I lay on the bed, weeping and gasping for breath, feeling as though my entire world had fallen apart. The life I’d built no longer felt like mine. It had been broken before it began, and now it shattered all around me. Divorce was not on my Bingo card. But here I was — a single mom to a four-year-old, feeling like a failure.
I had been holding it all together on the outside, but inside, there had been a slow, painful unraveling. This was the moment of reckoning.
Scripture began to play on repeat in my mind.
“Be still and know,” I heard God whisper.
It was truly all I could do.
Be still.
Hope felt distant. Joy felt lost. Faith was lingering in the balance. And yet — it was right there, in that tender, unraveling stillness, that God met me most gently.
There is something sacred about pausing long enough to be honest — with ourselves and with God. Not the polished honesty. The real kind that admits, I’m not okay right now, but I still want to believe that hope is possible.
As I released my thoughts to God, as I cried out in anger and in fear, I gradually found the peace that only He could give. There was nothing I could do to change the past, but I could trust that God held the future.
Healing didn’t come in an instant, but over time. God planted reminders of His faithfulness all around me, teaching me to trust again. Teaching me that hope does not rush us past the hard parts — it sits with us in them. It listens. It breathes. It doesn’t shame our weakness — it meets us there.
For a long time, I thought healing meant becoming the version of myself I was before everything fell apart. But God has shown me something far more beautiful: He is not restoring who I was. He is shaping who I am becoming.
Scripture tells us that God gives beauty for ashes, and that “He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus” (Philippians 1:6, NIV). I love that promise because ashes don’t disappear. They become the soil for something new. What once felt like loss becomes the place where growth quietly begins.
It happens in the pauses. In the mornings when I choose presence over productivity.
In prayers that sound more like breathing than talking.
In the simple question I return to again and again: What is God inviting me to release today?
Some days, healing looks like courage.
Other days, it looks like rest.
If you’re walking through a hard season right now, here is what I want you to know: You are not broken. You are becoming. You are allowed to pause. To breathe. To sit in the gentle tension where honesty meets hope. And in that space, God is doing more than you can see. May you find courage in your honesty, peace in your pausing, and hope in the beautiful, unfolding work of who you are becoming.
About the Author
Sarah S. Brown is a Christian author and speaker who helps women anchor their identity in Christ and find renewed confidence through life’s hardest seasons. A former teacher, she contributed to Hope for the Holidays and A Year of Hope and was named a Woman of Influence by the Nashville Business Journal. Her book, Even the Ashes Bloom, invites readers on a faith-filled journey from brokenness to spiritual renewal. Sarah lives in Tennessee with her husband and two sons and believes strong coffee and shared stories can change the world.
You can find out more about Sarah at her website, or follow her on Facebook, Instagram, or Pinterest. You can also read more of her essays on Substack!
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