Clinging unto the Invisible, Hoping for Nothing, Holding onto the Transparency
Clinging unto the Invisible, Hoping for Nothing, Holding onto the Transparency
By Khanyisa Manganyi
There are moments in life when everything feels uncertain. The path ahead is hidden, prayers seem to hang in the air without answers, and we begin to wonder if anything will ever make sense again. I’ve had those moments. Maybe you have too. And somehow, through all that confusion, we find ourselves clinging unto the invisible, hoping for nothing, and holding onto the transparency.
To cling unto the invisible is not easy. It’s choosing to trust what you cannot see. It's like reaching out in the dark, not knowing if anything is there—but still reaching anyway. It’s believing that God is working even when you feel forgotten. It’s trusting that there’s a purpose to the pain, even if it’s not clear now. Sometimes, all we can do is hold onto the idea that something better must be ahead, even when our heart is too tired to believe it fully. That kind of trust is quiet, yet powerful. It’s not loud or flashy, but it moves mountains inside us.
Then there’s this strange feeling—hoping for nothing. At first, it sounds like giving up, like no longer expecting anything good. But it’s actually deeper than that. It’s hoping without demands. It’s that deep peace that comes when you no longer say “God, I need this or else,” but instead whisper, “God, even if You don’t, I still trust You.” It’s letting go of the pressure for things to look a certain way. It's hoping not for a specific result—but for healing, growth, peace, and whatever God knows is best. It’s the kind of hope that doesn’t break when things don’t go your way. It’s a free, gentle hope that simply lets God be God.
And then there’s the beauty and pain of holding onto the transparency. Life doesn’t always make sense, and neither do we. Holding onto the transparency means being honest about that. It’s showing up without pretending. It’s admitting that you're not okay, and being real enough to stop hiding behind fake smiles. It’s standing in the truth—even when it feels uncomfortable or scary. Transparency is fragile. But it’s also freeing. It means saying, “This is where I am. This is what I feel. This is my truth.” And somehow, in being that honest, God begins to do His deepest work in us. Not in our perfection—but in our surrender.
Put these three together—trusting what you can’t see, hoping with open hands, and being true to where you are—and you become someone strong in a quiet, holy way. This isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about holding on when everything tells you to let go. It’s about walking by faith, even when your knees are shaking. It’s about choosing honesty, even when it would be easier to pretend.
If you’re in that place right now—where you’re barely hanging on, where you’re tired of asking and hearing nothing—know this: you are not weak. You are not forgotten. You are being held by the One who sees everything, even when you can’t see Him. You are growing, even in silence. You are healing, even in your tears.
So keep clinging. Keep hoping. Keep being real. God works best in the invisible, the quiet, and the raw. He sees you. He’s with you. And that is more than enough.
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