Monday mornings were made for this… coffee in hand, grace on the table, and a little honest talk between women who are done pretending they’ve got it all together. I’m so glad you’re here, sister.
I don’t know about you ladies, but I have lived through seasons that made absolutely no sense to me at the time. Seasons so dark and so brutal that the idea of purpose felt almost offensive. Seasons where the question wasn’t “what is God teaching me through this”… it was simply “how do I survive today.”
I want to talk about those seasons this morning. The real ones. The ones nobody puts on their highlight reel. The ones that leave marks.
Thirty years ago, I walked through something that shook me to my absolute foundation. I was six and a half months pregnant, I had a two-year-old daughter, and the cruelty of this world landed on my doorstep in the most violent and devastating way imaginable. I won’t dwell on the details… but I will tell you this. That season nearly broke me. Body, soul, and spirit.
And in the middle of it… I couldn’t find God.
Not because He wasn’t there. He was. He was in that room, in that darkness, in that devastation. He was in the building from the very start. But pain has a way of turning us around, doesn’t it? It spins us so violently that suddenly our back is to the light and all we can see is the dark. And the dark… it is so convincing when you’re standing in it.
Here’s what I’ve learned, thirty years down the road from that broken place…
The light never moved. Not once.
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” Psalm 34:18 NIV
He was close. He was always close. But I had to find the strength – and girlfriend, it took everything I had – to turn back around and let Him into the hurt. Not just into the edges of it. Not just into the parts I was ready to show Him. Into the actual wound. The deep, ugly, unspeakable wound.
And that is the hardest thing I have ever done.
Because letting God into the real hurt means admitting it’s there. It means stopping the performance of “I’m fine, I’m strong, I’m coping” and saying “Abba Father… I am not okay. I am not okay at all and I need You in here with me.”
When we turn our backs to the light, it still stays dark. The light doesn’t chase us down and force itself on us. God is a gentleman. He stands at the door of our hurt and He knocks… and He waits. He waits for us to find the strength to open it. And when we do… when we finally crack that door open even just a sliver… He floods in. Because that’s who He is. That’s what light does.
I want to speak to someone this morning who is in a season that makes no sense. Maybe it’s a season of loss… a marriage that crumbled, a diagnosis that landed like a bomb, a betrayal that came from someone you trusted completely, a grief so heavy you can barely lift your head. Maybe your season, like mine, was the result of someone else’s cruelty. Something done TO you that you never deserved and never asked for.
Can I tell you something that took me years to understand?
God is a God of the details. He sees you in your need and He finds you right there, in the exact place where you need Him most. Not when you’ve cleaned yourself up. Not when you’ve processed it all and come out the other side. Right there. In the middle of it. In the ugly, unresolved, still-bleeding middle of it.
This world is cruel, ladies. I will never pretend otherwise. Being anchored in God does not mean we float above the storms. It means we have something holding us when the storm hits. An anchor doesn’t stop the waves… it stops the drifting. It keeps you from being swept so far out that you can’t find your way back.
And here is what I know to be true, from thirty years of looking back at the path that led me to the lover of my soul…
That season passed.
Not quickly. Not without scars. Not without cost. But it passed. And in the passing of it, God did something only He can do… He took the darkest chapter of my story and wove it into the foundation of everything He built in me afterwards. He didn’t waste a single broken piece.
“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” Romans 8:28 NIV
All things, sister. Even that thing you’re carrying right now that feels too heavy and too dark and too much. Even that season that makes you want to let go.
Don’t let go of God in it. Let go of the pretending. Let go of carrying it alone. Let go of the idea that you have to have it figured out before He can help you. But don’t let go of Him.
Turn back toward the light, even if it’s just a fraction. Even if all you can manage is cracking the door open an inch and whispering, “I need You in here Jesus.”
He’ll come in. He always does.
And this season… as impossible as it feels right now… this season too shall pass.
Abba Father, there are women reading this today who are in seasons they cannot make sense of. Seasons that are dark and heavy and cruel. Lord, be close to them the way only You can be close. Find them in the exact place they need You most. Give them the strength to turn back toward the light… to crack open the door of their hurt and let You in. And Father, remind them that You are a God of the details, that nothing is wasted in Your hands, and that this season too shall pass. Hold them, Lord. Hold them close. Amen.
Coffee, Grace and Honest Talk with
