In the Fog of Doubt, God Called Him to Arise and Shine

Frank Wible
Jul 21
2 min read

Ethan never rebelled. He tithed, showed up to men’s group, served when asked. But slowly, something started to fade. He couldn’t name when it started, only that one morning he looked at his Bible and felt nothing. Not conviction. Not hunger. Just… silence.

Man sits on bed, reading a book in dimly lit room. Blue tones, peaceful and contemplative mood, window light highlighting his face. — God’s glory rose like the sun — not all at once, but undeniably.

He called it burnout. Told himself everyone hits dry seasons. But this wasn’t a season. It was a fog. Thick. Unmoving. Weeks turned into months, and the motions became muscle memory. He sang words he no longer believed would reach heaven. Prayed prayers that sounded more like scripts. He smiled for others, but inside, he was hollow.

He didn’t have a secret sin. He wasn’t hiding an affair. He just felt like the light had dimmed, and he didn’t know how to find the switch again. He was still a “good Christian.” But he wasn’t alive.

One night, after another long church service where he felt like a ghost in a chair, Ethan stayed behind and sat in the dark sanctuary. No music. No crowd. Just him and God, or at least, the idea of Him. And then, not audibly, but undeniably, he sensed something rise in his spirit: “Arise and shine, for your light has come.”

Tears filled his eyes before he knew why. He didn’t feel light. He didn’t feel worthy. But something inside cracked open. He whispered, “I’m still here.” And for the first time in a long time, he felt something whisper back, “So am I.”

Man stands on a grassy field at sunrise, holding a coffee cup, looking peaceful. Mist and orange sky create a serene backdrop. — God’s glory rose like the sun — not all at once, but undeniably.

The next morning, he woke up before dawn. Not for work. Not for a chore. But because something stirred him. He walked outside, barefoot, coffee in hand, and watched the sun rise through the mist. He didn’t pray. He didn’t speak. He just stood there, present. And in that moment, he felt the glory of God begin to rise over his life like the sun through fog.

Ethan didn’t become a different man overnight. But he became awake. He started journaling again, not for Instagram, but for honesty. He found one verse and held onto it all month: Isaiah 60:1–2. Every time doubt crept in, he read it aloud, like a command to his soul.

He stepped back into worship, not with raised hands, but with open hands. He let God fill the space again, not with emotion, but with presence. That was the change. God hadn’t left. Ethan had just stopped seeing. The light hadn’t gone out. It had been covered.

Now, when men tell him they feel numb, Ethan doesn’t tell them to try harder. He tells them, “Sit in the silence. Listen for the whisper. And when it comes, don’t just listen, stand. Arise and shine. God’s glory still rises over fog.”

Have you ever gone through spiritual numbness?