Fasting, Frustrated, and lowkey Over It

"A Fasting Prayer-Rant Devotional for when You Want Answers but Get silence Instead"

As my fast is coming to a end, lately, I've been caught between two voices:

Go after what you want vs. Wait on God.

One sounds like ambition. The other sounds like obedience. And I've been pacing between the two like, "Lord, am I moving in faith or spiraling in confusion?"

I know God isn't the author of confusion––but whew sometimes my overthinking takes creative liberties.

So here I am. Fasting. Praying. Trying to discern the divine difference between a closed door and a "not yet."

Trying not to confuse being still with being stuck.

Trying to let God be God without me jumping in to “help” Him by overanalyzing the man who might be my husband… or might just be a beautifully timed lesson with suspiciously good intentions.

In the middle of all that, this prayer poured out:

"God, if You're asking me to rest, show me."

Not just rest my body–– but rest my mind.

From all the overthinking. From trying to open doors You never asked me to knock on. Teach me what real rest looks like when my heart is still racing. Show me that stillness isn't laziness––it's trust. And that sometimes obedience sounds like silence.

"If You're asking me to rise, strengthen me."

Not just with energy, but with courage.

Courage to show up even when I'm unsure. Courage to hope again even after disappointment. Courage to walk toward the unknown without a guarantee. If You're asking me to rise––please do it gently. I've been through enough shaking. Let this strength be wrapped in grace.

"If You're asking me to release something, help me let go without fear."

Maybe it's a person.

Maybe it's a dream.

Maybe it's the version of me that thought she had to earn love or force timing.

Whatever it is, if You're asking me to release it––Help me loosen my grip without losing my peace. Because I don't want to keep dragging what You already asked me to place at Your feet.

"And if You're asking me to trust You with no clarity––remind me that Your silence is still holy."

This one is hard. Because clarity feels like safety. But You never promised clarity. You promised Yourself. And You are not a God of confusion––but You are a God of mystery. So maybe Your silence isn't a void–– it's an invitation. To listen deeper. To let You lead without needing to see the map. To trust that even Your quiet is still good. Still God.

And Then the Funny Version Kicked In...

Because sometimes, my spirit's still and surrendered...

And other times, I'm side-eyeing God like, "So we're just not gonna say anything? Cool cool cool."

"If You're asking me to rest, show me."

And I don't mean a Sunday nap–– I've mastered those.

I mean rest my mind.

From scrolling. From replaying old texts.

From writing fake "what I would've said" paragraphs in my head at 2 a.m.

Show me that holy rest is real and not just me giving up and calling it faith.

"If You're asking me to rise, strengthen me."

Not just gym strength–– I need divine strength.

The kind that lets me hold my peace and my tongue when someone says,

"Maybe you're just being too picky."

Ma'am. I rebuke you with love.

Give me the kind of strength that doesn't flinch when plans shift.

Strength to believe again, even when I swore I was done.

Strength to not block my blessings or that one counterfeit who texts "hey stranger" every time I start healing. Lord, if I must rise, let me rise with grace––not with a petty spirit and a vengeance playlist.

"If You're asking me to release something, help me let go without fear."

Let go of what, Lord?

The situationship I already blocked?

The fantasy I made up in my head with a man who doesn't even know he was cast in the role of husband?

The 37 imaginary timelines I keep playing like Netflix trailers?

Even my Spotify playlist is holding on to memories. So if You're calling me to release it, give me holy scissors.

Snip snip in Jesus' name.

"And if You're asking me to trust You with no clarity––remind me that Your silence is still holy."

Now THIS. This is where my holy side-eye kicks in.

Because trusting You without clarity is like showing up to a test with no study guide, no pencil, and the teacher just...smiles.

But okay, God. I get it.

You're not ignoring me–– You're inviting me.

To walk forward like I know You're already in the next chapter, even if my page is still blank.

Please, just don't let me miss the blessing because it didn't come in the packaging I expected. I'm fragile–– and a little dramatic. You made me this way but thats another story to address at a later time. Help me not to block what You're trying to bless.

My Semi-Final Thoughts:

I want peace.

Not the curated "I'm fine" peace, but the raw kind.

The kind that lets me laugh, cry, and still trust.

So if this fast is for anything, let it be for this:

To stop striving and start yielding to Your will.

Because maybe when I don't know what to do––the holiest thing I can do...

is surrender with a smile and trust with a full belly of laughter.