When what you have lived through starts speaking louder than what you know about God… “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!” (Mark 9:24)

I wonder what that sounded like when it actually left this father’s mouth.

Because I don’t hear a calm theological statement. I hear a father who is exhausted. His son has been tormented since childhood. He has watched him suffer, convulse, fall into fire and water. He has probably spent years trying to protect a child he simply could not save from what was happening to him.

Then he brings his son for help. Even the disciples try. And they fail.

By the time Jesus stands in front of this man, he has history behind his words. Years of pain. Years of helplessness. And now another disappointment.

So he looks at Jesus and says: “But if you can do anything, take pity on us and help us.” (Mark 9:22)

If You can… Jesus catches it immediately.

“If you can?”

I wonder whether the father heard himself in that moment.

Because the question was never whether Jesus could.

Perhaps he suddenly realised what years of pain had done inside him. He had come looking for Jesus because he believed, but disappointment had crept into that belief. He wanted to trust, but he was afraid. He hoped, but perhaps he had learned not to hope too much anymore.

And immediately he cries: “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!”

That cry feels almost remorseful to me. Lord, You are right. I know who You are.

I came here because somewhere inside me I still believe. But look what has happened to my faith.

Help me. I find this painfully beautiful because he does not hide it from Jesus. He does not quickly correct himself and pretend to have stronger faith than he actually has.

He admits it. I believe, but unbelief has gotten in here too. How many of us understand that?

We know God is faithful, but we have been disappointed.

We know God can heal, but we are scared to believe again.

We know God restores, but we have stared at brokenness for so long that restoration feels impossible.

We know God provides, but the numbers in front of us are frightening. We know His promises, but what we can see is screaming louder than what He has said.

We still believe. But somewhere along the way an “if” crept in. If You can still fix this. If You still want me. If You can restore what I have destroyed. If You can still use me. If You have not forgotten me.

And perhaps we need to stop pretending those thoughts are not there. Bring them to Jesus.

I think about the woman in Luke 7 who came to Jesus and ended up at His feet. She wept until her tears wet His feet, then wiped them with her hair.

Different story. Different circumstances. Scripture does not connect the two. But I recognise something in both of them.

They have reached the end of themselves. The father has no impressive faith speech left.

The woman has no defence left. One weeps at His feet. The other cries, “Help me!” And both bring their brokenness to Jesus. That is where I want to be.

At His feet, honest enough to say: Lord, I believe You. But I need You to deal with what disappointment has done inside me.

I have prayed prayers that seemed unanswered. I have expected things that did not happen.

I have watched situations get worse while I was asking You to make them better. I have been hurt. I have been afraid.

And if I am truthful, some of those experiences have affected the way I expect You to respond. Help my unbelief.

Because pain can be a terrible theologian. Pain will tell you that because God has not answered yet, He is absent.

Disappointment will tell you that because something did not happen the way you prayed, God cannot be trusted with the next thing.

Fear will tell you to stop expecting anything so you cannot be hurt again. But my pain does not get to tell me who God is. God does. His Word does. His character does. His faithfulness does.

Romans 10:17 says that “faith comes from hearing the message, and the message is heard through the word about Christ.”

So when unbelief becomes loud, I need truth louder.

Not manufactured emotion. Not pretending. Not shouting myself into believing.

*Truth.*

I need to remember who He is. I need His Word when my feelings are unreliable. I need prayer when my mind is running away with fear.

I need to stay close when disappointment tells me to withdraw.

And I need to understand something else: faith is not controlling God. The father did not perform enough faith to force Jesus into a miracle. Biblical faith is not believing intensely enough until God has no choice but to give me the outcome I demand.

My faith is not ultimately in what I want Him to do. My faith is in Him. That is harder.

Because I can say, “God, I know You can,” while still surrendering what He chooses to do.

I can ask boldly and still trust Him completely. I can believe for the miracle without turning the miracle into my god.

And when I cannot even manage that properly, I can pray the father’s prayer: Help me. That may be what moves me most about Mark 9.

The father needed Jesus to help his son. But suddenly he realised: I need Jesus to help me too. My child needs deliverance. And I need help believing.

Lord, I cannot even produce perfect faith without You. So I am coming with what I have.

I am bringing You the faith and the fear. The hope and the disappointment.

The confidence and the questions. I am bringing You every “if You can” that has quietly found its way into my heart.

And I am putting it at Your feet. I believe You are who You say You are. I believe You are able. I believe Your Word.

So here I am. Lord, I believe.

Help my unbelief.

Love

V.L