By: Wendy Morris
There are seasons when I don’t understand people. I don’t understand the circumstances, the timing, or why something has to hurt as much as it does.
This is one of those seasons.
I thought I knew heartbreak. And while I don’t believe we can fairly compare one kind of pain to another, this season has challenged me in ways I wasn’t prepared for. Some things are too personal to share publicly. I’m learning that I can tell the truth about my heart without telling every detail of my life.
And the truth is, it hurts.
I love the Lord. I trust Him. I believe He has a purpose for my life. But that doesn’t mean I don’t cry, get weary, or wish things were different. Faith doesn’t make me immune to heartbreak. It gives me somewhere to take it.
“I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the LORD, which made heaven and earth.” —Psalm 121:1–2, KJV
That is the difference between the hurt I’ve known before and the hurt I’m walking through now: I know where my help comes from.
Years ago, I might have tried to take control, chase an explanation, or stay busy enough to avoid what I was feeling. I still have moments when I want answers right now. But I’m learning to bring those questions to God, even when the only prayer I can manage is, “Lord, this hurts. Please help me.”
Just three days after publishing my first book, I entered a painful season I hadn’t expected. Something I had dreamed about since childhood had finally become real. There was gratitude and excitement—and then there was hurt alongside it.
Both were true. I was thankful, and I was struggling.
Have I felt like giving up on the things I had finally found the courage to pursue? Yes. Have I wondered whether I had the strength to keep writing, keep sharing, and keep moving forward? Absolutely.
But the Holy Spirit continues to remind me of the truth when my emotions become loud. Sometimes that comes through Scripture. Sometimes through a quiet conviction to pause before I react. Sometimes through someone who reaches out when I need encouragement.
I often feel alone, and that loneliness can make everything else feel heavier. I’m learning to acknowledge it without letting it decide what my future will look like. I can take it to God and also let someone know I need prayer, company, or a listening ear.
I don’t have to carry every hard moment in silence.
There are days when the discouragement feels relentless. In those moments, I return to what I know: God has brought me through painful places before. He has changed my heart in ways I once couldn’t imagine. My feelings matter, but they don’t have to lead every decision.
I’m asking Him to show me what I need to learn in this season. Is there something I need to surrender? A boundary I need to keep? A response I need to change? Or do I simply need to rest and let Him care for me before I try to make sense of it all?
I don’t have every answer yet. I don’t have to force a lesson out of every tear.
For now, I’m still praying. Still writing. Still making room for the dreams I carried for years. Some days that happens with confidence. Other days it happens through tears.
“The LORD is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart.” —Psalm 34:18, KJV
That promise comforts me. God doesn’t ask me to become less heartbroken before I come close to Him.
So today, I’m coming as I am.
A moment to reflect
What hurt have you felt you needed to hide in order to appear strong? What would it look like to bring it honestly to God—and let someone trustworthy support you, too?
Prayer
Lord, You know the details I cannot share and the feelings I struggle to explain. Help me bring my hurt to You without pretending I’m okay. Give me discernment, guard my heart against bitterness, and show me the next faithful step. Help me receive the care and encouragement You provide through others. Thank You for being near while I’m still healing. In Jesus’ name, amen.
—Wendy
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