In November 2007, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. Weeks later, after her first surgery, she was told that because of a genetic strand she carried, she had an 80 percent chance of the cancer returning. This information led her into four months of chemotherapy and, four days ago, her second major surgery. Eight months ago, if you’d asked me what the next year of my life would look like, this is not how I’d have described it.

Life can change so drastically in just one day. One phone call, one blood test, one surgery later and suddenly everything that you see looks unfamiliar. What does it mean to have faith in the midst of this chaos and confusion? What does it mean to trust, when your world has been shaken up, turned around and poured out? What does it mean? The answers I’ve always given to others struggling seem dried up, empty and clichéd. And yet I know that I don’t have a hope of getting through all of this without my faith in God.

“Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see” (Hebrews 11:1). This verse—one that is preached, taught and spoken so often—has taken on a whole new weight for me, in the midst of this struggle. It has become one that both encourages and frustrates me as my flesh and spirit fight over its meaning. My flesh tells me that being sure and certain of what I cannot see is ridiculous. It tells me that the reality and truth is what I see—my mom is sick, she is broken and she is suffering. But my Spirit battles back, saying, “This is what faith is!” It’s like I understand it for the first time. Faith isn’t seeing your prayers answered; it’s believing they will be, even as you wait! It’s looking into the face of my precious mother, lying in a hospital bed, with a dozen tubes, chords and drains hooked up to her and believing that she is healed—believing for a miracle.

Over the last eight months I have seen many miracles in my mom’s life. I have seen her waiting with a smile, at the end of the aisle I walked down on my wedding day—only weeks after her first surgery. I have seen God carry her through chemotherapy with grace, peace and strength. And I have seen her walk into the scariest event of her life, still praising and worshiping her Savior. But these events are not the ones that grow my faith. My faith grows most on days like today, when I see my mom weak and sick, and when I pray, “God, I believe you are making her strong and healthy.” Our faith doesn’t grow most when we see miracles, but when we see nothing and still choose to believe that God keeps his promises. That is true faith.

Whatever difficult situation you see right now, know that it is an opportunity for your faith to grow. It is an opportunity to be sure of what you hope for and certain of what you cannot see. It is a chance to say, “God, I truly believe that you are who you say you are. That’s all I’ve got and that’s enough.”