God, Thank You for My Anxiety

Why God Hasn’t Healed Me—And Why That’s Not the End of the Story

“Have you prayed and asked God to heal you from it?" That question, though well-intentioned, cut me deeply. I had prayed—dozens, hundreds, maybe even thousands of times. The question sent me into a spiral of lament, but this time, I directed it toward God: "Why haven’t You healed me? I know You can. I know You love me. So why does it feel like You don’t care?"

Many who battle severe anxiety and depression have likely cried out with similar desperation. My struggle began in 2019 at a concert my wife and I had eagerly anticipated. But as we took our seats, an overwhelming fear gripped me. The room seemed to close in, my heart pounded, and sweat drenched my body. I felt an urgent need to escape, yet there was no external danger—only an invisible enemy. I rushed into the hallway, convinced I was about to pass out and die. We left before the concert even began. That night marked the beginning of a long and painful season where I feared I would never feel calm again.

Six years later, I wish I could say I’ve been completely healed. I haven’t. But through God’s grace, therapy, and the support of the body of Christ, I am far better than I was. Anxiety still rears its head at times, but God has used what the enemy meant for harm to shape me and make me more like His Son.

As strange as it sounds, I am now thankful for my struggle because of what God has taught me through it. I now see that He wasn’t ignoring my prayers; He was teaching me—allowing the fallenness of this world as a tool. And as Charles Spurgeon once said, God was showing me how to “kiss the wave that throws me against the Rock of Ages.”

This realization led me to a deeper understanding of the torment Paul experienced with his "thorn in the flesh" in 2 Corinthians 12. Despite God's response of "no" to Paul's request for the removal of his pain, Paul was ultimately better for it. Reflecting on how Paul related to his thorn provides a beautiful framework for those of us who have asked God to take away our own "thorn in the flesh"—our anxiety—only to find that He chooses to teach us through it instead.

Anxiety Keeps Us Dependent on God

Paul says, “To keep me from becoming conceited because of the surpassing greatness of the revelations, a thorn was given me in the flesh.” I am in no way claiming that Paul’s thorn in the flesh was anxiety. In fact, most scholars agree that it is nearly impossible to know for sure what his “thorn in the flesh” was.

However, just as God allowed Paul’s thorn to keep him humble, I believe God allowed mine for the same purpose. My battle with anxiety does many things, but one thing it has never done is make me feel more self-sufficient. It reminds me that I need God, for apart from Him I can do nothing. And sometimes nothing simply means getting through the day. If, as many have said, God’s address is at the end of our rope, then those of us with anxiety need not search long to find where the Father dwells—for many of us are already standing on His doorstep.

Suffering for Means of Sanctification

Tim Keller, in observing how God uses the enemy's plan to become void on itself, reflects that,

“God only allows Satan to accomplish the very opposite of what he wants to accomplish. He only gives Satan enough rope to hang himself… Satan is only allowed by God to actually defeat himself and achieve the very opposite of what he wanted… He permits evil and suffering to come into your life only to the degree that it defeats the actual intention of Satan for you. Only to the degree that it makes you a great person. Only to the degree that it actually defeats itself.”

The poetic justice of God in the anxious believer’s life is this: what was meant to isolate us instead draws us near to the Comforter—our ever-present help in times of trouble.

When Paul asked God to take away his thorn, God responded with, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Paul then says that he will, “boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.” It is in this that God uses what the enemy meant for harm to allow the work of sanctification to take its shape.

So yes—God, thank You for my anxiety. Not because it’s easy, but because it makes me rely on You. Because somehow, through weakness, You reveal Your strength. Because in the nights I’ve begged for escape, You’ve instead given endurance. I’ve learned to stop waiting for the wave to pass and start clinging to the Rock it drives me into. If healing never fully comes, then let me boast all the more in my weakness, for there I find Christ. Anxiety didn’t push me away from You—it pushed me into Your arms. And maybe that was the miracle I needed most all along.