I often find myself lamenting like the prophet Jeremiah, who is referred to by theologians as the “weeping prophet.” What do you do when the Lord lets you see what He sees, gives you His own heart for humanity, and asks you to intercede for a world headed toward destruction? It is exhausting, isolating, and sometimes feels utterly hopeless. But that is the call of a prophet. That’s part of the covenant you make when you say yes.
Years ago, when I moved to the United States seeking the freedom to worship my Lord and Savior without fear, I never imagined that I would be constantly heartbroken over the people my Lord calls His bride.
Being a Christian is not for the faint of heart.
When someone comes to Christ later in life, there’s often a euphoric joy—a supernatural peace—that prompts an overwhelming desire to share the love of Jesus with the entire world. The desire to share the love of Jesus feels as natural as breathing. It feels like winning the lottery and receiving the gift of generosity. It’s like winning the greatest treasure on earth and instantly wanting everyone to have it too. It isn’t driven by obligation but by an unstoppable current of joy, awe, and love.
Self-preservation, ego, and public perception go out the window. You don’t care if you look like a fool during a worship service, dancing your heart out. The story of David’s undignified incident in 2 Samuel 6:14 begins to make total sense.
During that early season, God often feels like a Father who never says no to His child. You ask, and He answers. Doors open. Miracles seem to cascade from heaven. It’s an intoxicating season of intimacy and wonder…
But eventually, the honeymoon phase ends.
You grow up. You are no longer a child, and God begins to introduce you to solid food. That’s when the trials come—one by one. The good news is that He does not allow the enemy to overwhelm you with trials the way He once overwhelmed you with blessings. He allows your faith to be tested slowly, deliberately, like a master craftsman shaping you for endurance.
And then comes the process of maturation. This is the stage where you might wish you had never been born. This is level Job. This is the period when you begin to see God in a way you have never seen before. If you endure this phase of testing, you will witness heaven, experience the supernatural, and see God more clearly than ever. This is a period of intense suffering when you will see the face of Christ. If you pass this test, you are pretty much set for the rest of your life until you pass into glory.
Now, how this will play out in your personal life and what the timeline looks like, I don’t know. Every person has an individual journey with the Almighty. There is no blueprint to bypass suffering. In fact, Scripture promises we will endure it. But there is a blueprint for how to walk through it: His Word. (Sometimes I have a hard time grasping the fact that I’m reading words on the pages of a book narrated by God. Some books were most likely written directly by Him because we don’t even know who the human author is. How cool is that?)
Ever since I surrendered my life to Christ at the age of 11, I’ve been chasing after the God of the Bible. My hunger has only grown deeper with time. My longing for His kingdom sometimes feels unbearable. I whisper to Him, “Let Your kingdom come now. I want to see You now. I want to be home now.”
Like a child waiting for her Father to take her home, I find myself echoing the words of the Apostle Paul: “My desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better. But to remain in the flesh is more necessary on your account.” Philippians 1:23–24.
There are moments when the love of Christ overwhelms me so deeply it feels as though it might crush me. And when people ask why I left Islam, why it wasn’t enough, how can I even begin to explain the majesty of the One I now call Father—the Creator of the heavens and the earth? I don’t feel worthy to even untie His sandals, let alone justify why I chose Him.
But the truth is, He chose me first. Who am I to question that?
“Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good! Blessed is the man who takes refuge in Him!” Psalm 34:8.
There is no one like our Lord. But why do I often find myself looking at the state of the American church asking God, “How can Christians treat their faith as something ordinary and normal?” Some take it for granted. Some forsake it. Some commodify it. Some make a mockery of Jesus. Some are ashamed of the Gospel.Some have abandoned the faith altogether. Some remain spiritual infants despite decades in the Church.
But then there are the spiritual giants—those who wage unseen wars in the heavenly realms so others can live in peace here on earth. They are like hidden warriors, waiting quietly for the hour when the Father will unleash them for His righteous work.
The Christian walk is a race.
Not long ago, I poured out my heart before God: “Look at Your children. Look at what they’re doing. How can they call themselves Christians and commit such atrocities? They lie, cheat, wound, betray, kill, destroy, gossip, slander, plot, and scheme. They love money, lust, drunkenness, and debauchery. They are intoxicated with self-image, possessions, and the applause of men.They parade their titles, polish their LinkedIn profiles, obsess over their social media numbers—and yet in the same breath claim to belong to You? How can this be?”
He listened patiently, validated my feelings and then turned the pages of His all-time bestseller to 1 Corinthians 9:24–27: “Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one receives the prize? So run that you may obtain it. Every athlete exercises self-control in all things. They do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable. So I do not run aimlessly; I do not box as one beating the air. But I discipline my body and keep it under control, lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified.”
He whispered to my heart: It’s a race, my beloved.
And then I saw a vision—runners on a track. Some were just steps from the finish line, others halfway there, and some still far behind. He said, “The Christians you’re upset with… they’re just behind. They’re still running. They’ll get there. Don’t lose heart. They’re not finished yet.”
My spirit settled. My hope revived. Christ is still in control. He is the Shepherd who pursues every single sheep until it’s home. And He will get them to the finish line.
Why do I write all this?
Because America is in a spiritual crisis—and has been for a long time. God is patient, but there comes a time when He begins to discipline. For many Christians, their own “Job stories” will have to unfold.
But this isn’t a message of warning—it’s a message of hope.
“Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness.”James 1:2–3
Through trial, God is saving you from yourself. He’s rescuing your soul from self-deception. He wants you to make it to the finish line. So take courage. It might not make sense right now. But one day, it will.
Just keep the faith. I’m begging you.
Fariza 