Do You Trust Me?

Some lessons don’t come through sermons or scriptures. Sometimes they come quietly, when you least expect them, through something as simple as a phone screen and a voice that asks one question you can’t ignore. This is the true story of how God spoke to Joey one night while he played poker on his phone, preparing him for a storm he didn’t see coming.

It was late, the kind of quiet that settles in after a long day. Joey lay in bed beside his wife. She was watching a TV show, the familiar sound of dialogue filling the room. He had his phone in hand, playing championship poker. There was nothing spiritual about the moment, just cards, chips, and instinct. But God doesn’t wait for church pews or prayer hours. He steps into the ordinary.

Joey folded a lot that night. Hand after hand, he pressed the button and let the game move on without him. The light from his phone cast a pale glow across his face. He wasn’t thinking about much, just passing time. Then something happened.

As he folded another hand, a voice spoke inside him. It wasn’t loud or strange, just clear and deep.

Do you trust me?

He paused, his finger still hovering over the screen. He knew that voice. Somehow, without question, he knew it was God. The thought didn’t startle him. It didn’t feel out of place. It felt natural, like he was meant to hear it right then.

“Yes, I trust you,” he said quietly, and folded again.

When the hand finished, he stared at the screen. He would have won. The cards that appeared were the ones he had needed. That realization stayed with him. It wasn’t just a coincidence. Something else was happening.

The next hand began. It looked weak, another bad set of cards. He was ready to fold when the voice came again.

Do you trust me?

“Yes, God, I trust you,” he said softly, and stayed in the hand. The next card came, and it was the one he needed. He won.

The pattern continued. Each hand looked hopeless. Each time God asked the same question. Each time Joey answered yes. Sometimes he folded, sometimes he stayed, but every decision came with a result that shook him. When he stayed, he won. When he folded, he saw that he would have won.

The game had stopped being a game. It was a conversation. It was a lesson.

Then came the hand that broke him.

Another bad deal. The kind of hand you don’t even think about keeping. Joey looked at it and knew it was worthless. His thumb moved toward the fold button.

Do you trust me?

“Yes, God,” he whispered. “I trust you.”

And he folded.

The next cards turned. The turn, then the river. The winning combination appeared on the screen. He would have won again.

Then the voice came, quiet but certain.

See, you don’t trust me enough.

Those words hit hard. Joey froze, staring at the phone as if it could somehow take them back. He felt the truth in them. He thought he trusted God. He really did. But in that moment, he realized his trust still had limits. His mind still made the final call. His logic still decided when to believe and when to hold back.

Tears filled his eyes. He set the phone down on his chest and lay there, staring at the ceiling. His wife glanced over. Concern filled her eyes as he told her what had just happened. He explained the poker game, the voice, the question, and the moment he folded when he shouldn’t have.

It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t imagination. It was real.

That night stayed with him. The next day, he couldn’t shake it. The same question echoed in his thoughts again and again. Do you trust me?

He had no idea what that night was truly preparing him for. Not yet.

The following evening, they came home from work and went to bed again. Same bed, same routine. His wife checked her voicemail while he scrolled through his phone. Nothing unusual. Then he noticed her face change. The color drained. Her hand covered her mouth. Tears welled up and fell fast.

Joey’s stomach sank before she said a word.

There was a message from her doctor. The results from her last appointment were in. The scan had shown early signs of ovarian cancer. Tumors had started forming. She would need surgery. A hysterectomy.

She began to cry. The phone slipped from her hand onto the blanket. Joey just sat there, frozen. The words didn’t feel real. Cancer. Tumors. Surgery. His thoughts crashed into each other, none of them making sense.

Anger rose in him like fire. He clenched his fists and stared at the ceiling. After everything they had believed, after all the times they had prayed and trusted God, this was happening. He wanted to shout. He wanted to demand an answer.

He didn’t even speak the words. They were forming in his mind, heavy with confusion and pain, when everything around him seemed to go still. The room was thick with sorrow, like even the air was carrying their grief. He was about to speak when God’s voice came again.

Do you trust me?

And suddenly, it all made sense.

That poker game hadn’t been random. It wasn’t just some strange, spiritual experience. It had been preparation. God had been training Joey’s heart, teaching him trust through something simple, so that when the real test came, he would be ready.

God didn’t want to play poker with him. He wanted to teach him what faith looks like when everything is on the line.

Joey turned to his wife. She was crying, wiping her face, shaking under the weight of the news. He reached for her hand.

“Trust God,” he said softly. “He’s with you. He’s with us.”

And he meant it.

The words didn’t come from fear or obligation. They came from understanding. God had been speaking before Joey even knew why. He had been preparing him for this very moment.

In the middle of that heartbreak, something shifted. The fear didn’t vanish, but faith rose to meet it. Joey realized that trust isn’t proven when the odds look good. It’s proven when they don’t.

And so, together, they chose to trust Him.

Even through the tears. Even in the unknown. Even when the cards of life looked impossible to win.

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Author’s Note : This story is true. It happened exactly as written. God spoke to me that night while I was playing poker on my phone. It wasn’t a dream, and it wasn’t my imagination. He used a simple game to teach me one of the hardest and most beautiful lessons of my life: to trust Him completely, even when the outcome makes no sense. What I learned that night still guides me today.

— Joey Raines