Sacred Struggles: The Beauty Behind the Burden
I didn’t realize how heavy the weight still was until the music started.
Our pastor’s wife, Lisa, started to sing one of my favorite songs—“Back to Life” by Bethel Music. I’ve heard it many, many times before. But that morning in church, something cracked. A deep place inside me, buried beneath layers of anxiety and performance and “just keep going," split open. And suddenly, big, ugly tears were pouring down my face. This wasn’t the controlled, misty-eyed cry I could quickly wipe away before anyone noticed. This was soul-deep breaking. And it didn’t end with the music. For the rest of service, I was choking on more tears, trying (and failing) desperately not to let the floodgates open again. It was like trying to dam Niagara Falls with a toothpick.
Afterwards, my pastor asked if I was alright. And that’s when it all poured out. Nearly 2 years of panic attacks, my fear of losing control, a constant sense of dread about the unknown, the moments of anxiety so debilitating I couldn’t leave my house. Pastor Bradley quietly listened, then looked at me and said, “I’ve heard you speak. I’ve seen your heart. I’ve read what you write in your blog. This is not the real you.”
I told my therapist later how I felt like I had almost mastered the art of functioning on the outside through it—leading my women’s group, encouraging others, quoting Scripture—but inside, I still felt like I was crumbling. I felt like a fraud. She said, “You are not the fraud. Your anxiety is a fraud.”
Sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe inside my own mind. But God didn’t abandon me there. Psalm 139 reminds me:
You have searched me Lord, and You know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; You perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; You are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my tongue You, Lord, know it completely. You hem me in behind and before, and You lay Your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain. (V.1-6)
He hasn’t just seen the outside. I’ve been fully known in the mess, and still fully loved.
That moment in church revealed to me that God wasn’t finished. In fact, He was just getting started. What felt like a breaking was actually a beginning. I’ve spoken about God’s promises with fire in my voice, boldly prayed over my friends and let them borrow my faith when their’s was running low, all while privately shaking with fear. But I’m learning that even trembling hands can still point to Jesus. Some of the most powerful stories in Scripture weren’t written in high palaces and serene gardens—they were forged in prisons, deserts, thorns, and blindness. So let me ask you: What if the pain you’re walking through isn’t punishment, but preparation?
In John 9, Jesus and His disciples encounter a man born blind.
His disciples asked Him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”
“Neither this man nor his parents sinned,” said Jesus, “but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him.”
After saying this, He spit on the ground, made some mud with the saliva, and put it on the man’s eyes. “Go,” He told him, “wash in the Pool of Siloam” (this word means “Sent”). So the man went and washed, and came home seeing.
John 9:2-3, 6-7
This wasn’t punishment. The man born blind wasn’t suffering because of sin, but as a setup for God’s glory.
“God will make obstacles serve His purpose.” —Lettie Cowman
Suffering isn’t always about sin or failure—sometimes it’s about revelation and testimony. James echoes this when he writes:
Consider it pure joy…whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.
James 1:2-4
Sometimes the very things we wish God would take away are the things He’s using to show the world who He is. I wonder how many of us are carrying afflictions that aren’t because we did something wrong, but because God is planning to do something glorious.
Don’t get it twisted—it’s not that God causes pain, but He often allows it. It’s not meant to break us, but to build us. God isn’t picking on you. He handpicked you.
I used to pray for God to change my situation. Every night my husband and I would lie in bed asking God to take away my anxiety and heal my mind. But now, I realize that He is much more interested in transforming me. It reminds me of Romans 12:2, “Be transformed by the renewing of your mind.”
My breakthrough didn’t come in one instant, miraculous healing. It didn’t happen when God suddenly changed by circumstances and zapped every anxious thought from my mind (honestly, that may never be the case). It happens in daily dependence. It comes in whispering God’s promises back to myself when my feelings scream otherwise. Sometimes it sounds like me saying, “Satan ain’t sh*t.” It doubles when I get up again—scared, but determined.
As Corrie Ten Boom once said, “When a train goes through a tunnel and it gets dark, you don’t throw away the ticket and jump off. You sit still and trust the engineer.” God is still in control, even when it’s dark. Even when the light at the end seems distant. Even when I have no idea where this train is going. He’s still driving.
A quote from Lysa TerKeurst helped me put language to what I’ve been walking through:
To deny my feelings any voice is to rob me of being human. But to let my feelings be the only voice will rob my soul of healing perspectives with which God wants to comfort me and carry me forward.
I can’t just sit in a spiral of my unsteady feelings, allowing them to overtake my faith—I have to remind myself of God’s steady promises. Speak His Word over my fears. Write truth over the lies. Remind myself:
God has never broken a single promise, and He’s not going to start with me. I am God’s girl. I am not abandoned. I am being refined, not rejected.
Psalm 119:50 — This is my comfort in my affliction, that Your promise gives me life.
2 Timothy 1:7 — For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.
My struggle with suffering isn’t unique. God has a long history of using broken people in hard situations to show His glory:
Paul pleaded for his thorn to be removed. But God said, “My grace is sufficient for you.” (2 Corinthians 12:7-10)
Joseph was sold, imprisoned, and forgotten—but later told his brothers, “You meant it for evil, but God meant it for good.” (Genesis 50:20)
Job lost everything, wrestled with God, and still said, “Blessed be the name of the Lord.”
Moses, terrified and tongue-tied, told God he wasn’t the right person—and God replied, “Now go…I will help you speak.” (Exodus 4:12)
Scripture promises, “Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love Him.” (James 1:12) God sees our endurance—even when it’s trembling. Even when it’s tear-streaked. Even when it’s scared.
This morning I read a quote from Billy Graham, “God is in control. He may not take away your trials, but He will see you though them.” That made me think something radical: I was chosen for this fire because God knew I would come through it. Not alone. Not without purpose. Being chosen doesn’t mean easy. It means equipped.
Isaiah 43:2 — “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.”
This isn’t about pretending to be okay. It’s about being honest with your fear, but choosing to trust anyway.
It’s about praying through the anxiety, not just waiting until it’s gone.
It’s about knowing that your trial today could become the very testimony someone else needs tomorrow.
Because sometimes the burdens that feel like heavy rocks dragging deep down in your pockets are the smooth stones someone else needs to fight their Goliath.
So pick up your stone. Wipe your tears. And take the next step.
Even if it’s trembling.
Even if it’s messy.
And if you are fighting against the demon of anxiety like I am, let me hold your hand for a second and tell you this:
You are not alone. You are not the fraud. Anxiety is the liar. Fear is the thief. But God is faithful. And His glory is being revealed in you—even now. And if you’re still hesitant to step out because you’re feeling scared, then let me give you permission:
Do it scared.
Because that’s where the testimony begins.
Father, I don’t always understand why You allow certain storms, but I trust You are in them. I know that faith isn’t the absence of fear, it’s trust in You in spite of it. Let courage rise in the middle of the chaos. Help me see Your glory in my pain. Calm my anxious mind. Thank You that I don’t need to be the strongest. I just need to lean on the One who is. Remind me that You never waste my suffering—You redeem it. Amen.