You’re praying for someone at church.

Her name is Sarah. A pillar of your community. Always the first to volunteer, always quick to hug, and always putting others before herself. She’s kind. She’s faith-filled. She’s the kind of person you want to see healed.

But she’s also been sick.

The kind of slow, dragging sickness that doesn’t attract attention until it starts changing her. Her once-vibrant energy has dulled. Her smiles have started shrinking. And even though she waves off concern, everyone can see she’s not.

So today, your small group gathers around her after service. Hands laid gently on her shoulders. Heads bowed.

You start praying the way you always have:

“Dear Father, thank You for Sarah. We know You love her. And we ask… would You please heal her, Lord? In Jesus’ name, amen.”

There’s a soft murmur of agreement from the group. Eyes lift and settle on Sarah’s face.

Nothing.

A whisper of disappointment moves through the circle.

Then you remember: God didn’t do this. You’re not supposed to be asking for healing. You’re supposed to be commanding it.

You take a breath and stand up straighter while staring at your hand on Sarah’s shoulder.

“In Jesus’ name, sickness leave Sarah. Body, be healed. In Jesus name! Amen”

The words feel different. Firmer.

But still… you feel nothing.

You open an eye to glance at Sarah.

She smiles gently and says, “No… I’m sorry. But thank you for praying.”

The disappointment hangs heavier than the silence.

Someone squeezes her hand and offers a soft “We’ll keep praying.” Another person mentions fasting. Someone else wonders aloud if God is “doing something deeper.”

Everyone is trying. No one wants to say it, but in your heart, a voice has already whispered:

“Why didn’t it work?”

Why didn’t it work?

It’s the question that stops most people from ever trying again.