If You Believe in God, Why Hasn’t He Healed You?

A love letter to the hurting, the waiting, and the wondering.

I get asked this question more often than any other:

“If you believe in a living God—and speak of Him so openly—then why hasn’t He healed you?”

I understand the question. I do.

I’ve asked it myself in whispers through tears. I’ve screamed it silently in the privacy of pain. I’ve let it linger in the night air when my body felt broken beyond repair.

And yet, I still believe.

Not because I’ve been healed, but because I’ve met the Healer.

Born Into Faith, Still Born Into Pain

I was born into a family of believers. My parents raised me in faith, and the name of Jesus was never far from my lips. But even being born into faith doesn’t shield you from suffering.

We’re all born into a fallen world, one aching with the aftermath of sin. And from early on, my body told me it wasn’t going to play by the rules of ease. Chronic fatigue. Fibromyalgia. Hormonal chaos. Invisible illness after invisible illness. It’s been a layered journey of doctors, prayers, trial and error, crushing disappointments, and rare glimpses of hope.

There were seasons I was thriving—feeling like maybe, just maybe, this was the turning point. Then there were valleys so deep that the only prayer I could pray was “Help me, God.”

Why Not Me?

We all love the stories where Jesus heals the blind man.

The bleeding woman.

The paralyzed.

The leper.

And He still does miracles.

I believe that with every fiber of my being.

But then… there’s Paul.

A man who met Jesus face-to-face on the road to Damascus.

A man who wrote most of the New Testament.

A man who endured beatings, imprisonment, and shipwrecks—all while preaching the gospel with unshakable faith.

And yet, in 2 Corinthians 12, Paul writes that he was given “a thorn in his flesh.” Something painful. Ongoing. A weakness that tormented him.

He pleaded with God three times to take it away. And what did Jesus say?

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Corinthians 12:9)

Paul—this powerhouse of the early church—wasn’t healed.

Not because he lacked faith.

Not because God was punishing him.

But because God’s power was being revealed through his weakness.

So why do we believe healing is the only evidence of God’s goodness?

Sometimes, the greater miracle is that God sustains us in the fire, rather than removing us from it.

So why do we believe that healing is the only evidence of God’s goodness?

When Healing Doesn’t Come

Let me say this clearly, and with love:

If God has not healed your body, it is not because He loves you less.

It is not because your faith is too small.

It is not because you haven’t prayed enough, fasted enough, tithed enough, repented enough.

Sometimes, healing comes instantly.

Sometimes, it comes slowly.

And sometimes, the healing we’re aching for in this life will only be fulfilled in the next.

But that does not mean He is absent.

What I’ve Learned in the Ache

I’ve had my fair share of “Why me?” moments. And also, “Why still me?” moments.

But through it all, I’ve never doubted that God can heal me.

And more importantly, I’ve never doubted that He is with me.

I’ve seen His tenderness in the way my children hug me gently when they see I’m in pain.

I’ve felt His presence in the quiet nudge of a friend who texts, “God put you on my heart today.”

I’ve tasted His mercy in the moments where joy surprises me in the middle of fatigue.

God has never left me alone in this body.

He walks with me in it.

And sometimes, that’s the greater miracle.

For the One Asking This Question

If you are the one wrestling with this question—whether you’re in church every Sunday or haven’t spoken to God in years—can I tell you something?

You are not alone in your asking.

And God is not offended by your question.

He is near to the brokenhearted (Psalm 34:18).

He bottles every one of your tears (Psalm 56:8).

He knows your pain. And He has not forgotten you.

I know the silence of unanswered prayers can feel like rejection.

But sometimes, it’s a deeper invitation—into intimacy, trust, surrender.

Into knowing Him, not just what He can do.

Healing Has Come… Just Not the Way I Expected

No, my body is not “cured.” Not yet.

But my soul? My heart? My identity?

They’ve been through the fire and come out refined.

I know who I am in Christ now—not just because of the mountaintop moments, but because of the valley where He sat beside me.

He knows what it feels like to suffer.

He bled. He wept. He waited.

He chose to endure pain so that we’d never have to go through ours alone.

The Glory of the Yet

I still pray for healing.

I still hope.

I still take care of this body and steward it well.

But I no longer live in torment asking why hasn’t He?

Instead, I’ve learned to say:

“He hasn’t healed me yet.”

Because the story isn’t over.

Whether healing comes tomorrow or on the other side of eternity—I trust the Author.

To the one reading this who is still in the waiting,

I see you.

I love you.

And I’m sitting with you in this holy ache.

You are not forgotten.

You are not faithless.

You are not less-than.

You are being held by the same hands that bear the scars of suffering—and that changes everything.

With all my heart,

Rachel