Blog

Tag: Pain

  • The Past Doesn’t Define You

    I don’t even know how to explain all that I’ve been through. I’ve walked through fire that left me scarred in ways that no one could ever see. I’ve smiled through pain just to survive the day. I’ve been in rooms full of people and felt completely alone. I’ve lied and said I’m okay more than I’d care to admit. Behind closed doors, I’ve cried out to God with nothing but brokenness in my hands. I was left wondering if He was even still listening.

    I’ve done things I wish I could undo. Seen things I wish I could unsee. Said things in anger, in pain, out of fear. Many things that still echo in my mind, reminding me of who I was when I was just trying to hold myself together.

    I’ve been brought to my knees more than once. And not in worship, but in utter defeat. With absolute regret. Also with complete exhaustion. I’ve looked in the mirror and barely recognized the person staring back. I’ve asked God to just let it end. Just let the pain stop. But he had different plans, because I’m still here. And that’s not just a sentence, it’s a miracle.

    The devil came for me hard. First, he tried to destroy my mind when he came at me and caused me anxiety, and the shame. Most of all, the constant voices telling me I wasn’t enough. Then he came for my body, with sickness, fatigue, and chronic pain that doesn’t stop. When that wasn’t enough, he came for both, hoping I’d finally break.

    What the enemy didn’t know is that God had already put something in me that couldn’t be killed. He put a purpose. He gave me a calling. He gave me a reason to rise again. Even when I had no strength of my own. I’m here for such a time as this.

    I’m not who I used to be. I’m also not who I’m going to be. But I am here, wiser, stronger, and more aware of the fight I’m in. I’m also more confident in the God who’s kept me through it all. I’m not done. I’m not out. I refuse to let the darkness that tried to take me out win.

    You can’t kill what God planted. You can’t silence what He raised up for this generation. I may be bruised, but I am not broken. I may carry around scars physically and emotionally, but they are the proof that I survived. That I overcame because the grace of God.

    For anyone that is reading this who’s barely holding on, hear me when I say this, You are not alone, And this isn’t the end. God’s not done with you either. This is just the beginning.

  • My Pain is a Blessing

    My Pain is a Blessing

    That sounds strange, I know. Especially when you’re living with pain that doesn’t go away, pain that lingers day after day, like an unwanted shadow. Chronic pain wears on you, physically, mentally, emotionally. It drains you in ways most people will never understand.

    But even in that, I’ve learned something deeply valuable: pain has a purpose.

    If I never had pain, if I never faced suffering, I might start to believe I didn’t need help. That I had it all figured out. That I was strong enough on my own. But the truth is, I’m not. I’m not perfect, I’m not self-sufficient, and I wasn’t made to be.

    Pain is what reminds me I need God.

    It’s what drives me into His arms. When my body aches and no relief comes, when I’m exhausted just from existing, when I wonder how I’m going to get through another day, He meets me there. In the stillness, in the struggle, in the silence. I need Him every moment, and pain keeps me close. Not because God wants to see me suffer, but because He wants to see me lean on Him, trust Him, know Him in the deepest way.

    And maybe… maybe that’s a blessing.

    Because someone else out there is suffering too. Someone feels like they can’t go on. Someone is battling chronic pain, invisible illness, or emotional weight no one sees. If that’s you, I want you to know: I see you. I am you.

    And if my dependence on God, if my ability to keep moving, even when it hurts, can shine a light for someone else in the dark, then maybe that’s part of why I’m still standing. Not because I’m strong, but because He is. Not because the pain is easy, but because God is faithful in it.

    My suffering is how I stay connected to Him.
    My weakness is how His strength is made perfect.
    My brokenness is where His grace meets me.

    So no, I don’t thank God for the pain. But I thank Him that even in the pain, He’s present. And I thank Him for using it, for using me to remind someone else they’re not alone, and they’re not without hope.

    Chronic pain may be part of my life, but it will never define me.
    God does that. And He’s not finished with me yet.

  • Why didn’t God Help?

    A question many of us have whispered in pain, shouted in anger, or quietly pondered in silence.

    When tragedy strikes, when suffering feels overwhelming, or when the world feels unfair, this is often our first question. Why didn’t God step in? Where was He?

    But what if He asks us the same question?

    “Why didn’t you help?”

    Think about the homeless person you passed today. You saw them. Maybe you looked away quickly, maybe you judged, or maybe you just told yourself you couldn’t do anything. But they were there, cold, hungry, human.

    Think about that coworker or classmate who looked like they were barely holding it together. You noticed. You felt something was off. But you didn’t ask. You didn’t stop. It wasn’t your business, you told yourself.

    Think about the person you love who’s been distant lately. You figured they needed space. Or maybe you didn’t want to deal with their weight when your own shoulders already felt heavy. But you sensed it. You felt it.

    What about the friend who hinted at needing help but never said the words? The kid who gets picked on while others laugh? The person online who posted something dark or cryptic and you just kept scrolling?

    We say, “Why didn’t God intervene?”
    But maybe He placed that person in your path because you were supposed to.

    Maybe we are His hands and feet, His heart in action.

    Maybe God’s help doesn’t come from lightning bolts or grand gestures, but from everyday people choosing kindness, choosing presence, choosing to care.

    So before we ask, “Where was God?”,
    He might gently ask, “Where were you?”

    Let’s stop waiting for divine intervention when we have been given the power to be divine love in someone’s life.

    Help when you can. Speak when you should. Show up when it matters.
    Because someone is praying for a miracle, and maybe, just maybe, that miracle is you.

  • Let Judas Be Judas

    Let Judas Be Judas: Embracing Betrayal as Part of Your Purpose

    We all want loyalty. We want to surround ourselves with people who will ride with us through the highs and the lows, who will support us, uplift us, and never turn their backs on us. But life doesn’t always work that way. There comes a time when someone you trust, someone you thought would always be in your corner, betrays you. And when that moment comes, it shakes you to your core.

    The natural reaction is to be hurt, to be angry, to question everything. “How could they do this to me? After all we’ve been through?” But I’ve come to realize something powerful: even Jesus needed a Judas.

    Think about that for a moment. Jesus, the Son of God, the Messiah, chose Judas as one of His twelve disciples, knowing full well that he would betray Him. He didn’t make a mistake. He didn’t misjudge Judas’ character. He didn’t fail to see the red flags. He knew. And yet, He still allowed Judas to walk with Him, to break bread with Him, to be part of His inner circle.

    Why? Because Judas was necessary for the mission.

    Without Judas’ betrayal, there would be no cross. Without the cross, there would be no resurrection. And without the resurrection, there would be no salvation. The pain of betrayal was the very thing that propelled Jesus into fulfilling His ultimate purpose.

    And the same goes for us.

    When someone you trust betrays you, it’s not the end of your story, it’s the turning point. That heartbreak, that disappointment, that feeling of being stabbed in the back isn’t happening to you; it’s happening for you. Because maybe, just maybe, that betrayal is the very thing pushing you toward your destiny.

    I know this is true for me.

    Had certain things not happened in my life, had certain people not betrayed my trust, I’d still be sitting on a pew, staying silent. I’d still be keeping everything God has done for me locked inside, afraid to share it with the world. But their betrayal was the catalyst that got me to where I am today. It woke me up. It pushed me out. It forced me to step into what God was calling me to do.

    And that’s why I’ve started this blog. Not because I’m special, not because I have it all figured out, but because I know what it feels like to be hurt, to be blindsided, to wonder why God allowed this to happen. And if my story, my experiences, and my testimony can help even one person see that their betrayal wasn’t the end, it was the beginning, then it’s all been worth it.

    So if you’re going through a season of betrayal right now, if you’ve been wounded by someone you thought would always be in your corner, let Judas be Judas.

    Keep your circle small. Guard your heart. But also understand that sometimes, the ones who hurt you the most are the ones who push you into your purpose. Judas didn’t win. God did. And if you stay faithful, if you keep trusting, if you refuse to let the pain make you bitter, you’ll see that this was never about them.

    It was always about what God was preparing you for.

    So, thank Judas, and keep moving forward. Your purpose is waiting.

  • Broken, But Not Forsaken

    When God’s Ways Don’t Make Sense

    One of the hardest things about faith is accepting that we may never fully understand God’s ways. We live in a world that demands answers, that seeks explanations, and that constantly asks, Why? But with God, sometimes the only answer we receive is Trust me. And that’s frustrating. That’s painful. That’s uncomfortable.

    Because we want reasons. We want clarity. We want to know why things happen the way they do, why doors close, why loved ones are taken too soon, why prayers seem to go unanswered, why suffering exists, and why our hearts break when we’ve done everything right. And yet, instead of a detailed explanation, we often get silence. Or we get a whisper that simply says, I make all things good.

    But good doesn’t always look like we expect.

    Sometimes, good comes through brokenness. Sometimes, the masterpiece God is creating with our lives only comes after everything we thought we needed has shattered. And that’s not easy to accept. It’s not easy to see the beauty in the pain when we’re standing in the wreckage of what we thought life would be. But just because we don’t understand doesn’t mean God isn’t working.

    Imagine a mosaic, pieces of broken glass, sharp edges, fragments of what once was. Alone, they look like nothing but shattered remains. But in the hands of the Artist, those broken pieces are arranged into something breathtaking. The light hits differently. The story takes a new form. And the masterpiece is something that could never have existed without the breaking.

    That’s what God does with us.

    He takes the pain, the loss, the unanswered questions, the disappointments, and the brokenness, and He makes something beautiful. But the process isn’t easy. It requires faith. A faith that even when we can’t see the bigger picture, God can. Faith that even when we don’t understand, His reasons are higher, His love is deeper, and His plan is greater than we could ever imagine.

    And faith isn’t about having all the answers, it’s about trusting even when we don’t.

    So if you’re in a season where nothing makes sense, where the pieces of your life feel scattered and broken, hold on. Trust that God is still writing your story. Trust that He is still good, even when life is not. Trust that one day, whether in this life or the next, you’ll see what He was doing all along.

    Because God doesn’t waste anything. Not our pain. Not our tears. Not our questions.

    Even when we don’t understand, He is still making all things new.

  • While Never Fun, We Need the Storms

    There are moments in life when the storm feels unbearable. When it knocks us down, leaves us broken, and makes us wonder if we’ll ever rise again. But sometimes, we need the storm, not because we enjoy the suffering, but because it opens doors we never could have imagined. It takes us places we never thought we’d go and allows us to reach people we never could have reached before.

    I think about Paul in Lystra. He was preaching the Gospel, doing what God had called him to do, and for that, he was stoned. Not just beaten or imprisoned, but stoned to the point that the people thought he was dead. They dragged his body outside the city and left him there, assuming it was over. And in any normal situation, it would have been. But God wasn’t finished.

    Paul got up. Bruised, battered, but not broken. And instead of running in the opposite direction, instead of saying, “I’m never going back there again,” he returned. First, he left for a time, but later, he came back. And when he did, he strengthened the believers there. What the enemy meant to destroy him, God used to build something greater.

    It makes me wonder, how often do we face trials, only to assume that’s the end of the story? How often do we suffer and decide we never want to go back to that place, that relationship, that calling? But what if God is saying, “Not yet. I’m not done. What the enemy meant for evil, I will use for good.”

    Paul didn’t go back as the same man. He went back with experience. With scars. But also with a testimony that couldn’t be denied. The people who had tried to kill him now saw that not even death could stop the message he carried. And because of that, the number of believers grew.

    Maybe you’re in a storm right now. Maybe you’ve been through one so painful that you never want to return to where it happened. But what if your return isn’t about reliving the pain but about showing others what God can do? What if your scars are the testimony someone else needs to see to believe that God is still in the business of redemption?

    The storm isn’t the end. The suffering isn’t the final chapter. Sometimes, we need the storm to take us places we wouldn’t have gone on our own. Sometimes, the very thing meant to destroy us is what God will use to bring life to others.

    So, if God is calling you back, back to the place of pain, back to the people who rejected you, back to the situation that almost broke you, don’t be afraid. You’re not going back the same. You’re going back stronger. You’re going back as a testimony. And through you, God will reach those who never would have believed before.

    What the enemy meant for evil, God will always use for good.

  • Healing Begins When Lies End

    Healing Starts with Truth. It’s no surprise that people aren’t healing when they’re holding on to a false narrative that was handed to them. You can’t heal from what you don’t understand, and you can’t move forward when you’re standing on a foundation built on lies. Healing requires truth, even when that truth is painful.

    Many people spend years, even decades, believing something that was never meant to serve them, whether it’s a lie about their worth, their past, or their potential. They were told who they are, what they can be, and how they should think, and they accepted it without question. But how can you heal when the version of reality you were given is distorted? How can you move forward when you don’t even know the full weight of what you’re carrying?

    The truth is uncomfortable. It forces you to see things for what they really are, not what you wish they were. And yes, it will hurt. It will shake you, break you, and maybe even make you feel like you’re worse off than before. But that pain is the beginning of something real. It’s the start of actual healing, not the illusion of it.

    Healing isn’t just about getting over something; it’s about facing it, understanding it, and rebuilding with honesty. It means tearing down the lies, unlearning the conditioning, and choosing to see things as they are, even when it’s not what you want to see. You can’t fix what you refuse to acknowledge.

    So if you’re feeling stuck, ask yourself: what false stories have I been carrying? What version of reality have I been living that isn’t really mine? Healing starts when you stop running from the truth. It starts when you stop numbing yourself with distractions and finally confront what’s real.

    Yes, it will hurt. But pain isn’t the enemy, lies are. And the moment you start embracing the truth, no matter how difficult, is the moment you open the door to real healing.

  • Winter’s revenge

    Listen, I’ve had my fair share of clumsy moments, tripping over air, knocking my own drink off the table, even managing to stub my toe on something soft. But nothing, I repeat nothing, could have prepared me for the icy betrayal that awaited me that fateful day.

    It all started innocently enough. The air was crisp, the world covered in a deceitfully beautiful blanket of ice. The kind of morning where you think, “Wow, winter is magical.” Spoiler alert: It’s not. Winter is out for blood. And on this day, it got mine.

    I approached the stairs with confidence, mistake #1. I even thought, “I’ll be fine, I’ve got good balance.” Mistake #2. The moment my foot touched that first step, physics decided to stop working in my favor and instead turned my existence into an Olympic-level slapstick routine.

    One second, I was upright. The next? I was airborne. Not in a graceful, slow-motion movie kind of way, but in a cartoon character slipping on a banana peel kind of way. My feet went sky-high, my dignity plummeted, and my spine? Well, it experienced things.

    The landing was… catastrophic. We’re talking one fractured disc, three herniated ones, and two that decided to take an unscheduled field trip to places they do not belong. My back sounded like a glowstick at a rave. If there had been a live audience, they would have gasped first and then immediately burst into laughter.

    I just lay there for a second, contemplating my life choices. Do I move? Do I call for help? I managed to make noises that I’ve never made before as I tried to get the air back into my lungs. Do I just accept that this is my life now, living on this cursed patch of ice? Eventually, I managed to peel myself off the ground with the grace of a newborn deer, my spine now resembling a stack of Jenga blocks mid-collapse.

    Of course, in true human fashion, the first thing I did was look around to see if anyone saw. Because let’s be honest, pride is more fragile than a spine. Fortunately, my neighbors did not see.

    So now, here I am. Walking (sort of). Sitting (painfully). And forever haunted by the sheer audacity of those icy steps. If you ever see me in winter, moving like a suspiciously cautious penguin, just know, I’ve learned my lesson. Ice wins. Always.

    P.S. If you were wondering, yes, I did go back and glare at the steps. No, they did not apologize.