Darkness comes. In the middle of it, the future looks blank. The

“Darkness comes. In the middle of it, the future looks blank. The temptation to quit is huge. Don’t. You are in good company... You will argue with yourself that there is no way forward. But with God, nothing is impossible. He has more ropes and ladders and tunnels out of pits than you can conceive. Wait. Pray without ceasing. Hope.”
— John Piper

In this powerful and tender exhortation, John Piper, the preacher and philosopher of faith, speaks to the soul that has fallen into despair. His words rise like a torch in the blackness of the human night. “Darkness comes,” he begins—an acknowledgment that suffering is not the exception, but the inheritance of every soul who walks the earth. Life, at its core, is a pilgrimage through light and shadow, and there are seasons when even the most steadfast heart will tremble. In those moments, when “the future looks blank” and all paths seem swallowed by uncertainty, Piper’s words call us not to surrender, but to endure, to trust, and to hope.

The origin of this quote lies in Piper’s ministry of encouragement, born from his reflections on the trials of the faithful. Like the prophets of old, he does not speak from theory but from lived truth. He knows, as countless souls before him have known, that the greatest battles are not fought against men or circumstance, but within the heart itself. “The temptation to quit is huge,” he writes—and every reader knows this temptation: the voice that whispers, “There is no way out. You are finished.” But it is precisely in that moment, when the soul trembles before the void, that Piper reminds us: “Don’t. You are in good company.” For all who have ever stood for truth, for goodness, for faith, have also stood at the edge of despair.

Indeed, even the heroes of Scripture and history walked through such nights. Moses, lost in the wilderness, cried out that he could not lead his people any further. David, hunted and broken, wept until he had no strength left to weep. Job, stripped of everything, sat among ashes questioning the purpose of his pain. And yet, through their darkness, God’s unseen hand was weaving redemption. What Piper calls the “ropes and ladders and tunnels out of pits” are the unseen graces of providence—those quiet miracles that rescue the heart when all visible help has failed. These images are vivid, ancient symbols: the rope for those climbing from despair, the ladder for those seeking heaven’s light, the tunnel for those pressing onward beneath the weight of the world.

There is an old story that reflects this truth well—the story of Corrie ten Boom, the Dutch woman who, during the terror of the Second World War, was imprisoned in Ravensbrück for sheltering Jews from the Nazis. In that pit of cruelty and death, she watched her beloved sister Betsie waste away, yet Betsie’s final words to her were a testament of divine hope: “There is no pit so deep that God’s love is not deeper still.” Corrie survived the camp and carried that truth to the world—that even in the blackest night, God has not abandoned His children. Piper’s words echo hers across time: there are tunnels out of pits—paths unseen but real, carved by the mercy of God through rock and despair.

In the ancient rhythm of faith, waiting is not idleness. When Piper commands, “Wait. Pray without ceasing. Hope,” he is teaching the holy art of endurance. The world worships speed, but God works in seasons. The seed cannot bloom unless it lies first in the dark soil. The dawn cannot break until the night has run its course. The heart, too, must learn to wait—not with resignation, but with expectation. Prayer becomes the steady breath that keeps the soul alive in the suffocating dark. Hope becomes the candle that refuses to die, flickering still when all else has gone cold. To wait is to believe that even when no light is visible, dawn is already on its way.

The lesson of this passage, then, is both simple and eternal: do not quit in the darkness. Every human life will descend, at times, into uncertainty, grief, or exhaustion. But the darkness is not final—it is the womb of transformation. What feels like an ending may, in truth, be the preparation for new creation. The ropes and ladders of grace appear not when we demand them, but when we endure long enough to see them. God’s ways are hidden, but His rescue is sure. The one who waits in faith will find that the pit was not his prison—it was his preparation.

So, my listener, when your heart falters and your path is swallowed by shadow, remember these words. Do not listen to despair; listen to faith. Though the future seems blank, it is not empty—it is being written even now by unseen hands. When your strength fails, pray without ceasing; when your hope fades, hope again. For as John Piper teaches, God’s mercy is infinite, and His creativity in salvation knows no limit. There are ladders hidden in your darkness, ropes woven in silence, tunnels carved through the rock by divine design.

Therefore, wait—and trust that the One who led countless souls out of night will lead you, too. The dawn will come. The pit will pass. And when you rise again, you will know, as all the saints have known before you, that what seemed impossible was merely the beginning of God’s next miracle.