“My thoughts are nothing like your thoughts,” says the Lord. “And my ways are far beyond anything you could imagine”— Isaiah 55:8 (NLT)
The Weight We’re Carrying
If you’re a Black woman of faith like me, you may be carrying grief and exhaustion from the racism in this country that never seems to stop. You may also be carrying something quieter underneath it. It’s the quiet fear that your struggle means your faith isn’t where it should be. I don’t believe that is the case.
Having struggles and having faith were never meant to cancel each other out. Both can exist at the same time. Besides, if we had everything figured out, we wouldn’t need the Lord at all. The struggle itself is part of how we know we need Him.
I’m angry and heartbroken at the same time, and I won’t pretend otherwise. I can’t believe this current administration demonstrates so openly how they feel about Black Americans by doing everything it can to roll back laws and policies that protect us. Honestly, I understand how easily bitterness can begin to take root.
I don’t believe I’ll witness a racism-free world in my lifetime. But I can offer this: a way to hold trust in God and struggle at the same time, a practical way to care for your body when the weight of injustice settles there, and the reminder that you were never meant to carry any of this alone.
Sometimes the strongest act of faith isn’t pretending we’re okay—it’s allowing the body of Christ to help carry what has become too heavy for one person to carry alone.
A Name, Not Just a Headline
There are weeks when the familiar news of injustices against Black people breaks something open in us before we’ve even had time to reconcile the last one.
A couple of weeks ago, eighteen-year-old Nolan Wells went out on a boat with three friends on the Fourth of July in Mississippi. His three friends returned home to their families. Nolan Wells didn’t.
His family is still asking why, and I don’t have to know every detail of that investigation to feel the weight of it in my chest. It’s hard not to brace myself for another ending that leaves a grieving family without the justice they deserve.
Why I Can’t Set This Down
I write this as a Black woman in America. As a mother with a Black son. That’s not a detail I can set aside when I read stories like this one—it’s the lens I can’t take off.
There have been so many stories like this, spanning decades. Every parent who looks like me knows this particular kind of fear—the one that never fully quiets, even on ordinary days. It grows louder every time a story like Nolan’s makes the news.
Too often, families are left with explanations that raise more questions than answers, while inconsistencies go unaddressed. So many of us feel tired and heartbroken—not only for Nolan’s family, but for all the families over many decades who’ve had to bury their loved ones because of racial hatred and injustice. It’s a weight that’s hard to explain to people who don’t have to carry it.
Even so, I still know that God never intended for us to carry any of this alone.
Trusting God While Still Struggling
I can trust God in the midst of this because of who He is and how He’s shown Himself faithful throughout my life. But I won’t pretend that trusting Him makes the struggle I have with this disappear.
He knows I wrestle deeply with the issue of racism, even as I rest in His sovereignty. “My thoughts are nothing like your thoughts, and my ways are far beyond anything you could imagine. For just as the heavens are higher than the earth, so my ways are higher than your ways and my thoughts higher than your thoughts.” — Isaiah 55:8–9 (NLT)
I don’t understand why racial hatred and injustice continue to persist. I imagine there have been countless prayers to God about this for generations. I don’t understand why those prayers don’t always seem to receive the answers we hope for.
But God’s sovereignty isn’t dependent on my understanding. I choose to trust Him even when I don’t understand what He’s doing.
And I’d also imagine many of you reading this are carrying that same tension—trusting God completely while still finding this hard.
It’s yet another messy middle.
The Rooms We’ve Walked Into
Many of us know that discomfort personally. We’ve walked into rooms where we were the only Black person there, and we felt it immediately—that awareness, that unease, that sense that we didn’t belong or weren’t wanted.
I’m not afraid to admit that I struggle out loud. If anything, it’s proof of just how much I need God—not despite the wrestling, but because of it.
When It Gets Heavy
When it gets heavy, I feel it in my body before I can even name it—anxiety settling right in my stomach. That’s my sign to step back. I withdraw from the constant stream of information for a while and put my mental health first. Time with Jesus in prayer becomes a priority, whether I’m on my knees in my room or walking on the nature trail.
I talk to Him while I walk.
“Lord, I’m struggling with this. I don’t want to judge anyone simply because of the color of their skin, but it’s hard because some people who look like that hate me because I look like this.”
That’s not a polished prayer. I don’t really have any polished prayers. I just want to be honest about what I’m feeling in the moment. And I think honesty is exactly what God wants from us during times like this.
Prayer changes things. The Lord already knows what we’re thinking anyway, so there’s no reason to pretend with Him. Bring Him your honest heart.
We Weren’t Meant to Carry This Alone
Galatians 6:2 (NLT) puts it simply: we’re called to share each other’s burdens. Not carry our own quietly while performing strength for everyone else, or scroll past grief because it’s easier to look away. Share each other’s burdens. Each other’s troubles. Each other’s uncertainties. Together, as one.
Walking this faith journey boldly doesn’t mean pretending we’re okay. Sometimes, walking boldly looks like:
- Checking on your people, plainly. Not “How are you?” as small talk—actually asking, “How are you holding up with everything that’s been happening?” Then really listening to the answer.
- Letting yourself grieve without a deadline. Faith doesn’t require you to rush to “moving on.” Lament is biblical. Sitting in the ache with God is still walking with Him.
- Helping carry someone else’s burden. You can’t fix this nation’s racist history this week. But you can encourage another Black parent, sit with a grieving friend, or pray with someone whose heart feels as weary as yours. That’s not small—that’s exactly the kind of burden-bearing Galatians 6:2 calls us to.
- Protecting your peace without numbing out. Staying informed matters. So does knowing when to step away from the headlines, spend time with Jesus, and let your soul breathe.
If you’ve ever held faith and heartbreak at the same time—if you’ve ever prayed the same honest prayer over and over because the peace hasn’t landed yet—you know this tension too.
That’s what seasons like these do: they strip away the pretending. So if today all you have is the trusting and the struggling, both at once, that’s not lesser faith. That’s real faith. And you don’t have to carry it by yourself.
Life is a faith journey. Walk boldly.
💜 Bring your honest heart to the Lord instead of performing strength you don’t feel.
💜 Help carry someone else’s burden this week—and let someone help carry yours.
💜 Be gentle with yourself as you grieve. God isn’t asking you to rush what only He can heal.
If this post encouraged you, I’d love for you to stay connected and join the Zanele’s Faith Journeys community. Life is truly a faith journey, and we were never meant to walk it alone. Subscribe below to receive a new, Scripture-centered blog in your inbox every Wednesday—filled with honest encouragement, practical hope, and reminders to trust Jesus through every messy middle.
I’d be honored to walk this faith journey with you.
— Tami Zanele
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