Faith in the Famine: A Journey Through Persecution and the Return to Purpose
There are moments in life when your faith is not just something you carry—it becomes your lifeline. You don’t cling to it because it’s comfortable; you cling because it’s the only thing left that feels true. That’s the place I found myself in not long ago. Surrounded by false accusations, betrayed by those I once trusted, I was being pursued by what felt like a cloud of witnesses—not of faith, but of falsity.
And in that season, the very thing I was created to do—write, speak, encourage—went quiet. Not because I lost the gift, but because the pain muted my voice. My pen didn’t dry up; my spirit just needed time to groan before it could sing again.
This is my story, a testimony not of my strength, but of God’s sustaining power in the middle of a famine, and His faithfulness on the other side of it.
The Season of False Witnesses
Psalm 27:12 says, “Do not give me over to the desire of my foes, for false witnesses rise up against me, spouting malicious accusations.” I lived that verse. Not in theory. Not in metaphor. In reality.
There were people who smiled in my presence and schemed behind closed doors. People who claimed to know me—some even claimed to love me—and yet they bore false witness to others. Lies that, if left unchecked, could’ve ruined my name. Lies that could’ve financially destabilized my family. Lies that could’ve cost us more than just comfort—they could’ve cost us our calling.
The most dangerous part of a false accusation isn’t just the claim itself, but the delay in justice. While truth waits for its moment, lies sprint ahead and spread like wildfire. There were days I woke up to a pit in my stomach, knowing I had done no wrong but carrying the weight of someone else’s story about me.
In that storm, my natural instinct was to speak out, to fight, to defend. But the Spirit whispered something else: “Be still.” Not silent in defeat—but still in trust.
Like Jesus, who when falsely accused, “made no reply, not even to a single charge” (Matthew 27:14), I chose not to let my voice become a weapon. I chose to let God fight for me.
The Threat of Famine
False witnesses weren’t just a blow to my reputation—they threatened provision. As a provider and a steward of the calling God placed on me, the pressure became unbearable. The whispers in my heart weren’t just the accusations from others—they were my own doubts: “Will my family be okay? What if this costs us everything?”
It reminded me of Joseph. Falsely accused by Potiphar’s wife, thrown into prison, his dream deferred. But God was preparing him to save nations in a famine. What looked like a setback was a setup.
Genesis 50:20 reads, “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.” I held onto that word like it was water in the desert.
And in the middle of that dry place, I had a decision to make: do I focus on the drought, or do I trust the Provider? Would I be like Elijah, watching the brook dry up, or would I follow God to Zarephath and believe He could still provide through the most unlikely source?
He did.
I didn’t write in that season, but I worshipped. I didn’t produce, but I prayed. I didn’t create, but I cried out. And heaven heard.
Remaining Faithful in the Fire
Faithfulness doesn’t always look like ministry on a stage or writing a book. Sometimes, it looks like keeping your hands clean when others are throwing dirt. Sometimes, it’s staying on your knees when you want to run. Sometimes, it’s choosing integrity over retaliation.
During this persecution, I had to learn that silence is not weakness—it’s strategy. Ecclesiastes 3 says there is “a time to be silent and a time to speak.” The Spirit led me to discern the difference.
Like Daniel in the lion’s den, I chose to keep praying with the windows open. Not to make a scene, but to remain consistent. I kept leading my home, loving my family, showing up to life—even when I didn’t feel seen or supported.
And slowly, the storm began to pass. The rain stopped. The clouds parted. And what I found was that my faith hadn’t diminished. It had deepened.
I had passed through the fire—not because of my own strength, but because of the One who stood in the fire with me. Just like with Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, the flames didn’t burn me. They refined me.
Leaning Back Into the Gift
When the season lifted, something started to stir again. My pen didn’t just return—it burned. The silence had created space. And now the words were flowing—not out of trauma, but out of testimony.
Romans 11:29 says, “For God’s gifts and His call are irrevocable.” I hadn’t lost my gift—I had only paused it. And now, more than ever, I realize: I was made to write. To speak. To declare truth.
There’s something powerful that happens when you come back to your purpose with scars. You’re not just writing theories—you’re writing from the furnace. You’re not sharing ideas—you’re sharing resurrection.
2 Corinthians 1:4 says, “[He] comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.” I now write not just to inspire, but to restore. Not just to teach, but to testify.
Three Ways to Integrate These Teachings into Daily Life
1. Let God Defend You
In seasons of persecution, your first instinct will be to defend yourself. Don’t. Let God be your Defender. Psalm 35:1 says, “Contend, Lord, with those who contend with me; fight against those who fight against me.”
Practically, that means learning the discipline of restraint. Not everything needs a response. When accusations rise, take them to the Lord before you take them to people. He sees all. He knows all. And His vindication is complete and perfect.
Let your hands be clean, your heart be pure, and your words be few.
2. Stay Faithful Even in the Silence
When your gift is dormant, it doesn’t mean it’s gone. It means it’s being purified. Don’t despise the silent seasons. Use them to deepen your roots. Faithfulness in obscurity is what qualifies you for influence.
Galatians 6:9 reminds us, “Let us not grow weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.”
If you’re in a silent season—where your prayers seem unanswered, your efforts go unseen—keep going. God is not unjust to forget your labor. Stay faithful.
3. Use Your Gift with Urgency
Once the season passes, lean into your gift like never before. You’ve been through too much to go back to playing small. The world needs your story. Someone is waiting on the other side of your obedience.
1 Peter 4:10 says, “Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms.”
Don’t wait for perfect conditions. Use your voice. Write the words. Share your story. Your obedience may be the key that unlocks someone else’s prison.
A Final Word: Purpose After Pain
As I sit and reflect on that season of persecution, I no longer see it as a setback. I see it as preparation. God never wastes pain. He repurposes it for His glory.
Just like Job, who after losing everything was restored double, I believe that God is bringing restoration to those who have remained faithful under fire. Not just restoration of things—but restoration of purpose.
And if you’re reading this today, know this: your gift still lives. Your voice still matters. Your calling is still active. The fire did not kill you—it revealed you.
Lean into the gift. There’s still more to write. More to say. More to build.
Your famine season is over. It’s time to harvest.
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