How Can God Be Good If I Feel This Broken?

I know you’re in pain. I know it feels impossible to lift your eyes when your body aches, when your heart feels raw, when your soul feels like it’s on fire. I know what it is to beg God for healing and to wake up still hurting. I know what it is to wonder, “How can God be good if I feel this broken?”

The truth is, you don’t have to have all the answers. You don’t have to be strong all the time. Loving Jesus in the middle of suffering doesn’t always look like joy or bold faith. Sometimes it looks like tears streaming down your face as you whisper, “I still need You.” Sometimes it’s just holding on by the edge of your fingernails. That, too, is love.

Jesus isn’t asking you to fake it. He isn’t asking you to put on a mask. He isn’t disappointed in your weakness. He knows. He felt the weight of agony, the sting of unanswered cries. On the cross, He Himself cried out, “My God, my God, why have You forsaken Me?” He knows what it’s like to feel abandoned in the pain.

And yet, He stayed. He endured. Because His love for you was greater than His suffering.

So even now, when your body is tired and your soul feels scorched, His love holds you. His goodness isn’t proven by the absence of pain but by His refusal to leave you in it. He is closer than your own breath, even when you can’t sense Him.

If all you can do is breathe His name, that is enough. If all you can do is let your tears fall in His presence, that is worship. You don’t have to fix yourself to be loved by Him.

You are safe to fall apart in the arms of Jesus. And when you can’t take another step, He will carry you.

Because His goodness doesn’t change with your circumstances. His goodness is nailed into history by a cross and sealed forever by an empty tomb.

Even here, even now, you are not alone. 

- Ellie Mont

You Are Not Alone...

Maybe what you need right now isn’t to have all the answers or to force yourself to be okay. Maybe what you need is just to survive this moment. To take one breath at a time. To be honest about the pain instead of pretending it’s not there.

It’s okay if all you can do is admit, “This hurts more than I can carry.” That honesty is not weakness, it’s courage. You don’t have to fix everything today. You don’t have to see the whole path forward. You just have to make it through this breath, this heartbeat, this small piece of time.

And in that space, know this: you are not alone. Even if you can’t feel God right now, He’s closer than you think. And being real about your pain doesn’t push Him away, it draws Him near.

So let yourself be here, as you are. Not okay, but still breathing. Still here. And that is enough.

- Ellie Mont

God Is With You Always - Even In Your Mess

Next time doubt weighs heavy on your heart, when you feel like you don’t belong, when you feel like you’re drowning in your own skin, ask yourself, Is this from God? Because if it’s making you question your worth, if it’s feeding your fear, it’s not His voice.

God doesn’t whisper insecurity. He doesn’t drown you in the lies of “not enough.” That voice telling you you’re too weak, too broken, too flawed, that’s the enemy trying to keep you small. He wants to keep you questioning, keep you stuck in the endless loop of doubt. If he can make you question your worth, he can keep you from stepping into what God has for you.

But listen. God called you. Not because you’ve got it all together. Not because you have it all figured out. But because He’s been with you in your mess, and He knows you can handle what’s coming next. He sees it all. Even when you can’t see past your own fear, He sees you. He chose you, with all your brokenness, for something far bigger than your anxiety or your shame.

So when doubt tries to bury you, don’t sit with it. Fight back. Tell it, You don’t own me anymore. Stand in the truth: You are chosen. You are loved. You are equipped. You are enough. Not because you’ve earned it. Not because you can do it on your own. But because He called you. And when He calls, He equips.

You weren’t made to live in the shadows of fear. You were made to walk in the light, boldly, even when your knees are shaking, even when the weight of the world is crushing you. There comes a point where the life you’ve built suffocates you. You can feel it in the ache in your chest, in the late nights where silence screams. You know this isn’t it, but the fear of letting go feels suffocating too.

Sometimes you have to let go to finally breathe. You’re not meant to stay stuck in that small, safe place you’ve built out of fear. God’s calling you to step outside, into the unknown, into the wild life He has for you. It won’t be easy. It won’t be neat. But it will be real. It will be everything you were meant for. - Ellie Mont

Choose Not To Lose

You need to choose not to lose.

Life will try to break you. People will fail you. Plans will fall apart. But you still have a choice. You can choose not to let the pain define you. You can choose not to let the past control you. You can choose to stand even when everything in you wants to collapse.

You need to choose not to lose. Because with God, you can’t.

You were never meant to fight this battle alone. He is with you in the silence. He is near in the heartbreak. He is working even when you cannot see it. Victory does not always look like winning in the eyes of the world. Sometimes victory is getting up again. Sometimes victory is praising through tears. Sometimes victory is simply not giving up.

Do not let the enemy tell you this is the end. It is not. This is a chapter. This is part of the refining. This is part of the testimony.

God is not finished. He is still writing. He is still building. He is still healing.

So breathe. Stand. Pray. Choose to believe that the pain has a purpose. Choose to trust that God’s promises are still true. Choose to remember who you are and who walks with you.

You need to choose not to lose. Because no matter what it looks like right now, the victory has already been won.

And it belongs to you. - Ellie Mont

God Is Not Finished Writing

God rewrites our broken chapters with hands that know how to mend hearts. The parts of our stories that feel too heavy to revisit. The moments we thought would be our undoing. He enters into those places not with judgment, but with mercy. Not with condemnation, but with comfort. God does not shy away from our mess. He steps into it with love and begins the work of making all things new.

Psalm 147:3 says, “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” He does not simply patch us up. He binds us. He sits with us in the pain. He doesn’t ignore the sorrow or rush us past the ache. He honors it. He acknowledges it. And then He begins to gently restore what was lost.

Some chapters are too painful for us to even speak of. The betrayal. The silence. The prayers that felt unanswered. The hope that slowly faded. But even in that silence, God was writing. Even when you could not see it, His pen never stopped moving. Isaiah 43:19 says, “See, I am doing a new thing. Now it springs up. Do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.” The wilderness is not the end. The wasteland is not the last word. God makes a way even there.

When we look back at what we have walked through, it can feel like a different life. A version of ourselves we no longer recognize. But that version of us matters deeply to God. He remembers every cry. Every unanswered text. Every night we laid awake wondering if we were alone. Psalm 56:8 tells us, “You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.” None of it is forgotten.

We serve a God who does not discard our pain. He redeems it. The very places where we feel the most fragile are often the places He chooses to reveal His strength. Second Corinthians 12:9 says, “My grace is sufficient for you. For my power is made perfect in weakness.” Your weakness is not a disqualification. It is an invitation for His power to be made visible.

There are moments when we feel like the story is over. When doors close. When people leave. When dreams die. But endings in God’s hands are often just disguised beginnings. He has a way of turning graves into gardens. John 11 shows us this when Jesus raises Lazarus. What looked like the end was only the setup for resurrection. What looks final to us is never final to Him.

You may not see the full picture yet. You may still be in the middle of the sentence. But God is not finished writing. He is not just the God of beginnings. He is the God of redemption. He takes what we thought was beyond repair and brings new life. He takes the chapters we tried to skip and uses them to minister to others.

Romans 8:28 promises us this: “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.” All things. Not just the pretty parts. Not just the victories. But the losses. The confusion. The heartbreak. All of it can be worked into something good.

This does not mean everything will feel good. It does not mean we will always understand. But it does mean we are never abandoned. God is not afraid of our brokenness. He came for it. Jesus came for the sick. For the sinners. For the ones who knew they could not fix themselves. That is the beauty of grace. It meets us where we are, but it never leaves us there.

When we surrender our stories to God, He begins to do what only He can. He rewrites not by ignoring the pain, but by healing it. He doesn’t erase the past. He transforms it. He turns scars into signs of survival. Wounds into places where His love shines through. What the enemy meant for harm, God uses for good.

Genesis 50:20 says, “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.” Your story is not just about you. It is a vessel for others to see the power of God at work. There is purpose in your pain. There is hope rising from your hurt.

Let Him have the pen. Let Him write the next chapter. Even if you do not know how the story will unfold. Even if all you have right now is the next small step. Trust the Author. Trust the One who knows the end from the beginning. Isaiah 46:10 says, “I make known the end from the beginning. From ancient times, what is still to come. I say, ‘My purpose will stand, and I will do all that I please.’”

You are not too far gone. Your story is not too messy. Your heart is not too shattered. He is not overwhelmed by what you carry. He is not disappointed by your doubts. He is not distant from your grief. He is Emmanuel. God with us. Right here. Right now.

So breathe. Let go of the lie that says it is too late. Let go of the shame that says you should be further along by now. Rest in the truth that God is patient. He is not rushing your healing. He is walking with you in it. Every tear. Every prayer. Every step.

Your story may look different than you imagined. The road may be harder. But the beauty that comes from surrender is unmatched. When He rewrites, He restores. When He restores, He renews. And when He renews, you will stand not just as someone who survived, but as someone who reflects His glory.

Let Him finish what He started. Philippians 1:6 says, “Being confident of this, that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” He is not done. The pen is still moving. - Ellie Mont

Catch Your Breath

“If your law had not been my delight, I would have perished in my affliction.

I will never forget your precepts, for by them you have preserved my life.”

Psalm 119:92-93

Standing on the edge of the pool, I looked over at my sister, who was maybe 4 or 5 years old at the time. She was splashing on the steps of the shallow end.

I’m done with the shallow end, I thought. I’m 9 years old - old enough to jump into the deep end.

So I jumped. The cold water enveloped me. My body fell until my toes touched the bottom, and I pushed myself back above water. It was exhilarating.

One day, it occurred to me I could take my sister with me. I could let her get on my back and half-walk, half-bounce down that slope between the shallow and the deep.

Surprisingly, she was hesitant when I unveiled my plan to her. It took great convincing on my part and lots of promises not to go any farther than where she felt safe.

Finally, she got on my back and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. I walked slowly to the slope. One baby step down. Two steps. Three.

At the third step, I slipped.

We both went under. My sister’s hands slipped from my shoulders to my throat. It felt as if she believed the only way she could be saved was to hold my throat with increasingly intense strength. My mind got foggy. And I couldn’t figure out which way to go to find safety. The only thing I felt sure of was that I was drowning.

As crazy as it may sound, I can’t remember how we were saved. Maybe it’s because we made it to the shallows, and it wasn’t as dramatic to everyone else as I remember it. But that moment is one I think about often. And every time I think about that panic or feel it rising up in me over something I’m facing, I try to remember panic usually doesn’t save anyone. Signaling we need help can be lifesaving. But most of the time, panic hinders rather than helps.

Even Jesus Pushed the Pause Button

"...and behold, angels came and ministered to Him."

Matthew 4:11

I shuffle into the kitchen, every movement weighted by a slurry of invisible cement. Leaning against the wall to prop myself up, my heart pounds, and a heavy fog muddles my thoughts. I’ve become a snail, barely able to move while life races around me. I try to harness the motivation that once empowered my actions, but I can’t. My energy tank is depleted. I need help; I can’t keep pretending I’m OK.

My diagnosis is double edged. The good news is I’ll get better with time. The difficulty is I must take a break and rest to heal. Not a three-week sojourn but a complete stoppage of activity for an extended period.

I groan and struggle - this is not easy, nor am I very willing. It feels wrong. An inferno of questions swirls in my mind. What about my family, work and ministries?

But then it's like Jesus asks me, What about you? You matter too.

Pausing my tirade as the churning within me calms, I sense the heart of Jesus. Each of us matters to Him. However, it seems impossible to prioritize rest. Our hectic lives are demanding, and in many ways, productivity is glorified while slowing down is shunned. Is it possible that it’s different with Jesus? Is it safe to push the pause button? To help me understand the value God puts on rest for His children, Jesus draws my attention to His personal story.

After Jesus’ 40 days of testing in the desert, the Gospel of Matthew documents a divine intermission: “angels came and ministered to Him.” (Matthew 4:11). Intriguingly, in the space of these words, there is no recorded movement on Jesus’ part.

Instead, Jesus seems to have pushed the pause button on His activity, not rushing through this holy interruption. Jesus prioritized rest so He would be refreshed. He purposefully stopped to accept the divine nourishment sent from heaven rather than receiving His sustenance on the run as He raced to the next thing. In this sweet interlude, Jesus experienced the tender care of God the Father for the Son He loves.

God's Word assures us that we can do all things with the strength He gives us (Philippians 4:13). This “all” can include rest. In our active lives, there are moments when we need unhurried pauses to breathe. In some seasons, we need interludes of unrushed days or weeks to be refreshed. Other times, we require an extended hiatus to heal.

As God’s beloved children, we matter to Him. Through holy interruptions, God expresses His love and care for us. Indeed, we can follow Jesus’ example. If He pushed the pause button, it is OK for us to do the same.

Dear God, thank You for loving me and creating spaces for me to be refreshed. Help me see and understand when You position these spaces before me so I may enter them without worry and find rest as I receive Your tender care. Help me believe that I can safely push the pause button with You. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

- Leanne Esau
Provided by "Proverbs 31 Ministries"