Dear God,

I come to you worn and fragile, my knees wobbly, my eyes bloodshot, and my head aching as if it’s stuck in an ever-tightening vise.

I’m desperate, Lord. Happiness feels like a faded memory that’s been cruelly snatched from me, and I’m begging you now—teach me how to hope.

I’ve been drifting through shadows for so long that the light seems like a distant dream. Each step falters, every breath struggles against a weight pressing down. Desolate days blur into sleepless nights, and the nights are like interrogation sessions where a cruel and invisible inquisitor taunts me with the specter of ever-worsening misery. I’ve tried to hold on, to push forward as the world expects, but I’m weary. My hands reach for nothing, my dreams lie scattered and smashed like debris after a hurricane, and I don’t know how to gather them back. I look around, and all I see is what’s gone—doors locked, promises broken, voices silenced. Where do I go now? How do I believe in anything when everything I’ve held has slipped away?

I need you to show me. I need you to reach into this tangled mess I’ve become and untie the knots. Hope’s a shadow I can’t chase, a word I know but can’t feel, slipping through my fingers like an ethereal jelly. Every time I take one step forward, grim reality sets in, and I’m pushed twenty steps back—a fleeting lift of spirit crushed by a heavier fall. Is hope a warmth I’ve forgotten? A promise I can’t hear? A light too faint for my tired eyes?

But here I am, still whispering your name, because even in my doubt, I can’t turn away from you.

Teach me how to hope, God. Show me how to trust that I won’t drown in this emotional quicksand. I see others walking steadily, heads held high, and I wonder what they have that I’ve lost. Do they feel you closer? Have they found a strength I can’t reach? I want that, Lord. I want to rise without this ache in my chest, this fear that tomorrow will only be a grayer version of today. I want to believe there’s meaning in this hurt, not just a cold end. I want to look at what’s broken and find a way to mend it, not to shatter into a million pieces.

Please, God, give me something—small, yet real. A breeze with a touch of comfort, a kind word from nowhere, a spark inside that says, “Keep going.” I feel like I’m on a sinking ship, plugging one hole only to see three more tear open, water rising faster than I can bail it out.

Teach me how to hope when the voices of darkness urge me to quit. Teach me to stand when my strength wavers, to breathe when the air grows heavy. Show me this isn’t all there is, that a story still waits beyond my sight. Help me trust your hands when your face is hidden. I want to hope in you—not in things that fade, not in people who leave, but in you. Steady my heart, Lord. Quiet the noise inside. Let me feel you near—a warmth in the chill, a light in the gloom.

I’m desperate, God, but I’m here. I’m asking. I’m waiting. Teach me how to hope, because I can’t find it. I never could. Take this broken man, these worn pieces, and shape something new. I don’t know how, but you do. You always have. Please, teach me how to hope.