Let me be honest with you from the start. This isn’t one of those polished, neatly packaged messages. It’s personal. This isn’t a post that was birthed in quiet study or planned reflection. It came straight out of the storm. Over the past few months, I’ve walked through a valley I never imagined, grieving the loss of my beloved mother, my cheerleader, my comfort, my spiritual compass.
And somewhere in that valley, in between moments of whispered worship and silent tears, I found myself uttering words many believers feel but few will say aloud:
“Lord, I have an issue with You.”
I know that statement can sound shocking, especially to those raised in church culture where we’ve often been taught to suppress our doubts and questions. But what I’ve discovered is this: authentic faith doesn't run from hard questions; it brings them directly to God. And God is not intimidated by our honesty.
In fact, the Bible is full of people who brought their issues before God. Job, a man God called righteous, asked, “Does it please You to oppress me, to spurn the work of Your hands?” (Job 10:3). David cried out, “How long wilt Thou forget me, O Lord? forever?” (Psalm 13:1). And even Martha, standing in grief over her brother’s death, said to Jesus, “Lord, if Thou hadst been here, my brother had not died” (John 11:21).
These weren’t signs of rebellion. They were acts of relational faith. They spoke from pain, but they spoke to God. That’s a critical distinction. Pain doesn’t have to push us away from God. If we process it in His presence, it can draw us closer.
For years, I thought faith meant pushing through, ignoring doubts, and pretending to be strong. But now I know faith is trusting God while trembling. It’s being honest about your heartbreak while holding onto His hand. As Isaiah 55:8–9 reminds us, “For My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways… as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways.” That doesn’t silence our questions. It simply means that His understanding far exceeds ours, and we can lean on that when we feel lost.
One of the most difficult parts of this journey was the silence of God. I prayed, fasted, cried, and even spoke in tongues, but heaven seemed quiet. Yet I learned something life-changing: God’s silence does not equal His absence. “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble” (Psalm 46:1). He may not speak, but He is still present. He may be quiet, but He is still working.
Habakkuk understood this tension well. In chapter 1, he cried out, “O Lord, how long shall I cry, and Thou wilt not hear!” And in chapter 2, God answered, not with explanations, but with instructions: “Write the vision… though it tarry, wait for it; because it will surely come, it will not tarry” (Habakkuk 2:2–3). Sometimes, God doesn’t give reasons. He gives revelation. He invites us to wait, to worship, and to walk in trust.
My breakthrough didn’t come through some dramatic miracle. It came through a quiet realization: I don’t need to understand everything to trust the One who understands all things. “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding” (Proverbs 3:5–6). My understanding has limits. God’s love does not. That’s where I find peace.
I found comfort in the story of Jacob wrestling with God in Genesis 32. Jacob wrestled all night. He didn’t walk away unscathed. He limped. But he walked away changed. His name was transformed from Jacob to Israel, meaning “one who has struggled with God and prevailed.” His limp didn’t mean he was broken. It meant he had been with God.
That’s my story, too. Grief gave me a limp, but it didn’t cancel my call. Loss may have slowed my pace, but it sharpened my focus. Wrestling didn’t ruin me. It revealed me. And it taught me that God honors the reach of those who refuse to let go.
If you’re reading this and your faith feels more like a fight than a celebration, let me tell you: God is not offended. He is not distant. “The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit” (Psalm 34:18). Your pain is not a punishment. It’s a portal. When you pour out your heart to God, you are entering sacred ground.
I still miss my mother. I still cry. But I don’t cry without hope. “We sorrow not as others which have no hope” (1 Thessalonians 4:13). I know she is resting in the arms of the Father. And I know that same Father is walking with me. I didn’t get all the answers I wanted. But I received the strength I needed. And sometimes, strength is the miracle.
Yes, I had an issue with God. But that issue led me into an intimacy I had never experienced before. I met God in my grief. I heard Him in the silence. And I felt His nearness in my pain. He didn’t rebuke me for wrestling. He blessed me for reaching.
So if you're hurting, if you’re confused, exhausted, or just trying to make sense of your season, I encourage you: bring it all to God. He can handle your tears. He welcomes your honesty. Just don’t stop reaching. Because on the other side of your issue might just be the intimacy your heart has been craving.
This isn’t just a message. It’s a sacred exchange. A reminder that real faith is raw, it’s real, and it wrestles. And if you needed permission today, here it is:
It’s okay to say, “I have an issue with God.” Just make sure you say it to Him.
Keep talking. Keep trusting. Keep reaching.
Because revelation follows wrestling. And resurrection always follows weeping.
A Personal Note to You
Thank you for letting me share not as a preacher, but as a son in pain who has seen God’s hand even in life’s lowest valleys. This post isn’t about performing faith over pain. It’s about demonstrating that God is still good even when life isn’t. Your issue doesn’t disqualify you. It might be the very door to your next assignment.
A Gentle Invitation
If you’re wrestling in your faith today, if you’re carrying grief, disappointment, or confusion, I invite you to bring it all before God. He doesn’t want your perfection. He wants your presence. “He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds” (Psalm 147:3). Come and meet the God who is not afraid of your honesty. He meets you with healing and grace.
Final Declaration
My issue may have bruised me, but it didn’t break me.
My faith may have wavered, but it never withered.
I may not understand everything God allows, but I am anchored in His love.
Today, I still trust God. I still choose God.
And I am fully convinced, God still chooses me.
About the Author
I am Larry W. Robinson, a faith-based author, inspirational speaker, and media personality with over 30 years of experience encouraging and empowering believers around the world. As the host of The Larry W. Robinson Show, publisher of Gospel Updates Magazine, and founder of The Gospel Music Honors, I have dedicated my life to uplifting others through message, media, and ministry.
In my most personal and heartfelt book to date, Sacred Steps: A Faith-Filled Journey Through Transition Into Eternity, I share how my mother’s passing became a sacred moment of divine encounter. This book is a compassionate resource for anyone walking through grief, offering comfort, clarity, and peace for the journey ahead.
If you or someone you love is facing the valley of loss, I invite you to pick up a copy of Sacred Steps. It’s more than a book. It’s a companion for your soul.
Visit www.larrywrobinson.com to learn more.
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