Healed and a Little Broken
Every time my knee hurts, I think the same thing: You should’ve kept up with physical therapy. Healing doesn’t always end when the surgery is over. Maybe that’s true for our hearts too.
Every time my knee hurts, I think the same thing: You should’ve kept up with physical therapy. Healing doesn’t always end when the surgery is over. Maybe that’s true for our hearts too.
Transformation rarely happens all at once. It happens quietly—in ordinary days, difficult conversations, unexpected losses, and countless small choices to keep becoming the person we were always meant to be.
What happens when faith doesn’t disappear—but certainty does? This is an honest reflection on loving God while wrestling with unanswered questions, silence, and the tension of staying in the conversation anyway.
I am not responsible for forcing someone else’s transformation. I am responsible for mine. Maybe my job isn’t to make someone else change. Maybe my job is to keep letting God change me. And then live like it.
Following a heartbreaking murder trial forced me to wrestle with two things that don’t always fit neatly together: empathy and justice. What do we do when both seem equally important?
We tend to think every ending has a winner and a loser. But what if that’s not how God works? Maybe every closed door is making room for more than one new beginning.
Sometimes I wonder if the hardest season of my life wasn’t an interruption to my prayers—but an answer to them. I just didn’t recognize it at the time.