Bringing light to the wounds we’ve learned to cover
Why Healing Begins with Surrender
It took me more than a moment to process what he was saying. “I wanted to be sure, so we sent you for a second round of bloodwork. It’s confirmed that you’re in early menopause.”
My brain heard the words but I’m sure I stared a little too long, directly over his head and at the wall, trying to make sense. “Okay,” I replied, still stunned. “What does this mean for me?”
“It means you won’t have a cycle anymore. You’ll need hormone replacement therapy, bone density scans, you won’t be able to conceive. Your follicle stimulation hormone…” His words trailed off into medical terms and future treatment plans.
I had my heart set on becoming a mother someday. I wasn't even 30 years old yet. Five minutes ago, I was young with an entire future ahead of me. Suddenly it was taken from me - as if someone had bumped me off the edge of a cliff I did not know I was standing next to. My body was flying through time and space, but there was nothing to catch me. There was no hope that I wouldn’t be shattered in a matter of seconds.
I thanked the doctor for the information and quickly left the office. I slid into the driver’s seat and gripped the steering wheel. I don’t know what this means for me, God. But I know you’re in control. You are still my creator. This body you fashioned is yours, and you hold the ability to make it function however you see fit.
When we are adrift, God is still with us
Without reaching out to anyone else, I knew the first thing I needed to do was connect with God.
Right then. And deeply.
With the faith of a mustard seed, I drove to the store and bought a pair of baby socks. I turned my car towards the church and went inside alone. I spent time in prayer, doing my best to offer my future to the Lord with shaking hands and a quivering heart. I tucked one of the little socks inside my bible as a memorial, so it would be ever before Him. I left the book in the holder near where I sat each Sunday and then slipped back out of the door.
Having neatly packaged my fears into a prayer, I quietly pulled the shade down over my heart in hopes I would never have to face them fully. Surely, this diagnosis wasn’t as final as it sounded.
The news had splintered me, though. Although I couldn’t see it, the fault line was already starting to rupture.
It would be nearly two decades later before I asked Him to heal it.
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When Healing Feels Too Exposed
Scripture reminds us that God is patient with us—far more patient than we are with ourselves. In Galatians we learn the Holy Spirit produces love, joy and peace. It also mentions long-suffering, or as we understand it, patience. The book of Peter comes along and reaffirms this thought by declaring that God is not lazy or withdrawn on his promises to us. He is “long-suffering to us, not willing that any should perish (die without hope) but that all should come to repentance.” (II Peter 3:9).
God’s patience far outweighs the holdout we have in opening up and letting Him in.
Let’s face it – healing requires honesty, and that can feel vulnerable.
When we are hurt or scared, it is natural to hide those feelings deep inside. Sometimes we try to find ways to numb these feelings or attempt to ignore them. It can feel like too much to open old wounds. This means we would have to name what hurts and admit what’s still affecting us and weighing us down. We might have to admit our own faults, weaknesses and fragile hopes. We might even have to say the words out loud.
The fear is—if I open this, I might fall apart.
So, we carry it.
Silently.
Heavily.
And we struggle under the emotional weight.
We avoid healing not because we don’t want it—but because it requires us to feel the negative things we do not want to feel.
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God Is Gentle With What Hurts
We see this kind of emotional weight in Hannah in the book of first Samuel. Hannah was grieved because she desired to have a child. She was barren. Scripture describes her as “in bitterness of soul.” (I Samuel 1:10). She prayed unto the Lord and wept with profound sorrow and pain.
Her pain was so heavy that she didn’t even share her words out loud. She prayed in her heart. Her lips moved, but she made no sound. Only in the desperation of her tears did she allow her pain to flow.
God noticed this.
Eli (the prophet at the temple) noticed this.
"I am the woman who stood by you here, praying to the Lord," says HannahEli thought perhaps she had arrived intoxicated. She must have been quite a sight with red, swollen eyes bearing her frantic grief. Hannah then spoke up that she was only pouring out her soul before the Lord.
Eli understood this response and he answered for her to go in peace. He further spoke life into her brokenness by saying, “and the God of Israel grant you your petition you have asked of Him.” (I Samuel 1:17).
God met Hannah in her greatest pain with patience, compassion, and care. He placed someone in her path to offer comforting words. God considered Hannah and he allowed for Hannah to become a mother.
Although he was her greatest treasure and answered prayer, Hannah offered her young son, Samuel, back to the work of the Lord. Samuel grew up in the temple. Right next to God and under the careful prayers and watch of his mother.
Through His word and His spirit, God invites us into relationship with him over and over. He longs to bring healing into those broken places. He doesn’t shame us for still hurting. He isn’t harsh or rushed with our pain. He is patient and loving. Tender and enduring.
Our surrender doesn’t have to be perfect or dramatic.
It often looks like honest prayer, naming what hurts, admitting what we can’t fix. It’s setting aside our expectations and bringing him our anger, disappointment, and confusion.
You don’t have to explain it perfectly to Him—you just have to bring it honestly.
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What God Does With What We Release
I stood in a church service many years later after finding out my body would never afford me the opportunity to bear children. I had stuffed the pain in a corner of my heart that felt safe but locked away. I buried it under seasons of life that kept rolling forward, day after day and year after year. I focused on work, my career, my husband, and our home. I got the incredible joy of being a step-momma and cherished those years with two little bonus loves in my life.
As I lifted my arms in worship on this day though, things had grown incredibly heavy. The divorce had ripped away everything I cared about so deeply. It bruised, battered, and left tender the fragile pieces of my heart.
I was limping through this new season with unbearable grief. I carried pain I couldn’t put into words—and was struggling to hide.
The passage that was shared in the sermon was from the 77th chapter of Psalms.
“I cried unto God with my voice,
even unto God with my voice;
and he gave ear unto me.
In the day of my trouble,
I sought the Lord: even in the night,
and ceased not:
my soul refused to be comforted.
I remembered God, and was troubled:
I complained,
and my spirit was overwhelmed.
Selah (pause and reflect).”
My soul refused to be comforted.
These simple words stood out to me like a flashing, neon billboard. Refused to be comforted. Refused. Refused.
Had I been running from healing all along? Had I brought my broken pieces to God, only to keep trying to pick them back up and fit them together for myself? Had I lost the hope that he was still God, despite my circumstance? Had I been walking through all these seasons with the best of intentions, but allowing cobwebs to mount up around the bruises, suffocating my peace?
What we hold onto tightly often continues to hurt us quietly.
Had I lost so much that he could never restore it? Surely, not.
I dug down deep and allowed His presence and spirit to flow in and start brushing those thorns away. As I surrendered my hurting and broken heart before him, He flooded into those deep places, purging the pain and washing away the hurt.
I managed to put a shaky voice to my words and spoke to God in that moment, “I want to be comforted. Please comfort me, God.”
God didn’t run from my request or get overwhelmed at the amount of damage. He looked into the storm in my heart and held it for himself.
I didn’t need to have unshakeable courage or incredible bravery. I just had to ask Him to meet me there.
I didn’t have the answers. I couldn’t facilitate the next step in my journey. I just had to bring myself as a lump of clay, with all my broken pieces, and give them over to Him.
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Remember This
In our messy surrender, God begins to refine. He puts that lump of clay on His wheel and gets to work shaping and rebuilding. Isaiah 64:8 tells us, “O Lord, you are our father; we are the clay, and you our potter; and we all are the work of your hands.”
You don’t have to carry this by yourself anymore, friend.
God is not asking you to have it all figured out—He’s simply inviting you to come.
And when you’re ready…you can place it in His hands.
He is faithful—still.
Keep going, gently.
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For Reflection
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What part of my heart have I been keeping guarded or tucked away and what pain feels too vulnerable to fully acknowledge?
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What would it look like to trust God with this part of my story and where do I need His peace the most right now?
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What is one small piece I can place in God’s hands today and what would it look like to stop carrying this alone – even just for today?
A Prayer for Today
Lord, You are near to the brokenhearted and gentle with everything that hurts. You see what I have carried in silence, what I have buried deep, and what I have not yet had words for. You are not afraid of my story, and You are not overwhelmed by my pain.
There are places in me that have stayed guarded for a long time—parts I’ve learned to protect because it felt safer than opening them again. Yet, You continue to meet me with patience, not pressure. Thank You for not turning away from what is unfinished in me, and for Your mercy that has never run out on my healing.
I place what I have been holding into Your hands today. Teach me how to surrender without fear, how to trust You with what feels too heavy, and how to let healing begin where I’ve kept things hidden. Hold me gently as You restore all these broken pieces.
- Amen.
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Not sure where to begin?
If life has changed and you are still learning how to make sense of what you are feeling, Begin Again offers a gentle, faith-centered place to start. Through three self-paced modules, you’ll explore awareness, understanding, and surrender—without pressure to have everything figured out.
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