God Isn’t Afraid of Your Honesty
Photo by Riley Morgan Young Photography
Last week, I was asked to write a little something for my church’s worship night, which just happened to take place on my 36th birthday. Our worship pastor and friend, Jonny, asked me to talk about trusting Jesus when life is hard, and I thought to myself, “What better way to mark a new year of life than to remember my faithful Savior in this way?” I am so grateful to learn what it means to trust Jesus over and over, in deeper, more nuanced ways, until He takes me home. I hope you relate to these words, and sense your Shepherd sitting with you in the dirt today.
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So, Jonny asked me to speak about trusting Jesus when it’s really, really hard. I told him he came to the right girl, not because I’m good at trusting Jesus—LOL. Nope, not at all. I say it because I’m pretty regularly asking Jesus how to do that. How to trust Him when all signs point to “Don’t do that, girl! Trusting Jesus is foolish in this situation.”
For those who don’t know my story, I’m a gal who lives with depression. I’ve had seasons of battling really dark thoughts about myself and God and everything in between. So my faith journey, especially in the last five years, has been a true wrestling. I was pretty disillusioned with faith, God, and Church back in the Covid days. And maybe for the first time, I asked the question, “Is there a way to believe that God is who He says He is while also… being kinda mad at Him? While being confused at what He’s doing…or not doing? How do I rejoice in the Lord always, like Philippians says, but also be honest about the very real pain I feel? Is it even possible to do both at once?”
Do you relate to these questions?
Are you ever tempted either to numb your heart or bypass your hurt with Christian platitudes because you don’t know how to reconcile trusting God with feeling your feelings? Maybe you say, “Well, I’m more blessed than I deserve,” or “I really can’t complain; a lot of people have it so much worse than I do.” These are very normal, human responses to difficulty, and I think they come from a good place.
But what if…
What if God isn’t scared of our honesty? What if being real about our hurt, fear, or anger actually invites His presence in more deeply? Because that’s intimacy, isn’t it? In marriage, I feel closest to Jasper when I cry to him about the messy stuff in my heart, and he just sees me, holds me, and says, “I get it. That sounds really hard.” That’s what our Savior loves to do for us! And because He is not limited like us humans—because He knows all and reigns above it all—He actually has the ability to shift our hearts gently towards hope, healing, and deeper dependence on Him. Not in an instant, magic wand kind of way. But in an Immanuel, God With Us, kind of way.
A gal I follow online, Jess Connolly, shared the story this week of Mary Magdalene grieving Jesus’ death in John 20. Mary sees the empty tomb, and she’s shaken, thinking someone stole Jesus’ body. She’s weeping. She’s confused. And our Risen Christ walks up to her and says, “Woman, why are you crying?” That question has always seemed like a rebuke—like, “Mary, what are you doing? You shouldn’t be crying—you should be having faith that I rose from the dead, like I said I would. Remember, sis?”
But what if Jesus isn’t rebuking her—what if He’s meeting her in her grief? What if He’s saying, “Hey, I’m here. Tell me what’s hurting your heart.” Jess says, “That’s the kind of Savior we have. One who heals but doesn’t rush. One who resurrects but still honors the ache. One who knows the ending but welcomes the middle. We’ve been told (sometimes outrightly, sometimes subtly) that strength equals stoicism. That if we can get through a heartbreak or holy moment without crying, we’ve somehow won. But [God] doesn’t ask us to numb our feelings. He asks us to bring them. He doesn’t say, “Pull it together.” He says, “Come to me, all who are weary.” He sits in the dirt with us. He lets the tears fall. He calls us by name.”
This is why I’m so grateful the Bible is rich with lament. It is such a powerful way to be honest with ourselves while also trusting in God’s character. It doesn’t have to be an either/or! Lament says, “Lord, everything feels hard and I don’t know what You’re doing! AND—at the same time, in the same breath—I believe You‘re here with me, and You will not leave me to figure it out on my own.”
So I invite you, in this next song, to get real with God. Lament the hurt you don’t have the power to change. Grieve all the ways your life didn’t turn out the way you thought it would. It’s okay to do that—in fact, it’s worshipful to do that.
Even if it’s messy…
Even if your feelings seem childish to you…
Even if you “know better”...
our King is not condemning you.
Here’s the thing: He already knows what’s in your heart. So He’s just glad you’re bringing it to Him—holding your hurt up to the Light—instead of ignoring it or pushing it down. He wants more for you than a compartmentalized faith. And He’s eager to sit in the tension with you and move you towards healing one small step at a time.
And if you’re out of practice and don’t know where to start, do what the song says: speak His name. Let “Jesus” be your prayer.
