You’d think I found God in a church pew, hands lifted, surrounded by worship music and warm smiles. But no. I didn’t find Him there, not at first.
I found God on a cold floor, curled up in a puddle of my own tears after another night of feeling like I wasn’t enough. I found Him when I was angry, angry at the world, angry at myself, and if I’m being honest, angry at Him. I didn’t show up with praise. I showed up with pain.
And somehow, He still met me there.
It wasn’t in the perfection that I found Him. It was in the real, raw, unfiltered mess when I stopped pretending. When I stopped trying to “fake” my way through things, I needed to feel. I found him in loneliness, a dark room full of myself and my suffering. That’s when I heard Him whisper, “I’m still here.”
One thing I learned is when you find his voice, his support, you realize that God has always been there, always been listening and waiting for us to come closer enough to listen to him. But all our lives, we expected him to come to us.
Nobody tells you that healing doesn’t start with a sermon; it starts with surrender. Not the pretty kind. The trembling, tired, worn-down kind. Healing begins when you get honest. Honest with yourself. Honest with God. Honest about what hurt, who left, what broke.
I didn’t heal overnight. This isn’t a fairytale. Some days, I still limp from wounds I once hid. But every time I brought my broken pieces to Him, He never turned away. He didn’t flinch at my doubts or shame me for questioning. He simply gave me grace repeatedly. You don’t need to be perfect, the right words, a polished past, or a clear path to come to God. Just come. If your life is shattered, don’t hide it. Present it to Him, trembling, and see what He does. God doesn’t just fix broken things; He builds with them.
He transforms shattered stories into sacred testimonies, including mine, and can do the same for yours. too.
