Suffering Beside Her, Kneeling Before Him
- Felicia
- 4 days ago
- 3 min read
“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.” — 2 Corinthians 12:9
What I’m about to share is what I can only describe as the ultimate trial of faith in motherhood—and I’m still holding on, praying for answers. But I’ve found myself asking: Can faith hold even when answers don’t come? Can hope rise even in the midst of pain?
I wish I could wrap this devotional up with a bow, polished and resolved. But the truth is, I’m writing from the middle of the mess.
From the carpool lanes of a packed softball and baseball season.
From the thick of two teenagers navigating work, permits, and their own growing independence.
From the weighty joy and responsibility of serving as COO of a life-giving mom ministry.
From the daily rhythm of homeschooling seven children—each with their own unique needs and hearts to shepherd.
From the never-ending demands of running a small, joy-filled (and sometimes chaotic) mini farm.
From the sacred stretch of navigating motherhood in every stage—from littles to nearly grown.
And from the quieter, unseen work of trying to be present for friendships that matter, even when I feel like I have nothing left to give.
Sound familiar, mama? #momlife
And through all of this, I’m also standing in the raw, weary trenches of walking with our 10-year-old daughter through a year of undiagnosed physical pain and suffering.
We are still in it. And yet—so is God...
One year. It’s been one year since our daughter’s daily physical pain began—one year of chasing answers, navigating inconclusive tests, and facing the painful limits of a broken healthcare system. Every step forward has felt like it leads to a cliff we must find a way around. When it’s not the insurance, it’s another test that leads us nowhere.
Most recently, we were denied coverage for a necessary CT scan—one that could finally bring clarity. After a long, emotional call with our daughter’s nurse practitioner, I couldn’t hold it together anymore. The weight was too heavy. My mom heart shattered knowing how long she had waited, how badly she needed relief, how bravely she had endured. I broke down.
When I told her it was denied, she collapsed on my bed in tears. My strong, resilient girl—the one who rarely lets the pain win—was undone. And so was I.
What do you do as a mother when your child breaks, and you can’t fix it?
I prayed. I wept. I laid my hand on her and asked God to carry what I couldn’t. I told Him I’d trade places with her if I could. I asked Him why. And I sat in the silence, knowing that even without answers, He was still near.
We’ve brought in prayer warriors—mothers, friends, believers—who are interceding when we don’t have the strength to. We have no timeline. No clear path. No control. But we do have Jesus.
And in this wilderness, I am learning: my weakness is not the end—it’s the place where His strength begins. When I feel useless, He is useful. When I have no answers, He is still the Answer.
So we press on. Not because we see the finish line, but because we trust the One who does.
Your Fellow Able Mom,
Felicia Sivells
Mama, can your faith hold even when the answers don’t come?
Can you still believe for hope even in the middle of the pain?
Listen, sit, and pray as this song plays.
Father, today I bring You the questions I don’t have answers to. Can faith really stand when I’m met with silence? Can hope truly rise in the middle of pain? I confess, Lord, I don’t always know how to hold on. But I know You are faithful. So I ask You—strengthen my heart, steady my steps, and remind me that You are working, even in the waiting. Help me trust You here. Let Your hope rise in me again. In Jesus’ name, amen.
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