Last month, I shared with you that I was heading to Alaska and asked for your prayers as I stepped into what I hoped would be a time of rest, renewal, and adventure. Thank you, truly, for holding me in prayer. The trip was beautiful, breathtaking, and full of moments that reminded me how small I am and how big our God is. But it was also full of the unexpected- challenges, detours, and opportunities to practice what I teach, coach and purpose to live. Inviting in resilience, and perseverance when things don’t go according to “the plan”.
One of the most sacred moments of my trip happened in Homer, standing at the edge of Glacier Lake. The air was crisp and still, the kind of quiet that makes you hold your breath. I had been walking, breathing, and praying, keeping my commitment to wait on the Lord, when I heard it. A deep groan echoed across the water. I watched as a huge piece of glacier, one that had already broken off and was floating on its own, split again, calved, and disappeared beneath the surface. The sound was thunderous, the ripples spread wide, and then there was silence.
In an instant, the view was different. The lake I had seen just minutes earlier no longer existed as it was. No one would ever see it the same way again. And something in me shifted too. It felt like a holy mirror, as though God was showing me that there were still pieces of my own story, long broken off, that I was carrying around half-frozen. As that ice vanished into the water, I felt a hardness inside me begin to melt. Tears came. Prayer came. And in the stillness I sensed God whisper: See? Even what feels lost is part of the remaking. To be honest even as i write this the tears are falling again.
I walked away knowing the lake was changed forever, and so was I.
Maybe you’ve had moments like that too, moments where something in your life, already broken, finally sank out of sight. The landscape of your life changed, and so did you. It can feel disorienting, even heartbreaking, but it can also be the beginning of God’s remaking work in you.
This week, a reader asked us this question:
“Now that my emotionally destructive marriage has ended, where do I start picking up the pieces? (I’ve been divorced now 5 years and he came out as gay, so I literally did nothing to end my marriage.)”
Beloved Reader, I hear the ache in your question. When a marriage ends, especially when you didn’t choose it, it can feel like the ground beneath you gave way. The losses are real, the betrayal is real, and the longing for wholeness is real too. Even after five years, it’s okay if your heart still feels tender. That doesn’t mean you’re failing, it means you’ve been through something life-altering, and you’re still here, still breathing, still wanting to heal. That desire matters.
One of the most powerful things you can do right now is tell yourself the truth. Name the marriage you dreamed of but didn’t get. Name the betrayal, the heartbreak, the moments that still sting. God isn’t afraid of your honesty. In fact, “The Lord is near to all who call on him, to all who call on him in truth.” (Psalm 145:18, NLT) When you speak the truth, even if it’s messy, even if it’s angry, you open the door for God to meet you right there.
And then, gently notice what you’re still carrying that doesn’t belong to you. The shame. The self-blame. The late-night “what ifs.” You didn’t cause this, and you don’t have to keep dragging those weights through your future. Hebrews 12:1 calls us to “strip off every weight that slows us down… and run with endurance the race God has set before us.” This isn’t about rushing ahead, it’s about laying down what’s too heavy so you can breathe again.
When waves of grief or anger hit, let them come. Don’t shame yourself for still feeling them. Emotions aren’t the enemy, they’re messengers. Bring them into the light with God. “Pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge.” (Psalm 62:8, NLT) He can hold your tears, your questions, and even your anger.
As the edges of the pain begin to soften, you can start asking: Who am I becoming? What kind of life do I want to create moving forward? What would it look like to show up for myself with kindness and courage? This is where you get to build something new. Slowly, intentionally, with God’s help. “Anyone who belongs to Christ has become a new person. The old life is gone; a new life has begun!” (2 Corinthians 5:17, NLT)
And please don’t try to do this alone. A safe community is not optional when you’re healing, it’s essential. Ecclesiastes reminds us, “Two people are better off than one, for they can help each other succeed.” (Ecclesiastes 4:9, NLT) Find the people who can sit with you in the dark and cheer you toward the light.
If you’re wondering where to start today, here’s a gentle invitation: take ten minutes and grab your journal, and a favorite pen. Write your answers to these questions:
- What am I still grieving?
- What would it look like to release what I was never meant to carry?
Bring those answers to God in prayer. “Your word is a lamp to guide my feet and a light for my path.” (Psalm 119:105, NLT) You don’t have to see the whole picture — just the next step.
And remember this: you are not just scattered pieces on the floor. You are being lovingly gathered by the God who makes all things new. Your story isn’t over. You are worthy of peace, safety, and joy. Even here, even now.
Friend, I’d love to know:
What part of your heart do you sense God inviting you to soften, release, or trust Him with in this season?
What is one small way you are letting God remake your story, even in the places that have felt broken?
Your words might be exactly what another woman needs to take her first step too.
