Losing Faith in My Faith

I was recently watching a YouTube video of my niece, Haddi Trebisovsky, as she spoke at a fundraising gala for the K.O.L.T Foundation – a non-profit that comes alongside families who have suffered the heartbreak of stillbirth. Haddi and her husband know that pain all too well, having lost their son Ansel at 33 weeks. So when she took the stage, it wasn’t just a speech – it was personal. In her talk, one statement in particular grabbed my attention. She said her faith in her faith had been shattered. I asked her if she’d be willing to write a blog post to expand on that thought. What follows are her words.

I remember the first time I put my faith in Christ—sitting at my mother’s feet while she folded laundry. I was no more than five when she told me about Jesus and Heaven, and I accepted with a child’s excitement. I grew up in a Christian home where faith was central, and as a teen, I served in ministry and spent my first year out of high school in an intense, faith-focused internship.

Before college, I spent two months in Maui with a Christian life coach, preparing for a life built on wisdom and trust in God. All I wanted was to be used by Him. I believed He still spoke to those who listened and would guide my steps.

In college, I met Jimmy. He transferred schools to grow in his faith, and we had open conversations from the start: “Just because we like each other doesn’t mean we should date—let’s pray about it.” We soon knew we were meant to be. After years of spiritual mentorship, I felt confident I could hear God’s voice. When I sensed He was leading us toward engagement by year’s end, we prayed, went ring shopping, and I waited with joy and anticipation.

Then Jimmy hit the brakes. He felt the timing was off—still a year of school left for him, two for me. He wanted to wait until he had a steady income. In hindsight, it was wise. But in the moment, I felt like he was choosing the practical path over trusting God. I was crushed.

More than disappointment, I was shaken by what felt like a failure to hear God. I didn’t doubt God’s existence, but I doubted everything I thought I understood about prayer, timing, and discernment.

I lost faith in my faith.

That disillusionment led to years of spiritual numbness. I still believed, still lived a “good Christian life,” but I didn’t feel connected to God.

Eventually, I knew I had to do something uncomfortable to shake the spiritual fog. So, while pregnant with our third child, we became foster parents. We took in a two-day-old infant who stayed with us for five months. Just before giving birth, we spontaneously decided to buy a bigger house and made an offer that night.

Everything looked perfect—until the night before closing, when a missed tax lien delayed everything. I remembered how lost I’d felt in that earlier season, so instead of spiraling, I asked God for peace, not answers.

During the wait, I sensed a quiet whisper: “If you get a call for a girl tomorrow, say yes.” The next day at 11:00 A.M., the county called—could we take in a three-day-old baby girl? Though our son was only two months old, we said yes. That same afternoon, the title company called—our closing was back on.

The baby stayed with us for just five days. It didn’t make sense. But I began to wonder if it had been a test of faith, a preparation for something yet to come. And I was right.

During the pandemic, I faced another crisis of faith—this time, shaken by the divide between my faith community and the issues unfolding in the world.  If those who claimed the same beliefs as mine held opposite opinions from mine about the then-current events, what did that say about our faith? For the first time, I truly questioned whether God was even real.

Then, one Sunday, a message stirred something in me, and I felt the Holy Spirit whisper, “See, Haddi? I’m real. Just hang in there.” I didn’t know it yet, but I was newly pregnant with a surprise baby—my long-hoped-for fourth child.

That pregnancy was the hardest yet. I dealt with severe migraines and ER visits, but I clung to that whisper. I named him Ansel, which means “with divine protection.” Through the pain, I trusted that this was God’s perfect plan.

Then, at a routine 33-week checkup, I heard the words no parent ever wants to hear: “I’m sorry, there’s no heartbeat.” I remember the scream that came out of me as I drove home—full of rage and betrayal. “You knew how much I was struggling with my faith before this. How could You let this happen? How could You answer my prayer and allow it to end like this?”

I told God, if He wanted me back, He’d have to drag me through the grief. I didn’t have the will to try anymore.

The thing about God is, He’ll take that kind of invitation. He dragged me through it, and in doing so, He unraveled every shaky foundation I had built my faith upon. In the process of writing through my grief, I found Him answering prayers I had prayed as a teenager, prayers I’d forgotten I ever spoke.

This isn’t the story I wanted. But God’s presence in the wreckage was undeniable.

Losing faith in my faith was painful and disorienting—but it was also necessary. Because God isn’t confined to one method of reaching us. He’s not bound by our assumptions or expectations. He is sovereign, eternal, and always speaking.

And in letting go of faith in my ability to believe “the right way,” I finally learned to place my faith where it belonged all along—in Christ alone.

---

You can follow Haddi on her personal blog: https://hadditrebisovsky.wordpress.com/. You may also want to check out Haddi’s book, The Ansel Diary, describing her journey. In addition, Haddi wrote a guided journal for grief of all kinds, The _____ Diary: A guided journal for grief (The Ansel Diary Collection).