Why Me?

December 7, 2024 – 7:37 PM

Good day, Jehovah.

It’s me again—coming to you through Jesus, as I’ve been taught. But if I’m honest, it’s hard to know what to say anymore. I’ll start with gratitude because that’s the custom, isn’t it? I’m thankful for my family, for the roof over my head, for water, for medication, and even for the sale I made yesterday. These are good things; I recognize that.

But Jehovah, my questions are louder than my gratitude today.

We’re in December now, the year's final stretch, and I’m reflecting on all that’s happened—or more accurately, all that hasn’t. This year feels like a haze of confusion and disappointment. When I was reinstated, I clung to the hope everyone said I should have. They told me to trust you, to be patient, to wait for the blessings that would surely follow. But months have passed, and my life remains a cycle of struggles that never ease.

Why did I have to give up so much, only to be left with so little?

I’m not here to accuse you of being wrong. I don’t want to be disrespectful. But what do you want from me? What am I supposed to feel when nothing makes sense, and nothing seems to change? Where is the reward for my obedience, the blessing for my faith? I’m angry, bitter, and deeply, deeply confused.

I can’t take care of myself.

The financial strain is crushing me. When my parents left the country, I had to dig into my savings because there’s no one else to help. I poured money into ads for my business, hoping to generate sales, but the returns barely scratch the surface of what I spent. Every day feels like a losing battle.

And the question that haunts me is this: Why me?

Out of all the people on this earth, why is it always me? Why does it feel like I’ve been singled out for suffering? I see others thriving—people who don’t even acknowledge you, who don’t live by your word—and yet, they have stability. They can afford homes, cars, vacations, and all the things I can’t even dream about right now.

It’s not envy; it’s exhaustion.

I’m tired of watching others live lives that seem so out of reach for me. I don’t know their struggles, sure, but at the end of the day, they aren’t crippled by the constant worry of how to make it to tomorrow. They don’t have to beg for mental peace just to get through another day.

And that’s where I am, Jehovah. Begging.

Begging for peace in a life I never asked for. Begging for stable income so I can stop feeling like a burden. Begging for a reason to keep going. I’ve given this year everything I have, and what do I have to show for it? Nothing that feels like justice. Nothing that feels like a blessing.

Nobody can say I haven’t tried.

I’ve done everything I can think of. I’ve worked hard, prayed harder, and shown up even when it felt pointless. People see my efforts, and that’s some comfort, I suppose. But effort doesn’t pay the bills. It doesn’t quiet the relentless voice in my head that tells me to give up.

And that voice is getting louder.

I told myself I’d hold on until the end of December. That’s the deadline I gave myself. If nothing changes—if I’m still stuck in this endless loop of financial and mental despair—I don’t see the point in continuing into 2025. Why would I?

Because the truth is, I’ve lost hope.

I know everything is supposed to happen in your timing, but Jehovah, I’m so tired of waiting. Tired of saying the same prayers, asking the same questions, and receiving silence in return. It feels cruel to keep hoping when hope has brought me nothing but heartache.

I’ve spent years trusting that the suffering would lead to something greater, that the pain would be worth it. But as I look back, I can’t say that it has been. The suffering feels endless, the rewards nonexistent.

I don’t feel good. I don’t feel safe.

I don’t know how to keep doing this. I’ve asked for mental peace so many times, but the weight of everything feels unbearable. I want to run away—not just from my circumstances but from myself, from you, from everything.

But where could I go?

Where could I possibly go that you wouldn’t find me? Where could I escape the relentless ache of disappointment? I don’t know. All I know is that I feel trapped in a life that feels more like a punishment than a blessing.

So here I am, Jehovah.

I’m asking for a sign—any sign—that things will get better. That 2025 won’t be a continuation of this relentless cycle. I’m asking for financial stability, for mental peace, for something—anything—that makes me believe this is all worth it.

I don’t know if you’ll answer.

But I’m asking anyway because it’s the only thing I have left.

In Jesus’ name, Amen.

PS: Please check out my previous article here: Counting Losses in a House That Isn’t Mine