When people face hardship, their instinctive response is often to seek extra mercy from Hashem. They might take on new halachic stringencies, elevate their level of kavanah during tefillah , and pray with greater emotion, sincerity, and even tears. They do their best to act with heightened spiritual awareness, all in the hope that these efforts will bring about a salvation. But when time passes and the situation doesn't improve—or even worsens—it becomes increasingly difficult to keep that spiritual momentum going. Some begin to feel that their prayers and efforts are going unnoticed. "If Hashem isn't responding," they wonder, "why should I keep trying?" For some, this disillusionment may evolve into frustration or anger, leading them to distance themselves from mitzvot or religious observance altogether. They may begin to question whether Hashem truly cares. But we must hold on to a critical truth: Hashem cares more than we can possibly understand . The fact that we haven't received what we've asked for is not a sign of divine indifference. Rather, it is a reflection of Hashem's infinite wisdom. He sees the complete picture—past, present, and future. He knows our mission in this world, and what is best for us at every stage, even when we cannot comprehend it. And when the struggle to stay spiritually committed intensifies, our avodah becomes all the more meaningful. Hashem cherishes every sincere effort we make—especially when it is difficult. A man in the real estate business shared his story. His industry had been facing a downturn, and one failed deal after another left him with no leads and growing discouragement. He reached a low point and, for the first time in his life, contemplated skipping shul on Shabbat. In frustration, he told himself he wouldn't go. That Friday afternoon, he had his usual call with a business associate—a non-Jewish Irish gentleman with whom he regularly discussed the market, business trends, and more. Every week, their call ended with the man wishing him, "Shabbat Shalom." But this week was different. As they were about to hang up, instead of the usual farewell, the man simply said, "Okay, go to shul now," and then ended the call. The timing was uncanny. For the first time in decades, this man had planned not to go to shul , and here was Hashem sending him a message—through the mouth of a gentile associate—urging him not to break his lifelong habit. It was a moment of clarity. Hashem had been watching and cherishing each one of this man's tefillot for over fifty years. He didn't want him to miss even one. The man went to shul that night, full of gratitude. He thanked Hashem for the unexpected chizuk , and for reminding him how deeply valued his efforts are. Yes, business may be tough. Life may feel overwhelming. But that should never diminish our trust in Hashem or our commitment to His mitzvot. In fact, when maintaining emunah is hardest, that's when it shines brightest.