What If They Never Believe?
It hits at the weirdest times.
I’ll be driving, or brushing my teeth, or scrolling through photos of people I love—and suddenly, it’s there. That ache. That heavy, aching silence when I think about the ones I care about most… and the fact that they don’t know Jesus.
If you’re a believer, maybe you’ve felt it too—that gut-punch realization that some of your closest friends or family are walking through life completely unaware of the eternal reality waiting on the other side of this one. I feel the deep weight of contemplating the eternal fate of friends and family members who are outside of Christ. This is not an abstract doctrine—it is personal, painful, and urgent.
It’s hard, right? You want to share the truth, but you also don’t want to push them away. You love them deeply, and you’d do anything for them… but when it comes to faith, it gets complicated. Conversations turn awkward. Walls go up. You wonder, Am I saying too much? Am I saying enough?
And if you're not a believer reading this, maybe you've felt the flip side of it. Maybe you've got a friend who gently talks about faith, and you feel a little confused—or even a little judged. But more than likely, what they're trying to express is just this: they care about your eternity. Deeply. It’s not about being “right”—it’s about loving you enough to long for something more for you.
This grief, though… it’s real. And honestly, it’s a kind of grief that doesn’t go away. It drives us to pray, to weep, to hope. It pushes us to keep loving well and speaking with grace. It reminds us that faith isn’t just a Sunday thing—it’s the heartbeat of everything.
But here’s what I hold onto: God saves. Not me. He is merciful. He is sovereign. And He is still drawing people to Himself in ways we can’t always see.
So don’t give up. Don’t stop loving. Don’t stop praying. The story isn’t over.
And neither is theirs.
Candi Thorpe
candi@calvaryburlington.ca
I’ll be driving, or brushing my teeth, or scrolling through photos of people I love—and suddenly, it’s there. That ache. That heavy, aching silence when I think about the ones I care about most… and the fact that they don’t know Jesus.
If you’re a believer, maybe you’ve felt it too—that gut-punch realization that some of your closest friends or family are walking through life completely unaware of the eternal reality waiting on the other side of this one. I feel the deep weight of contemplating the eternal fate of friends and family members who are outside of Christ. This is not an abstract doctrine—it is personal, painful, and urgent.
It’s hard, right? You want to share the truth, but you also don’t want to push them away. You love them deeply, and you’d do anything for them… but when it comes to faith, it gets complicated. Conversations turn awkward. Walls go up. You wonder, Am I saying too much? Am I saying enough?
And if you're not a believer reading this, maybe you've felt the flip side of it. Maybe you've got a friend who gently talks about faith, and you feel a little confused—or even a little judged. But more than likely, what they're trying to express is just this: they care about your eternity. Deeply. It’s not about being “right”—it’s about loving you enough to long for something more for you.
This grief, though… it’s real. And honestly, it’s a kind of grief that doesn’t go away. It drives us to pray, to weep, to hope. It pushes us to keep loving well and speaking with grace. It reminds us that faith isn’t just a Sunday thing—it’s the heartbeat of everything.
But here’s what I hold onto: God saves. Not me. He is merciful. He is sovereign. And He is still drawing people to Himself in ways we can’t always see.
So don’t give up. Don’t stop loving. Don’t stop praying. The story isn’t over.
And neither is theirs.
Candi Thorpe
candi@calvaryburlington.ca
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