Not a few souls live with the sense that God has never turned His gaze toward the suffering of His children. In whispered prayers, in tears shed in the solitude of night, what so often answers is silence itself. Then a question rises within me, "where is God when people collapse? Does He dwell in some unreachable heaven, or does He pulse faintly within my very veins?"
This question has become a battlefield of the spirit. For some remnant of faith still insists to me that God exists, that all things move by His will, that His creation is never wholly abandoned. And yet, this belief collides violently with the fact that suffering persists ceaseless, merciless, etched not only on a single face but multiplied in countless millions across the earth.
Thus emerges a dilemma within my faith is suffering ordained by Him as a test, or is it born from our own blindness, our human stupidity that fails to grasp the light entrusted to us? These questions return to me again and again, for they uncover the darker side of faith that belief is never free of doubt.
Einstein once said, "God does not play dice." The words deny the thought that the world unfolds by chance, without meaning. Yet if not by chance, then something far more disturbing confronts us, there is a design, there is intention, and suffering is woven into it. How then are people to bear the knowledge that pain, tears, and loss are part of the very script of existence?
At this point, my faith changes its form. It is no longer mere obedience, but the unending questions of a sinner such as myself. I believe that God is. But, where is He when I fall?
