When Everything Breaks and God is Quiet - And I Feel Weak for Even Saying So

Sometimes life doesn’t unravel softly — it tears loud, with jagged edges.

Lately, everything in my life seems to be breaking: roofs get damaged, cars falter, appliances die one after another and your entire electrical system in the house needs to be replaced. Every time I take a breath and think maybe I can finally catch up, another thing gives way. I feel like my entire system has give out and needs to be replaced as well.

And all the while — in the middle of this — I live with an elder family member who, instead of being a comfort, lashes out with cruel words and disdain. The one place that should feel like a sanctuary has turned into another battlefield. I want to be home, alone, wrapped in God’s energy and I can’t even find a corner to be quiet in.

I keep reaching for God. I sit quietly in the bathroom. I go for a drive. I sit alone in a restaurant, waiting… distracted. I keep waiting for that whisper, that clarity I used to feel. But all I hear lately is silence.

And here’s the bitter knot of it:
I feel weak even saying all this — because I know how much I have to be thankful for.
I have a roof and even though it is damaged, it doesn’t leak and it is getting replaced.
I have a car, actually I have two cars. One runs and the other is broken but can be fixed. I resent having to spend money to fix it.
I have breath in my lungs, food on my table, and a Lord who’s already died and still lives to give me life.

And yet — here I am. Overwhelmed. Tired. Lonely in the quiet.

Maybe you’ve been here too.

This Is Not Unseen

It is tempting, when everything seems to fall apart at once, to think it’s all your fault.
It’s tempting to believe you’re cursed, that the flow of grace has dried up, that you’ve done something to forfeit God’s attention. I want to lament. I want to cry and scream and blame anyone and everyone.

And then I berate myself for even feeling this way — as though pain disqualifies gratitude, or gratitude disqualifies grief.

But here is the truth: the breaking of things does not mean the breaking of His love. Naming your hurt does not erase your thankfulness.

In Psalm 34:18:

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

He does not roll His eyes at your weariness. He draws nearer. It actually makes me snort a bit to think of God rolling His eyes. He knows He has plenty of reason to do so.

Why the Silence?

When God seems silent, it can feel like a punishment. But silence is not always absence. Sometimes it is space — space to strengthen your faith, space to lean into His Word instead of your feelings, space to rest in trust instead of control.

In Isaiah 45:3, God promises:

“I will give you the treasures of darkness and riches hidden in secret places, so that you may know that it is I, the Lord, the God of Israel, who calls you by name.”

There are treasures to be found even here — in the dark silence.

What Can We Do in the Meantime?

If you, like me, find yourself overwhelmed and weary — and guilty for feeling that way — here are some things to anchor your soul while you wait for God’s voice to rise again:

1. Name it.

Don’t pretend you’re fine. Tell Him honestly: “I feel alone. I feel weak for even saying that, but I do.” David himself prayed like this in Psalm 13:1:

“How long, O Lord? Will You forget me forever? How long will You hide Your face from me?”

This is not disrespect. This is relationship.

2. Simplify the noise.

Life is already loud. So don’t make it louder. Set aside five minutes — just five — to sit in quiet, even if all you do is cry. Sometimes His presence is in the stillness you’ve been avoiding.

3. Keep going with what you know.

If you can’t hear new instructions, keep doing the last thing He told you to do. Faithfulness in the silence honors Him.

4. Guard your heart from bitterness.

Living with verbal abuse is brutal. It wears you down and makes you doubt your worth.
But remember what Jesus said in Matthew 5:44:

“But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.”

Loving doesn’t mean letting someone walk all over you. It means keeping your heart soft toward God while you set healthy boundaries where you can.

5. Hold gratitude and grief in the same hands.

You don’t have to choose. You can weep and still say “thank You.” You can ache and still bless His name.

You Are Not Alone

It may feel like you are carrying this house of breaking things and breaking words all by yourself — but God is here. He is with you and He is with me.

He is with you in the damaged roof.
He is with you when the car won’t start.
He is with you in the kitchen when sharp words fly.
He is with you when you sit in the quiet, longing for Him to speak.

In Deuteronomy 31:8, we are promised:

“The Lord Himself goes before you and will be with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.”

Even here, He is with you.

A Closing Prayer

Lord,
I feel weak for even saying how tired I am — because You’ve blessed me so much.
But You already know my heart.
Everything feels heavy, and I feel alone.
Remind me that Your silence is not rejection.
Strengthen me when the words spoken to me are cruel.
Help me hold gratitude and grief together without shame.
Show me Your presence even here, in this storm of breaking things.
Amen.