Vulnerable Yet Hopeful - Speaking Honestly to God in a Broken World

In a world that often values strength over vulnerability, it can be hard to know what it truly means to be honest before God in our moments of pain and doubt. This piece explores the delicate balance between vulnerability and hope, recognizing that true faith is not about perfection but about bringing our brokenness to God, trusting that He listens and understands. Through raw honesty and a heart full of questions, we journey toward a place where our doubts coexist with our hope, and our weakness becomes the stage for God’s strength to shine.

WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO BE VULNERABLE YET HOPEFUL BEFORE GOD?

What does it really mean—to be vulnerable yet still hopeful before God?

Is it crying in the shower so no one hears, and then whispering, “God, are You listening?”

Is it kneeling beside your bed, not to recite a perfect prayer, but to breathe, sigh, weep—because there are no more words?

Is it asking the kind of questions that shake your faith… yet somehow, still having faith?

Is it saying: “God, I’m confused. I’m tired. I’m hurting. But I still believe You're there.”?

To be vulnerable before God isn’t about using the right words or acting strong.

It’s about showing up as you are, with your wounds exposed, your doubts uncovered, your fears trembling, your heart in your hands.

It’s coming to God without pretending.
No mask.
No spiritual makeup.
No pretending that “It is well” when deep inside, it clearly is not.

It means taking off the armour you wear every day to protect yourself from a harsh world—so that you can be completely open with the One who already sees through it anyway.

To be vulnerable is to stop saying, “I’m fine” when you're falling apart.

To stop saying, “God is good” like it’s a slogan, when you're struggling to believe it with your whole heart.

It means letting God into the real conversation—not the one you recite at church, or the one you repeat because you heard someone else say it—but the one that’s buried deep inside.

The conversation that starts with:
“God… where are You?”
“Why did this happen?”
“Am I alone?”
“Can You really hear me?”
And yet, after all that honesty, after all the brokenness you pour out,

it means choosing to hope anyway.
It is the moment you say, “God, I don’t understand, but I still trust You.”

Not because you feel strong,
Not because everything makes sense,
Not because you have all the answers,
But because somewhere inside, despite it all—you believe that God is still there.

Still good.
Still working.
Still listening.
VULNERABILITY IS NOT WEAKNESS. VULNERABILITY IS WORSHIP.

It is the deepest form of faith—to come before the Creator not with a list of what you've done right, but with your heart completely exposed and say:

“This is me, Lord. I’m tired, I’m confused, I’m breaking—but I’m here.”

And hope?
Hope is not a feeling.
It’s a decision.
A bold, rebellious decision to keep trusting even when the night is dark and the answers are nowhere in sight.

So again, what does it mean to be vulnerable yet hopeful before God?

It means being real.
It means being honest.
It means being present.
It’s not about being perfect—it’s about being human.

Fully human, in the presence of a fully loving God.

THE HONESTY OF BROKENNESS
Have you ever smiled and said "I'm fine"—while everything inside you was breaking into pieces?

Have you ever laughed at a joke when your heart was silently screaming for help?

Have you ever stood in church, hands lifted high, songs on your lips… while your soul was drowning in silence?

Have you ever posted a Bible verse or a motivational quote—just to cover the emptiness that no one sees?

How long… how long will we keep pretending?

How long will we hide behind polite smiles, rehearsed prayers, and empty “Amens” that feel like echoes in a cave?

We live in a world that rewards the strong, praises the unbothered, and celebrates the ones who look like they have it all together.

But what if looking like you’re okay is not the same as being okay?

What if the most spiritual thing you could do today is to admit…

"God, I am not okay."
No filters.
No scriptures to mask the pain.
No need to impress heaven or earth.
Just truth.
Because God is not impressed by performance—He’s moved by presence.

He never asked us to come to Him polished, perfected, or put together.

He said, “Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).

Did you hear that?
He didn’t say: “Come to Me with your best version.”

He didn’t say: “Come only when you feel holy.”

He said: “Come as you are.”

Weary. Broken. Burdened.
What if that’s the real worship—bringing your truth to the altar, not your presentation?

John 4:24 says, “God is spirit, and His worshipers must worship in spirit and in truth.”

Truth includes the messy parts.
The questions you’re afraid to ask.
The doubts you hide from your prayer group.
The anger you feel when prayers go unanswered.

The exhaustion of waiting.
The loneliness of loss.
The ache of unfulfilled promises.
Truth includes the moments when your faith feels thin… and your hope feels foolish.

And still, God says, “Come.”

Can we be brave enough to stop pretending?

Can we admit that we’ve been strong for too long?

That we’re tired of faking smiles?
That sometimes, the storm feels bigger than the God we claim to trust?

That sometimes, just getting out of bed is a prayer in itself?

That some of us have cried until our eyes dried up—and the pain stayed anyway?

And yet, God remains.
He doesn’t turn away from our brokenness—He leans into it.

“The Lord is close to the broken-hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18).

So why do we run from honesty, when honesty is where healing begins?

Why do we fear being seen in our weakness, when it’s in our weakness that His strength is made perfect? (2 Corinthians 12:9)

What if the tears you cry at 2AM are more sacred than any sermon?

What if the whispered, “God, help me” is a deeper prayer than the most elegant hymn?

What if your brokenness isn’t your shame—but your offering?

What if all God ever wanted was… the real you?

ASKING THE HARD QUESTIONS
Have you ever asked God… Why?
Why did my loved one die so soon?
Why did my father leave and never return?
Why did my baby stop breathing?
Why did I lose my job when I was finally starting to breathe again?

Why did the accident take only the kindest soul in the car?

Why was a child born blind… into a world that already barely sees them?

Why do women scream in the dark and no one hears?

Why do little boys grow up too fast in refugee camps, learning war before they learn to write?

Why does the good man die at 30, and the wicked one live to 100?

Why does the one who lies, cheats, and manipulates succeed—while the honest one keeps losing?

Have you ever wondered: God, where are You in all of this?

Have you felt that awkward silence… between your prayer and God’s reply?

And have you ever felt guilty for asking?
Have you swallowed your questions, fearing you were being disrespectful?

Did you think faith meant silence… that belief meant never doubting?

But what if asking questions is not a sign of unbelief—what if it’s the deepest form of it?

You don’t ask questions of someone you’ve given up on.

You ask because you believe someone is listening.

Even Jesus, the Son of God, the embodiment of divinity, cried out in agony on the cross:

“My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46)

Even He had a moment of despair. A moment where it all felt too much.

And the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him), who carried the final message to mankind, also endured moments of deep anguish. There were times when revelation stopped. When God’s silence felt like absence. He walked miles in uncertainty, his heart heavy, his soul aching. But he didn’t stop. He didn’t stop believing.

So why do you feel ashamed for your tears?
Why do you hide your frustration behind pretty prayers?

God is not insecure.
He is not threatened by your doubts, your pain, or your anger.

He formed your heart—He can handle its cries.

He is the God who says, “Come, let us reason together.” (Isaiah 1:18)

He is the God who answers, “Call upon Me, I will respond to you.” (Qur’an 40:60)

Maybe the problem isn’t God’s silence.

Maybe… we’ve just become too noisy to hear.

What if the answers aren’t always loud?

What if they come in whispers, in waiting, in walking with Him through the darkness?

MENTAL HEALTH, GRIEF, AND THE GOD WHO LISTENS

Let’s talk about it.
Let’s remove the holy mask.
Let’s stop acting like depression is a spiritual weakness.

Let’s stop hiding our therapy sessions behind vague “self-care” captions.

Have you ever feared your own thoughts?
Have you ever woken up and felt like the weight of the day would crush you before you got out of bed?

Have you ever smiled at your kids or your friends while secretly wishing life had a pause button?

Let’s be honest.
Mental health isn’t something that disqualifies you from God’s presence.

It is often the place where you meet Him the most.

“I feel like I’m breaking, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

That’s a holy confession.
That’s a prayer that rises like incense.

You don’t need to pretend to be okay in order for God to love you.

He already knows.
And He cares.
“Cast all your anxiety on Him, because He cares for you.” —1 Peter 5:7

Not some of it. Not just the manageable parts.

All of it.
Even the dark thoughts.
Even the things you can’t explain.
Even the silence that scares you.
“So verily, with hardship, there is relief. Verily, with hardship, there is relief.” —Qur’an 94:5-6

Did you see that?
Relief is mentioned twice.
Not once.
Twice.
Almost as if God knew we would need to hear it again.

With every pain, there is promise.
With every loss, there is something still to be found.

With every tear, there is a God who gathers them and says, “I see you.” (Psalm 56:8)

So let us speak from the soul.
Let us be honest about our panic attacks.
About the grief we thought we buried, but still wakes us up at night.

About the memories that haunt us.
About the loneliness, even when surrounded by people.

About the weariness of pretending to be strong when all we want is to be held.

Let us be bold enough to say,
“God, I’m not okay… but I still believe You’re with me.”

SPEAKING AND WAITING
Have you ever just sat with God in the silence?

No requests.
No demands.
No “Dear God, please do this for me.”

Just silence.
Just breath.
Just you… and Him.
Can you sit in that space—not rushing to fill it with noise?

Can you wait—not anxiously, but expectantly?

Because maybe, just maybe…
God doesn’t always speak in burning bushes or parting seas.

What if sometimes…
He speaks in the sound of your heartbeat when you're finally still?

What if His voice is not found in the thunder—but in the stillness after the storm?

What if the answer isn’t a miracle falling from heaven—but a whisper that says,

“You are not alone.”
Would you be willing to wait for that?
Not a dramatic fix,
Not a breakthrough moment,
But just the presence of God… sitting with you in your sadness?

What if waiting isn't punishment—but preparation?

What if silence isn't absence—but sacred space?

What if the pause between your prayer and God’s answer is where your soul learns how to grow?

And what if hope—real, stubborn, unreasonable hope—is forged not in answered prayers… but in unanswered ones?

Will you stay long enough to hear God’s whisper through your weariness?

Will you wait—when all around you screams, “Give up!”?

Because faith is not just about asking.
Faith is also about staying.
Staying in the silence.
Staying in the mystery.
Staying even when nothing changes—because you believe God is still there.

INJUSTICE AND THE LONG ROAD TO REDEMPTION

Where is God…
When children die in war they didn’t start?

When women are trafficked and sold like objects?

When families are torn apart by hunger, corruption, or disaster?

Where is God…
In the villages left without clean water?
In the neighborhoods riddled with bullets?
In the systems designed to oppress the already broken?

Where is He…
When the innocent suffer?
When prayers seem ignored?
When injustice becomes the headline, the norm, the expectation?

Can we still believe in a just God in a world so bent out of shape?

Or have we become too used to injustice to even recognize the ache anymore?

The Bible says in Isaiah 30:18,
“Yet the Lord longs to be gracious to you; therefore he will rise up to show you compassion. For the Lord is a God of justice. Blessed are all who wait for Him!”

Did you catch that?
God doesn’t just care about justice—He is justice.

And He will rise to show compassion.
He’s not sleeping.
He’s not deaf.
He’s not indifferent.
The Qur’an echoes the same truth in Surah Aal-Imran (3:182):

“And never does your Lord forget.”

Never.
Not a single cry.
Not a single drop of blood.
Not a single wrong done.
So if God remembers,
Why do we live like He forgets?
Why do we despair so quickly?
Why do we think the darkness will win—when the light that formed the universe is still burning?

What if justice isn’t always immediate—but it is inevitable?

What if redemption takes time—not because God is slow, but because we are still learning how to be human again?

What if…
The long road to redemption is paved with the tears of the faithful,

The prayers of the broken,
The resilience of the poor,
And the love of a God who sees the end from the beginning?

What if you—yes, you—are part of that redemption story?

What if your heartbreak becomes healing for someone else?

What if your voice, your art, your kindness, your advocacy, your pain—

What if it’s all part of the justice God is slowly weaving into this broken world?

And what if…
In the end, when all is said and done—God stands, not as the silent watcher, but as the judge who rights every wrong?

Will you keep believing, even when you don’t yet see it?

Will you keep walking, even when justice seems too far?

Will you hold on—not to outcomes, but to God?

Because He remembers.
And He is coming.
And He will rise up.
THE BEAUTY OF UNANSWERED PRAYERS
What if the greatest mercies are the ones we didn’t ask for?

What if the door that closed was never meant to be opened?

What if the person who left was God's protection in disguise?

What if the "no" was really a "not yet"?
Or better still—a “I have something better.”

Can you trust that?
Can you hold your unanswered prayer like a gift still being wrapped?

Can you wait in the discomfort of “why” with the quiet trust of “who”?

Unanswered prayers don’t mean God is silent.

They may mean He is working behind the curtain—in ways we may never fully understand this side of heaven.

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the Lord.

“As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.”

—Isaiah 55:8-9
And again, in the Qur’an, Surah Al-Baqarah (2:216):

“But perhaps you hate a thing and it is good for you; and perhaps you love a thing and it is bad for you. And Allah knows, while you know not.”

So maybe the silence is not rejection—it’s redirection.

Maybe the delay is not denial—it’s design.

Will you still walk with Him when you don’t have all the answers?

Will you still love Him when your heart aches?

Will you still believe—when nothing around you makes sense?

Because maybe the most profound faith is not in what we know, but in whom we trust.

FINAL THOUGHTS: A Prayer of the Vulnerable

God, I am not okay.
I don’t know why things happen the way they do.

But I believe You see.
I believe You care.
Hold my hand.
Sit with me in the silence.
Heal what I can’t explain.
I trust You.
Even when I’m scared.
Even when I’m broken.
Because You are God.
And You are good.
Amen.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
I am no theologian.
Not a pastor, a priest, or an imam.
I’m just Puobabangna—
That man from Eggu, in the Upper West Region of Ghana.

What my inspiration—
which I believe comes from God Almighty—directs, I write.

This piece isn’t for theologians alone.

It’s for the grieving.
The mother still waiting.
The father quietly breaking.
The young person questioning everything.
The tired soul.
The silent sufferer.
Is that you?
Have you been walking around with wounds no one sees?

Is your smile just a curtain?
Have you mastered the art of saying, “I’m fine,”

when you're falling apart inside?
If so, this is your permission slip:
Be vulnerable.
Be raw.
Be real.
And still… be hopeful.
Because even in the chaos—
Even when there are no words left—
God is near.
Selah.
#Puobabangna

By: A Lay Believer Who Knows God Is Supreme (#Puobabangna)