Topic: Prayer

On that dark Thursday morning, the call had come suddenly. He was being rushed to the hospital. From mum’s tone, it sounded serious. Outside the office, I froze. Words felt small. But in that moment, I found myself praying with the leper in Matthew 8:2, “Lord, if you are willing, you can make [him] well.” I believe He could. I trusted Him enough to ask boldly, hoping for the same response the leper received: “I will, be clean.” But as the hours passed, I was left clutching silence, holding on to a prayer that heaven seemed to have set aside.

When faith meets silence, verses like Job 42:2 can almost sting:“I know that You can do all things, And that no purpose of Yours can be thwarted.” If God can do all things, why didn’t He do this one? If He is the God “who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think,”why didn’t He do this one thing I already asked? It wasn’t a bad request. I wasn’t asking for something sinful. It was a plea for mercy, for hope, for help. But when the answer came in a form I didn’t expect, it shook something in me.

I know He hears me. I know that in Christ and through faith, I can approach God with freedom and confidence (Ephesians 3:12). Yet somewhere in the silence, I started to wonder: did I pray rightly? Did I misunderstand His will, misread His heart, or something in myself that disqualified the request?

You may have felt this too. The unanswered prayer for healing. For the salvation of a loved one. For reconciliation, for provision, or for a spouse. The request that seemed good, right, even God-honoring. You prayed, trusted, waited, and hoped, but the supplication seemed to be declined.

And sometimes, I have wondered what to do with that silence. What does it mean when the God who can does not? When His power is unquestionable, but His will remains unsearchable? Can I still trust His heart even when His hand withholds?

The Doubts We Don’t Voice

Unanswered prayers shake us. They press into the soft places of our faith and stir questions we don’t always want to ask. The leper’s words become our own “Lord, if You will…” The silence on the other end tests our faith. Our doubts often take shape in different ways.

Maybe you are like me, who sometimes doubt His will. I know He can, but I’m no longer sure He wants to. We begin to wonder if suffering is the only language He uses to make us holy. The enemy takes that moment of waiting and plants lies: If God is good, why does it seem like He takes pleasure in your pain? (Lamentations 3:33)

Other times, we doubt His wisdom. We believe God sees all things, yet when His answers don’t align with our desires, we begin to think we see more clearly than He does. We forget that His understanding stretches beyond our line of sight.

“For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts…” (Isaiah 55:9, NASB95)

And often, beneath it all, we doubt His goodness. Pain tempts us to interpret His character through our circumstances. We start to measure His love by what He gives rather than who He is. ‘If He really cared,’ we think, ‘He wouldn’t let this happen.’

Our doubts are real. But don't make friends with doubt. Unanswered prayers are not proof of God’s indifference, punishment, or forgetfulness. They are invitations to look again at who He is.

The Purpose in His Silence

Sometimes God’s silence feels heavier than His words. We bring our requests, our desires, our waiting hearts, and heaven seems still. But perhaps His silence does not mean absence; perhaps it means presence in a deeper way.

When doubt creeps in, we need to look again at who God is. Not through the lens of what He hasn’t done for us, but through the unchanging truth of His Word. Scripture speaks to every whisper of unbelief that ‘unanswered prayer’ stirs in us.

All through Scripture, God’s silence has never meant indifference. When Jesus stood before Pilate and said nothing (Matthew 27:14), His silence was not weakness. It was love about to be displayed. When Lazarus lay dead and Jesus delayed (John 11:6), His silence was not neglect. It was a prelude to resurrection. The pauses of God are never empty; they are purposeful.

We so easily turn prayer into a kind of spiritual formula, as though the right words or enough faith should make things happen. Yet God does not prove His goodness by haste, but by His steadfastness and faithfulness in the waiting. 

“The Lord is good to those who wait for Him, To the person who seeks Him” (Lamentations 3:25, NASB95)

He listens long before He responds, shaping our desires until they can hold what He intends to give. Sometimes the quiet is His way of teaching us to trust the heart we cannot yet see. It is not indifference that makes Him wait, but love, a love too deep to rush what time will one day reveal as His grace. 

The Prayer We Never Prayed

If unanswered prayers make us question God’s love, the gospel stands as our greatest reminder that His love has already answered far more than we ever asked.

Paul reminds us that once we were “dead in trespasses and sins” (Ephesians 2:1). We were unable to save ourselves, unable even to ask rightly. And yet, in that state, by His grace, God made us alive together with Christ.

This was the greatest request we never prayed for. We never thought to ask for forgiveness. We never dreamed of requesting eternal life. We never imagined that the Holy One would give His Son for rebels like us. And yet God did far more abundantly than all we could ask or think (Ephesians 3:20).

At the cross, God forever proved both His ability and His willingness. There, when the Son’s cry went seemingly unanswered (Matthew 27:46), God was answering the greatest need we never voiced. He was cancelling our debts, silencing the law’s condemnation, crushing sin and death, defeating Satan, and giving us life everlasting.

“He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him over for us all, how will He not also with Him freely give us all things?” (Romans 8:32, NASB95)

If He has already accomplished the greater, will He fail in the lesser? If He has already conquered the grave, can He not be trusted when He opens the door of heaven for one we love, even when it breaks our hearts?

The cross silences the lie that God is indifferent. In Christ, we see that God’s “no” was once the means of our salvation. The Father did not remove the cup from His Son, and through that “no,” He gave us the eternal “yes” of redemption.

“God’s willingness to do good is not proven by giving us everything we ask, but by giving us Himself.”

The God who withheld nothing for our salvation is the same God who hears every cry from His children. His silence is often the shadow of a greater mercy still unfolding.

Let God Define Good

When prayers seem unanswered, it’s often because our definition of good is smaller than God’s.

We call something good when it feels pleasant, timely, and aligned with our desires. But Scripture calls something good when it makes us more like Christ. — Esther Lovejoy (Paraphrased)

God’s goodness does not always take the shape of ease. His goodness is not defined by outcomes but by His nature. Sometimes it comes clothed in disappointment, delay, or denial.

“No good thing does He withhold from those who walk uprightly.” (Psalm 84:11, NASB95)

If He withholds it, then by His definition, it was not good… or at least, not yet. What He withholds in one season, He redeems in another, shaping us to treasure the Giver more than the gifts.

“Every good thing given and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shifting shadow.” (James 1:17, NASB95)

His withholding, then, is not a denial of goodness but an expression of it. Much of His goodness unfolds beyond the reach of our understanding, quietly working in places our eyes cannot yet see.

“God is always doing 10,000 things in your life, and you may be aware of three of them.” — John Piper

True faith bows before mystery. It does not demand that God fit our version of good. It trusts that His version is always better. Faith prays like the leper: “Lord, if you will, you can.” And faith accepts both the “yes” and the “no” as coming from the same good hand.

“The Lord is good to all, And His mercies are over all His works.” (Psalm 145:9, NASB95)

The Gift of ‘Unanswered Prayers’

This does not mean unanswered prayers are easy to bear. The longing for healing, provision, companionship, reconciliation, or relief is very real. The ache of waiting can linger long after the ‘amen’.

But Scripture calls us to root our faith not in His answers, but in His character. God’s power has not changed. His goodness has not shifted. His wisdom has not failed. Even when His answer is not what we asked for, it is never less than what is best.

“God will either give us what we ask for in prayer or give us what we would have asked for if we knew everything he knows.” — Timothy Keller

Where are you still waiting on God’s timing? What prayer have you stopped praying because hope has grown dim? What truth about His heart do you need to remember in the waiting? How might God be using the ‘unanswered prayers’ to sanctify your heart, teaching you to treasure Him above the gifts you long for?

My prayer life still bears the shadows of hopes that took a different path than my prayers imagined. But I am learning to rest my hope not in outcomes but in Him, to let my disappointments drive me deeper into His wisdom, to bend my will beneath His, trusting that if He withholds, He withholds in love.

Over a year later, I still feel the ache of the response to the prayer I made that morning. But I no longer see it as an ‘unanswered prayer’. It has become a place where I return not to grieve what was withheld, but to remember who He is. One day, I will look back and recognise that even the “no’s” and “not yets” were threads of mercy woven into His perfect plan.

Until then, I will keep praying. I will trust again. I will choose to praise God from whom all blessings flow, for who He is, even when I can’t see what He’s doing. I will anchor my heart in what He has already revealed about Himself. With Job, I will keep saying, “I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted.” I will keep praying to this God “who is able to do far more abundantly than all we could ask or think”.

O Lord, my God,
How often I stumble in the same place.
How often I grieve that I return
to the very sin that I hate.
The weakness of my flesh betrays me.
For I do not do the good I want.
This sin’s grip, its shame, its familiar chains,
presses heavily on my soul.

I confess that I am not strong enough to overcome it.
Prone to wander, prone to leave the God I love,
Do not let me grow comfortable in rebellion.
Do not let me make peace with what nailed You on that tree.
Let my grief over sin be real,
Let it drive me into Your arms, not away.
For Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners,
among whom I am the worst.

When the accuser whispers,
silence him with that old rugged cross,
where I found life at Christ’s expense.
When my own heart condemns me,
lift my eyes to the Righteous One
who stands in my defence.
Jesus, my ad­vo­cate ab­ove,
My friend be­fore the throne of love.

Though I fall,
I will rise again by Your mercy.
Though I sit in darkness,
You will be my light.
Though my sins rise up to condemn me,
The cross declares me free.
Though the enemy mocks my defeat,
I will wait for the God of my salvation,

I praise You, O Father,
For who is a God like you?
A Righteous God who pardons iniquity,
who does not retain anger forever,
who delights to show steadfast love,
who treads sin underfoot.
Cast my sins into the depths of the sea,
and remind me they are remembered no more.

I wait for You, O Lord my God;
My hope is in Your salvation.
Though I walk with a limp from my weakness,
I walk in the light of Your forgiveness.
O Christ, deliver me yet again.
Train my heart to love holiness.
Strengthen my hands to fight temptation.
And keep me until the day when sin is no more.

Oh, how I groan to see that day,
When faith gives way to sight,
When tears are wiped and death is undone.
The fight with sin will cease forever,
and the Lamb will be my everlasting light.
Clothed in white, faultless before Your throne,
I will sing the song of the redeemed,
where grace at last has brought me home.
Amen.

Lord, to whom shall I go?
When the weight of sorrow bends my soul to the dust,
When my tears have been my portion day and night.
Sleep flees from me, and my bed is a place of tossing,
Grief clings to me like a heavy chain.
I try to pray, but the words won’t come.
Still, I lift my eyes to You and whisper Your name.

Lord, to whom shall I go?
When I see the joy you have poured on others,
Yet sorrow is the cup you have given me to drink.
Laughter fills their mouths, but mine is shut in anguish,
And my soul wonders why my portion is bitter.
I look to You, but my prayers fall flat
Have You hidden Your face from me?

Lord, to whom shall I go?
When loneliness wraps itself around me like a cloak,
And the pit is deep, so deep I do not have the strength to climb.
I reach for your hand, but silence is my answer,
And the echoes of my cries return void
Though the night surrounds me and hope feels thin,
I will trust that even this darkness is where Your work begins.

Lord, to whom shall I go?
When the accuser whispers his lies while in the pit,
Saying you have cast me away in your wrath.
Rejection has pierced my heart like an arrow,
When Loss has yet again visited my household and made it desolate.
Though the memory of Dad’s absence stings afresh.
I rest in the arms of the One who holds my days.

Lord, to whom shall I go?
When You have brought me low and stripped me of my striving,
So I no longer chase great matters or things too high for me.
You do not offer answers, but You lead me into stillness.
Into hidden valleys where pride has no path to walk.
There, I have stilled and quieted my restless soul.
Like a weaned child with its mother, I find rest in You.

Whom have I in heaven but You?
And earth has nothing I desire besides You.
My flesh and my heart may fail,
But God is the strength of my heart
and my portion forever.