There are moments in life when pain does more than hurt us. It confuses us.
It makes us question things we thought we understood. It makes us wonder why life feels so heavy, why our prayers seem to take so long to be answered, and why the strength we used to depend on no longer seems to be enough.
And sometimes, if we are honest, suffering does something even deeper. It makes us question ourselves.
Maybe I am not strong enough.
Maybe I did something wrong.
Maybe this is what I deserve.
Maybe I am damaged beyond repair.
Maybe God is disappointed in me.
I know what that feels like.
There was a season in my life when I did not clearly understand what was going on inside of me. I was dealing with hopelessness, anxiety, and physical and mental exhaustion. I felt worn down in ways I could not explain. I felt like something inside of me was broken, but I did not have the language for it yet. At the time, I did not know that PTSD was part of what I was experiencing. So instead of seeing my pain with compassion, I judged myself through it.
I felt like a failure.
Even worse, I felt like I deserved what was happening to me.
That is a dangerous place to be. Not only because pain is heavy, but because shame makes pain even heavier. Pain says, “This hurts.” Shame says, “This is who you are.” Pain tells you something is wounded. Shame tells you something is wrong with you.
And when you live under that kind of weight long enough, your heart can become both broken and hardened at the same time.
That may sound like a contradiction, but I believe many people understand exactly what I mean. You can be deeply wounded and still try to protect yourself by becoming numb. You can be crying inside and still look strong on the outside. You can love God and still feel like you are barely holding on.
But here is what I am slowly learning: God is not afraid of those places.
God is not confused by our brokenness. He is not intimidated by our exhaustion. He does not look at our anxiety, trauma, weakness, or pain and say, “Come back when you are stronger.”
Instead, over and over again in Scripture, we see a God who comes near.
The God Who Comes Near
When I think about God’s embrace, I do not only think about a physical hug. I think about the heart of God revealed throughout Scripture.
In Luke 15, Jesus tells the story of the prodigal son. The son had wasted what was given to him. He had made a mess of his life. He had rehearsed a speech in his mind because he thought maybe, just maybe, he could return home as a servant.
But before he could even finish his speech, the father ran to him, embraced him, and kissed him.
That picture matters.
The father did not stand at a distance with crossed arms, waiting for the son to prove he was sorry enough. He did not begin with a lecture. He did not begin with shame. He began with an embrace.
That does not mean there was no repentance. It does not mean choices do not have consequences. But it does show us something powerful about the heart of God: when a broken son comes home, the Father’s heart moves toward him.
And that is hard for some of us to receive.
It is easier to believe God loves people in general than it is to believe God loves us personally. It is easier to preach grace to someone else than to receive grace for ourselves. It is easier to believe God can restore someone else’s life than to believe He still has a plan for ours.
But God does not merely tolerate His children. He loves them.
Deuteronomy 33:27 speaks of His everlasting arms. Psalm 63:8 talks about clinging to God while His right hand upholds us. Isaiah 49:16 gives us that beautiful image of being engraved on the palms of His hands. John 10:28–29 reminds us that no one can snatch us out of His hand.
Those are not cold theological ideas. Those are pictures of closeness, safety, protection, and love.
God is not just the God who rules from heaven. He is the Father who holds His children.
When Trials Chip Away at the Heart
I remember sitting in church one Sunday while Bob Sorge was speaking. He was talking about trials, fiery trials, and how sometimes they are necessary in our lives. He compared them to storms and how storms are part of maintaining the balance of the earth’s ecology.
As he spoke, I felt like every word was hitting something deep inside of me.
I did not fully understand it at the time, but I can look back now and see that God was using that message to reach places in me that I had not been able to reach on my own. Every word felt like it was chipping away at my already broken but hardened heart.
That is one of the mysteries of suffering. We usually want God to remove the pain immediately. And many times, I believe we should pray for healing, deliverance, restoration, and breakthrough. I believe God still heals. I believe God still delivers. I believe God still moves in power.
But I also believe there are moments when God uses what we are walking through to reveal what is happening inside of us.
Not to shame us.
To heal us.
Sometimes suffering exposes the places where we were depending on our own strength. Sometimes it reveals wounds we buried because we did not know how to face them. Sometimes it brings us to the end of ourselves, not because God is cruel, but because there are some forms of grace we only learn to receive when we finally stop pretending we are okay.
That is not easy to admit.
We live in a world that celebrates strength, independence, confidence, and control. Even in church, sometimes we feel pressure to look victorious before we have fully processed our wounds. We know the right Scriptures. We know the right songs. We know how to say, “God is good,” and He is. But sometimes, underneath the words, we are still hurting.
And God sees that too.
1 Peter 4:12 tells us not to be surprised by fiery trials. Romans 5:3–5 reminds us that suffering can produce endurance, character, and hope. 2 Corinthians 12:9 reminds us that God’s power is made perfect in weakness.
But let’s be honest. Those verses are easier to quote when we are not in the fire.
When you are in the middle of it, you do not always feel strong. You do not always feel spiritual. You do not always feel full of faith. Sometimes all you can do is stand there with tears in your eyes and whisper, “God, I need You.”
And sometimes, that is the most honest prayer we can pray.
The Lie That Pain Means Punishment
One of the hardest things I had to wrestle with was the feeling that I deserved what I was going through.
That kind of thinking can sneak into our hearts quietly. We may not say it out loud, but somewhere inside we start keeping a heavenly ledger.
I made mistakes, so maybe this is my punishment.
I failed, so maybe God is withholding His blessing.
I should be stronger by now, so maybe God is disappointed in me.
I am still struggling, so maybe something is wrong with my faith.
But that is not the voice of the Father.
Conviction leads us back to God. Condemnation drives us away from Him. Conviction says, “Come home.” Condemnation says, “You are not worthy to come home.” Conviction brings life. Condemnation brings despair.
Romans 8:1 tells us there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. That does not mean God ignores sin. It means that for the believer, the cross has already dealt with the condemnation sin deserved.
So when we suffer, we should be very careful about assuming that God is punishing us.
Yes, God disciplines His children, but His discipline is rooted in love, not rejection. Yes, God corrects us, but His correction is meant to restore us, not destroy us. And yes, sometimes our choices create painful consequences, but even then, God is still able to meet us with mercy.
The enemy loves to use pain as evidence against God and against ourselves.
But what if our pain is not proof that God has abandoned us?
What if our weakness is not proof that we are failures?
What if the very place where we feel most undeserving is the place where God wants to reveal His embrace?
That is what happened to me.
The Hug That Spoke Louder Than Words
At the end of the sermon, Bob Sorge made an altar call.
I made my way through the many people who were also walking forward. I remember being somewhere in the middle of the crowd. For some reason, I kept my eyes open. I was just observing everything that was happening around me.
He walked into the crowd and began praying for people. He would softly touch their heads as he prayed. One person after another, he moved through the crowd.
Then he came in my direction.
We locked eyes.
For a few seconds, he just stood there looking at me. And then he did something I was not expecting at all.
He hugged me.
He did not say a word.
He just stood there and hugged me.
And he did not need to say anything, because that hug was worth more than a thousand words.
In that moment, I felt like God was speaking directly to the deepest part of me. Not with an audible voice, but in a way my heart understood.
“I love you.”
“I am here with you.”
“You are My son.”
“You are special.”
“I am not done with you yet.”
Tears started streaming down my face.
Something broke open in me that day. The chains that had been holding my heart and mind hostage began to come down. I did not walk away with every question answered. I did not suddenly have a complete understanding of everything I was going through. But I walked away with something I desperately needed.
I felt seen.
I felt loved.
I felt held.
And sometimes, before we need an explanation, we need an embrace.
God Uses People as Instruments of His Grace
One of the beautiful things about that moment is that God used a person to communicate something divine.
That is important because sometimes we expect God’s comfort to come in only one way. We think it has to be dramatic, supernatural, or unmistakably heavenly. And God can absolutely move that way. But many times, God makes His invisible grace visible through people.
Through a word of encouragement.
Through someone praying for us.
Through a friend who listens without judging.
Through a pastor, counselor, mentor, or brother in Christ.
Through someone who simply shows up.
That hug did not replace God. It revealed something about Him.
It reminded me that God’s love is not just a doctrine to study. It is something we are meant to experience. It is not only something written on a page, though Scripture is our foundation. It is also something the Holy Spirit can make real in the deepest places of our hearts.
And that moment gave me strength to continue seeking help.
That matters too.
Sometimes, as Christians, we spiritualize everything so much that we forget that seeking help can also be an act of faith. Prayer is powerful. Worship is powerful. Scripture is powerful. But God can also work through counseling, community, rest, wise guidance, and practical steps toward healing.
Getting help does not mean you lack faith.
It may mean you are finally humble enough to stop suffering in silence.
God did not create us for heroic isolation. He created us for a relationship with Him and with one another. The early church understood this deeply. They carried one another’s burdens. They prayed together. They wept together. They rejoiced together. They greeted one another with holy affection and lived as a family of faith.
We need that.
Especially when we are hurting.
Broken, But Still Beloved
Looking back, I realize that one of the greatest lies I believed during that season was that my brokenness made me less lovable.
But the gospel tells a different story.
Jesus did not come for people who had it all together. He came for the weary, the wounded, the sinner, the outcast, the ashamed, the confused, and the brokenhearted. He touched lepers. He welcomed sinners. He restored failures. He wept with the grieving. He drew near to those others pushed aside.
God has always been willing to embrace the ones people overlook.
And maybe that is what some of us need to remember today.
You may feel damaged, but you are not discarded.
You may feel weak, but you are not useless.
You may feel ashamed, but you are not beyond grace.
You may feel like your story is too messy, but God is not finished writing it.
There is a treasure that can shine through cracked vessels. 2 Corinthians 4:7 reminds us that we carry treasure in jars of clay so that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us.
That means our cracks do not disqualify us from carrying glory.
In fact, sometimes the very places we wish we could hide become the places where God’s light shines through the most.
I would have never chosen that season of pain. I would have never asked for anxiety, exhaustion, confusion, or trauma. But I can say this: God met me there.
Not after I had everything figured out.
There.
In the middle of it.
In the confusion.
In the tears.
In the weakness.
In the altar call.
In the hug.
God was there.
Maybe His Embrace Is Closer Than You Think
Maybe you are reading this and you are in your own painful season.
Maybe you feel tired in a way sleep has not been able to fix. Maybe you feel like you have been strong for too long. Maybe you love God, but you are quietly wondering why life has been so heavy. Maybe you have blamed yourself for things that are more complicated than you realized. Maybe you have called yourself weak when God has been calling you wounded.
I want to gently remind you of something.
God profoundly cares about you.
Not the polished version of you.
Not the version that knows what to say in church.
Not the version that has all the answers.
Not the version that never struggles.
You.
The real you.
The tired you.
The anxious you.
The confused you.
The one who is trying to believe while still hurting.
The one who wants to be whole but does not know where to begin.
God cares about that version of you too.
His embrace may not always come the way you expect. It may come through Scripture. It may come through prayer. It may come through worship. It may come through a sermon that chips away at your hardened heart. It may come through a person who hugs you and says nothing, yet somehow communicates everything your soul needed to hear.
But however He chooses to reveal it, the truth remains the same:
God is not far from the brokenhearted.
Psalm 34:18 reminds us of that.
And maybe today, the invitation is not to pretend you are strong. Maybe the invitation is to let yourself be held.
To stop running from the Father.
To stop rehearsing speeches of unworthiness.
To stop assuming your pain means rejection.
To stop believing that your weakness has disqualified you.
The Father is not standing far away, waiting for you to earn your way back into His love.
He is closer than you think.
And His arms are stronger than your pain.
Reflection
Have you been interpreting your pain as proof that God is disappointed in you?
Have you allowed shame to tell you that you are damaged beyond repair?
What would it look like for you to receive God’s embrace instead of trying to prove you are strong enough to deserve it?
Prayer
Father, help me to believe that You care about me, even in the places where I feel weak, ashamed, exhausted, or broken. Teach me to recognize Your embrace, whether it comes through Your Word, Your presence, or the people You send into my life. Remind me that I am not abandoned, I am not disqualified, and I am not beyond repair. Hold me with Your everlasting arms, and give me the courage to keep walking toward healing. In Jesus’ name, amen.