Oh Father, let us be a people who catch the tears of the hurting. Teach us to hold sacred the tears of the aching. Move us to draw near, to draw in. Pull our hearts towards the mess of grief and ache in others. Forgive us when we long for sterilized settings and tidy stories. Help us reflect you better in the realm of weeping…

Having a God who looks on us doesn’t make us more special; it makes him more worthy of worship! He is the one who should be exalted, not me. 

Seen, not invisible.
Known, not looked over.
Loved and brought near.

From the beginning of time, we have a God who is active in the face of loneliness. As we look back across the meta-narrative of Scripture, from creation, the tabernacle and temple, the incarnation of Jesus, and the indwelling of his Spirit at salvation, we have a God who is determined to draw near, pursue, and care for the lonely. 

And now, his Church is a forever family for the lonely and cast out.

My unwanted divorce ushered in deep loneliness. It leaves me feeling unwanted, bitter, unmotivated and hopeless. Dark thoughts threaten to take over my heart when I lean into isolation.

I don’t always get it right, but here are three places I’ve learned to turn when loneliness hovers…

It hurts to love with all your might and then be tossed aside. Loneliness is fierce. It is a pain that takes over the heart, like ivy in an unkempt garden. We begin to see the world through its lens. Every interaction is tainted by it. Will they leave me too? Will they deem me not enough? 

I was flipping through my Bible one day and stumbled upon these words. I’m sure I’d read them a thousand times before, but this time was different…

Every December, I feel my heart and body brace themselves for another blow. As twinkly lights sparkle in windows and the collective mood gets merrier, a sense of dread typically settles over my heart. I struggle to pull the Christmas decorations out of storage with my girls, and tears often fall. 

You see, the Christmas season dredges up a lot of grief in my heart. 

You could choose to start from scratch, but that doesn’t seem to be the way you work. My brokenness is the fertile ground in which you set to work. These ashes are the substance that you use to create beauty. You bring forth life where the world tosses aside, tosses out. Your vision extends into eternity. You hold the bigger picture. You hold my story. 

The Church is the very body of Christ–His hands, feet, arms, ears, eyes. And as that Body comes together under the Head, Jesus, the battle against despair and hopelessness is waged. What a high and sacred calling the Church has!

“The God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, establish, strengthen, and support you after you have suffered a little while” (1 Peter 5:10).

There are so many rich truths in that one tiny verse. God is the God of all grace! He has called me to his eternal glory in Christ! My suffering is temporary! But here’s what literally knocked the wind from me—the promise that God HIMSELF will set to work to restore, establish, strengthen and support me after my season of suffering.

For someone as desperate as me, these words feel like life and water for my weary soul. He is the God who restores. He looks with comfort and compassion on the destitute. He sets to work as only he can. He doesn’t toss out the ashes and start over…they are the very material, the fertile ground in which seeds of redemption sprout. He restores the broken. He mends the pieces long cast out. 

Forgiving my husband after the confession of his unfaithfulness was the hardest faith step I ever had to take. 

Continuing to forgive my ex-husband over and over, and over again (what feels like 70 x 7 x a billion times) has felt like waging a faith war. 

“But what if he doesn’t deserve forgiveness?”

“How on earth do I forgive someone who has done horrific things to me?”

“Where do I start when there is nothing within me that feels able to (or let’s be honest, really wants to…) forgive?”

I hear these questions all the time. And I get it. I really, really get it. Forgiveness feels like the most unfair, unnatural, and impossible step after marital betrayal and abandonment. Why do you think forgiveness lands so painfully on broken hearts? 

God is merciful. To the uttermost. He is “a compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger and abounding in faithful love and truth, maintaining faithful love to a thousand generations, forgiving iniquity, rebellion, and sin” (Ex 34:6-7).

He extends mercy to sinful people. This is incredibly good news for me. 

But if I’m being completely honest, I don’t want this quality of God to be applied to my ex-husband. I want him to be held to account for the sin done against me. What ugliness still simmers under the surface in my heart. 

So how do we hold this truth for ourselves and those who have hurt us?

If Christ alone can satisfy a longing heart, we need your help to believe this. 

Sometimes it feels like marriage is the better answer. Or children. Or a higher paycheck. Or job security. Those things are often set out as the ultimate reward for those who follow Christ. But my marriage crashed and burned, and I don’t always know where I fit when we begin talking about God’s blessings.

We are a community of treasure seekers.

We have sifted through the ashes of shattered marriages and broken dreams to find beauty. 

And oh, how we’ve found it, haven’t we?

When I was a 22-year-old blushing bride, I was full of so much hope—bursting with it, really. I had such grand ideas about marriage and life. I, of course, imagined only good things for us. I envisioned days in the sun, love overflowing, raising a family together, planting a church, growing old with him. 

My imagined life turned out to be a puff of smoke. And so often this chasm between how I thought it would be and how it actually is leaves me feeling dissatisfied. 

When I survey the horizon, I so often come up empty. And if I’m being honest, it all starts to eat away at my contentment with my life. It seems like everyone else has everything good, and I have a burden of loss strapped to my back. 

I feel dissatisfied with my life often. It’s hard to say that out loud, but maybe it’s time to expose what’s often under the surface? Maybe you feel that way, too?

The gospel can feel like a pipe dream for those who are walking the lonely road of abandonment by their fathers.

Share the Gospel with tenderness. Remind betrayed wives and their kids that there is a Father in heaven who loves them perfectly.

I can’t do it all. How will my daughters learn all the things? Who is going to guide and shepherd them while I wash dishes at 11pm? I can’t be BOTH Mom and Dad. It’s more than one person can bear.

I went to bed angry and plain over it all. It was too much pressure. TOO MUCH.