the answer wasn’t what he expected.

There is a temptation to equate unanswered prayers with indifference from God. We may even begin to question His presence with us. But God’s silence isn’t a sign of absence as we are reminded in Psalm 46:1, “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.” 

What feels like a “no” may actually be a “not yet.” Or even a loving, holy pause while God prepares us for what He already sees ahead. His delays are not denials. Sometimes, they are divine protection or preparation.

Wrestling in prayer doesn’t mean we’re losing faith. In fact, it might mean we’re holding on tighter. True faith isn’t passive. It doesn’t sit back quietly while the storm rages. It leans in. It cries out. It questions. It stays.

Job is a perfect example of this. He knew the ache of praying and trusting God, even when He seemed silent. Job lost everything—his family, his health, his livelihood—and then was left to sit in the ashes of what once was, wondering why. His prayers were not polished. They were not tidy. They were not “safe.” But they were real.

And that’s what made them holy.

Job cried out with brutal honesty. He didn’t hold back his confusion, frustration, or pain. He asked God why, how, and for how long. He mourned, questioned, and pleaded—all in the context of prayer. He stayed in the conversation with God, even when he didn’t understand God’s silence.

That’s the remarkable part.

He never walked away.

Even in his lowest, Job said, “Though He slay me, yet will I hope in Him.” (Job 13:15) His faith was not based on outcomes or answers—it was anchored in God Himself. Job didn’t worship because he felt blessed. He worshiped because he believed God was still worthy.

Wrestling with God doesn’t mean we lack faith. Sometimes, it means we are fighting to hold onto it. Real faith is not pretending everything is okay. It’s choosing to stay close to God even when everything’s falling apart.

Redefining What an Answer Looks Like

I have found when I am in the thick of the storm, I have a tendency to want to see seventeen steps down the road, but my sight is limited to the present circumstance. So, as I pray, I petition God for circumstantial change. But here’s the thing…Sometimes, what seems like silence or when God’s answer isn’t what we expect–it’s really God working in us, resulting in deeper transformation, rather than circumstantial change. 

Many times I have prayed during a season of unforgiveness, when I had a wound so deep I knew only God could heal it. I prayed and prayed, waiting for God to change my circumstance. Ultimately, He spoke to my heart, changing my perspective rather than my circumstance. He taught me to release my pain and trust His plan. 

For Paul, the thorn he prayed about was not removed; however, God gave him grace and changed Paul’s perspective:

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. (2 Corinthians 12:9)

Sometimes, God’s answer isn’t relief. It’s grace. It’s presence. It’s peace.

The Invitation to Keep Wrestling

If you're in the middle of the storm—keep praying.
Even when it feels like your prayers are going unanswered.
Even when God feels silent.

The silence won’t last forever.

And even in the quiet, He is still working. Sometimes the silence is the space between what was and what’s next. A pause. A reset. A breath.

So as you wait:

• Remember: God is faithful.

• Anchor yourself in His Word: Let truth steady your heart when feelings falter.

• Stay open: Watch for how He’s working in you, not just around you.

• Keep looking: Glimpses of His presence are all around.

Reflection

• Have you ever mistaken God’s silence for His absence? What truths from Scripture can anchor you in those moments?

• What are you praying for right now? How might God be working in you rather than just around you as you wait?

• Is there a shift God might be inviting you to make—from asking for an outcome to seeking His presence? How would that change the way you pray?
  

  

  
  

A Prayer for When God Seems Silent

Lord,
Sometimes I don’t understand what You’re doing.
I’ve carried questions that feel too heavy,
wounds that still haven’t healed,
and prayers that seem to go unanswered.

But I’m still here.
Still holding on.
Still hoping.

Even when I don’t have clarity,
teach me to trust Your character.
Even when I wrestle,
remind me that You’re not pushing me away—
You’re drawing me closer.

Let my wrestling become worship.
Let my questions lead me not to despair, but to deeper faith.
You are still God.
And You are still good.

In Jesus’ name, Amen.