Trusting God in Hard Times

My Faith Tree and the Practice of Surrender

“You say you’re a Christian, but you aren’t acting like it.”

My husband said this to me a few weeks before Christmas, and honestly? It stung. Because he was right.

I had been walking around anxious about everything—health insurance, groceries, bills, not having a Christmas tree. I was praying, sure. But I wasn’t trusting. I was white-knuckling my way through life, trying to control outcomes I had no power over.

That’s not faith. That’s just anxiety.

So that morning, I stood in the shower—because when you have a two-year-old it’s the best place for uninterrupted prayer—and I finally got honest with God. “Fine. I’m having real trouble trusting you because life turned hard and I don’t know how to get back to where we were.”

And then I asked the question I wasn’t sure I wanted answered: “What do you want me to let go?”

God didn’t hesitate. Finances.

Of course. My biggest anxiety. The thing I’d been holding onto with both fists. After years of financial abuse in my first marriage, letting go of control over money felt impossible.

Start Small

I told God okay. I would trust him with our finances. Health insurance. Groceries. Bills. Christmas.

And then immediately, I tried to negotiate.

For three days, I kept circling back to one specific thing: we didn’t have a Christmas tree. I really wanted a 7-foot pre-lit tree. I had convinced myself I should just put it on a credit card. God kept saying no. Wait.

This might sound trivial to you. Maybe you’re facing something much bigger—job loss, illness, family crisis. But here’s what I’ve learned about trusting God in hard times: we practice with the small things so we have the muscle for the big things.

The tree felt small, but my anxiety about it was huge.

I finally told my mom—just her—that I really wanted a Christmas tree. She took it on herself to ask around at work if anyone had one they weren’t using.

The next day, she texted me a picture of a tiny Charlie Brown tabletop tree. “I’m bringing this tomorrow,” she said.

I looked at that scrawny little tree and thought, Okay God. If that’s my tree, that’s my tree. I’m going to be grateful for anything because I’m trusting you with everything.

But that’s not the tree my mom showed up with.

When God Provides Beyond What You Ask

The next morning when my mom got to work, there was a brand new, never-unwrapped 7-foot pre-lit Christmas tree waiting for her.

Her coworkers had talked among themselves. “If Hope can’t afford a tree, she’s probably not telling you the whole picture. There’s probably more she needs.”

With that tree came ornaments. A star for the top. Gifts for all four of my kids. Multiple gift cards. Food.

The exact tree I wanted. The one I hadn’t told anyone about—not even my husband.

I started calling it my Faith Tree.

Every time I looked at that tree over Christmas, I was reminded of the altars the Israelites would build after encountering God. Physical reminders of God’s faithfulness. Tangible proof that he doesn’t just provide—sometimes he blesses you beyond your imagination.

But that wasn’t all.

Every bill I had worried about got paid. The money came in. Food showed up. Gifts appeared under that tree. And my trust grew—not because I willed it to, but because I had a daily reminder sitting in my living room that God keeps his promises.

The Practice of Surrender Gets Easier

A few weeks later, I was placing a Walmart order, knowing full well I didn’t have money to get us through the week. I was on the phone with my mom, telling her what I’d bring for my dad’s birthday the next day—knowing I couldn’t actually afford to go get anything.

She mentioned she was going to Publix to pick up a loaf of sourdough bread.

While we were talking, I was putting together the smallest possible order—just essentials for my two-year-old. That’s all I could afford.

Then there was a knock at the door.

A neighbor stood there with bags. Potatoes. Onions. Frozen meals. Rolls. Milk. Fruit.

And two loaves of Publix sourdough bread.

I hadn’t asked God for anything. I was just sitting there trying to figure out how to make it work on my own.

And God said, I’ve got you.

He saw me worried about showing up empty-handed to my dad’s birthday. He saw me not knowing how to feed my family. And he provided—again—before I even asked.

When Trusting God Feels Impossible

Look, I know what some of you are thinking. “That’s nice for you, Hope. But I’ve been praying for years and God hasn’t shown up like that for me.”

I get it. Because I’ve been there too.

When my six-month-old daughter was diagnosed with cancer, I thought God had abandoned us. I prayed for healing—demanded it, actually—and watched as they removed her eye anyway. For years, I questioned whether God actually loved my child the way I did.

When my first marriage was falling apart, when I was trapped in twenty years of abuse and manipulation, I wanted to know where God was. Why wasn’t he fixing this? Why wasn’t he protecting me?

It wasn’t until after—after the cancer treatments ended, after I finally left that marriage—that I could see his fingerprints all over those difficult moments. The people who showed up in hospital waiting rooms. The friend who finally said the words that helped me see I was being abused. The provision that came just when I needed it most.

Sometimes God’s provision doesn’t look like rescue. Sometimes it looks like presence. Like manna—just enough for today.

Building Altars for What’s Coming

Here’s why I’m telling you about my Faith Tree and my sourdough bread when the world feels like it’s falling apart around us.

Because these are my altars. My small testimonies that I can come back to again and again and say: See, the Lord provides.

Think about Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego standing in front of Nebuchadnezzar’s fiery furnace. They didn’t walk into that moment as if it was the first time they’d ever trusted God. They had witnessed his provision before. They knew the stories—the manna in the wilderness, the Red Sea parting, the generations of faithfulness.

Even though they were living in exile, far from home, they could say: “Our God is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace… But if not, let it be known to you, O king, that we do not serve your gods” (Daniel 3:17-18).

But if not.

They could say those three words because they had a history with God. They had altars—memories of his faithfulness—that gave them the strength to trust him even if he didn’t show up the way they wanted this time.

And here’s what happened. They were thrown into the fire anyway. God didn’t stop the furnace from being lit. He didn’t prevent the king from throwing them in.

But he didn’t abandon them either.

There was a fourth person in that fire. So clearly present that even the pagan king saw him and said, “I see four men walking around in the fire, unbound and unharmed, and the fourth looks like a son of the gods” (Daniel 3:25).

Sometimes God delivers us from the fire. Sometimes he walks through it with us.

My daughter’s cancer taught me this. When I was at my absolute lowest, convinced God had abandoned us, one tiny verse pulled me back: “Jesus wept” (John 11:35). In that moment, I realized he was there for me through everything. Even when I didn’t feel like he was there. Even when it felt like my whole world was crumbling. Even when I thought I was going to lose this precious little child.

Jesus wept with me. He was the fourth person in my fire.

That’s what my Faith Tree is. That’s what your stories of provision are. We’re building a history with God in the small moments so that when the fiery furnace comes—and it will come—we have something to stand on. We remember that whether he delivers us from the fire or walks through it with us, he doesn’t abandon us.

I know more difficult moments are coming. The news is devastating. The fear being spread is real. It’s easy to fall into distrust when everything feels uncertain.

But I’m going to remember my Faith Tree. I’m going to remember that God saw my need for a loaf of sourdough before I even asked and he provided two. I’m going to remember that he clothes the lilies of the valley and holds the sparrows in his hands.

And I’m going to practice trust with the small things—the daily bread, the unexpected provision, the moments when he shows up in ways I didn’t anticipate—so that when the bigger crises come, I have muscle memory for trusting God even in uncertainty.

Trusting God in hard times isn’t about denying that things are hard. It’s not about pretending everything is fine when it isn’t. It’s not about calling crocodiles puppies.

It’s about remembering who your provider is. In the lean days and in the days when blessings come. In the moments when you can see his hand clearly and in the seasons when everything feels silent.

The practice makes progress. The small surrenders prepare you for the bigger ones.

And sometimes—just sometimes—God gives you a 7-foot pre-lit Christmas tree just to remind you that he’s paying attention, he cares about even the small desires of your heart, and he hasn’t forgotten you.

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What has been your “Faith Tree”—a tangible reminder that God provided when you needed it most? I’d love to hear your story in the comments.