This reflection was originally published on Medium under the “Even Here” publication.
Read it there → Even Here
Based on Matthew 7:7–12
“Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.”
— Matthew 7:7 (NRSV)
I’ve read this verse many times. Memorized it as a child. Recited it in prayer. And lately, I find myself returning to it not with certainty, but with questions.
Jesus says, ask and it will be given. Seek and you will find. Knock and the door will be opened. It sounds so clear, so reassuring. And yet, what do you do when you’ve asked, sought, knocked… and the door doesn’t open?
Or worse. What if it opens for someone else?
That’s the ache I don’t always know how to name.
I’ve asked for something good. Something not selfish or shallow. I’ve tried to believe. I’ve waited. And still, I’m here. Watching time pass, watching others receive what I’ve been praying for. The door seems firmly shut.
And so I start to wonder.
Is God listening?
Did I ask wrongly?
Am I being tested?
Or am I being told “no” but gently, with silence?
Is the Problem Me?
Sometimes it’s tempting to make sense of unanswered prayer by looking inward. Maybe I didn’t pray hard enough. Maybe I don’t have enough faith. Maybe God is disappointed in me. These are the quiet accusations that trail behind the silence.
But when Jesus spoke these words in Matthew 7, he didn’t add qualifiers. He didn’t say, “Ask perfectly.” He said, “Ask.” He didn’t say, “Seek only if your heart is pure.” He said, “Seek.” He didn’t say, “Knock, and only if you’re worthy, the door will open.” He said, “Knock.”
Not because God is a vending machine. But because God is a Father.
“If You, Evil as You Are…”
Jesus anchors this teaching in a striking image: If flawed, fallible parents still know how to give good gifts to their children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good things to those who ask Him?
This line, “if you, evil as you are…” is jarring. But it also makes the point unmistakable. God isn’t reluctant. He isn’t withholding to punish or tease. He gives, because giving is part of His nature. And still, what He gives might not always match what we asked for.
This is where it gets hard.
Because I’m not asking for stones or serpents. I’m asking for bread. Something good. Something that aligns with love, with life, with joy. And when the answer is delayed, or doesn’t come at all, it’s hard not to feel like I’ve been handed a rock.
When Hope Feels Like a Risk
To ask again, after disappointment, feels vulnerable. Like I’m putting my heart on the line with no guarantee of return.
But I think that’s exactly what Jesus invites us into. Not a formula, but a relationship. Not a transaction, but a trust. In fact, the original Greek grammar makes this even more clear. The verbs Jesus uses: “ask,” “seek,” “knock” are all in the present active tense.
A more faithful rendering, as captured in translations like the NLT, might be:
“Keep on asking. Keep on seeking. Keep on knocking.”
It’s not a one-time request. It’s a posture of persistence. Of returning again and again, even when the answers don’t come quickly. Even when they don’t come clearly.
And yet, doesn’t it feel unfair?
To keep asking, seeking, knocking… and for the door to stay closed? To feel like you’ve done your part and heaven remains silent? That question sits uncomfortably at the heart of faith: Why ask at all, if the answer might still be no?
Jesus doesn’t give a simple explanation. But He does give an image: a good Father who knows how to give good gifts. This is not a lesson in divine logic. It’s an invitation to trust the Giver, even when the gift is unclear.
He doesn’t promise us what we want. He promises us a God who listens. A God who gives. A God who knows how to be a good parent even when we don’t understand His timing or His answers.
A Prayer for the Waiting
Lord, you said to ask but I am tired of asking.
You said to seek but I feel like I’ve only found silence.
You said to knock but the door hasn’t opened.And still, I come again. Not with polished faith, but with trembling trust.
Help me to believe that you are good, even when the answer is unclear.
Teach me to ask persistently, without shame.
To seek you, not just outcomes.
To knock, not just to gain entry, but to stay near to your heart.You are the Giver of good things.
Remind me of that, when hope grows dim.
Remind me of that, when the waiting stretches long.
And if the gift looks different than I imagined, help me see it still as grace.
Amen.