From the heights of glory to the depths of chaos—that’s the path Jesus walked in Mark 9. One moment He’s transfigured on a mountain, shining in power. The next, He’s stepping into an argument, a failing crowd, and a father on the edge of hope.
It’s a picture I feel.
Some days I feel like I’m living in that valley. Caught between belief and burnout. Trying to hold on to faith while the pressure builds and the internal storm swirls. I’ve seen God move, I’ve experienced His power—and yet, I still wrestle with whether He’ll do it again. That’s the pain of unworthiness. And lately, it’s been heavier than ever.
The father in the story doesn’t fake it.
He doesn’t perform.
He just says, “I do believe… help my unbelief.”
That line? That’s me. Maybe that’s a lot of us.
Jesus meets him right there. Not in perfect faith. Not in polished confidence. But in raw honesty. And Jesus moves with authority—not just to heal the boy, but to restore the father’s belief.
Because sometimes the miracle isn’t just what God does around us—it’s what He reawakens within us.
But here’s the deeper layer: some battles aren’t won by willpower. Some strongholds don’t break through effort alone.
Jesus said, “This kind only comes out by prayer.”
Because the freedom I’m seeking—the inner healing, the peace, the resurrection of joy—won’t come without persistent, honest, gut-level connection to the Father.
It’s not about performance.
It’s about presence.
And if we keep showing up, keep pressing in, even when it’s messy—that’s where the breakthrough begins.
I’m not fully there yet.
But I’m still here.
And that’s where belief begins again.
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