God Won’t Save You - But You Can

When I was in the thick of it—addicted, depressed, and barely holding on—I prayed.

I prayed a lot.

I read the Bible constantly. I fell asleep to it on my phone. I’d play it in the car. I’d pray in the shower, in the dark, on my knees. I begged for the pain to stop. Begged for the strength to change. For the will to fight.

I believed that if I just believed hard enough, God would step in. He would reach into my mess and pull me out.

But here’s what really happened:

Nothing.

Nothing changed until I did.

And I know that statement is going to rattle some cages. I get it. I grew up in church, too. I grew up believing in an all-powerful, all-knowing, loving God who could rescue me from anything if I had enough faith. But when you’re addicted to opiates, when your trauma is eating you alive, when you feel like a hollow shell of a person—faith isn’t always enough.

You can scream to the heavens all you want, but if you’re not willing to take action, the silence will swallow you whole.

Let’s talk theology for a second.

Christianity tells us we’re broken by sin. That we’re born into imperfection and in need of saving. And when you’re an addict, that message lands hard. You already feel broken. You already feel like a failure. The shame feels biblical. The guilt feels earned. So you reach for a savior. That’s natural.

But this is where it gets dangerous:

Waiting for rescue can keep you from doing the hard work of rescuing yourself.

It’s like standing in a burning building with the door wide open—and choosing to stay put because someone might come carry you out.

Here’s the truth, and it took me years to say this out loud:

If there’s a God, He’s not coming.

Not like that.

Not in the way you want.

And I don’t say that to crush anyone’s hope. I say it because for so many of us, hope became a form of procrastination. “God will fix this.”

“It’s not my time yet.”

“I’m waiting for a sign.”

No. That sign is you, lying to yourself.

The only miracle you need is the decision to change.

If you’re lucky, someone will help you. Maybe a parent. A partner. A therapist. A stranger in a meeting who says the exact right thing. But even that? It’s just water. You’re still the one who has to drink it.

Addiction hijacks your brain’s reward system.

It rewires your body.

It’s not a moral failure. It’s not a spiritual curse.

It’s a neurochemical trap that keeps you dependent—physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

And the path out is long. It’s brutal. It’s lonely.

But it’s yours. It’s possible.

And it’s powered by you.

No amount of scripture or sermon will bypass the work.

No prayer will carry the barbell for you.

No verse will rebuild your serotonin.

No pastor is going to fix your trauma for you.

You will have to wake up and fight every damn day until you’ve carved out a new life with your own two hands.

I still believe in love. In awe. In mystery.

I believe in goodness and grace.

But I don’t believe that a cosmic puppet master is pulling the strings, rewarding some and damning others based on vibes.

That’s not God. That’s superstition with branding.

So if you’re on your knees, praying for help, I say this with love:

Stand up.

God isn’t going to save you.

But you can.

And when you do, it will be more sacred than any sermon you’ve ever heard.

Because you’ll know—without a doubt—that the divine lives in you.

Not in some cloud. Not in a book.

In you.

Now go prove it.