When I Had Nothing Left to Give

“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, Courage to change the things I can, And wisdom to know the difference.”—Reinhold Niebuhr

Just Trying To Get By

I didn’t post last week. And to be honest, I didn’t want to.

Not because I didn’t care. Not because I didn’t have anything to say.

But because I didn’t have anything left to give. I was mentally exhausted. Emotionally raw. Spiritually low.

Sometimes following Christ feels like I’m fighting a war. Not a war against the world, but a war against myself. It felt like everything hit me all at once and kept hitting. 

Old wounds constantly resurface as I’m trying to heal. Heavy memories pressing on my chest.

And most days I have more questions than I have answers and prayers that I can’t even finish without crying just hoping God hears my heart instead. 

Did saying yes to God mean life was supposed to get easier?

No, but with the way life’s been hitting me lately, I can’t lie… sometimes it feels like it should have.

I’ve been showing up here, sharing my journey, my healing, my heartbreaks, the hard truths I’ve had to face, and the moments where God met me in my mess. I’ve done it with honesty. But lately… life cracked something deeper. And I knew I had to pause.

The truth is, I’ve been carrying so much.

Trying to heal, but also trying to skip over the middle… the process itself and jump straight to the end. Wanting the healed version of me without going through the messy part first, while still feeling stuck in places I thought I’d already left behind.

Trying to be strong and grounded, while some mornings I wake up feeling like I’m barely holding it together.

It felt like my heart was crying out,

“God, I can’t do this. I’m tired. I’m trying… but I’m tired.”

And I didn’t want to pour from a place that was dry. It wouldn’t be genuine. It wouldn’t feel right. I didn’t want to write just to say I posted something.

I’m learning that it’s okay to take a time-out for the sake of my spiritual health.

This space isn’t about performance. It’s real, real life experiences, real triggers, real wounds, real struggles. But it’s also about presence, a place for me to share my heart, true healing and truth.

And in order to be honest with you, I had to be honest with myself first.

So I paused.

I gave myself permission to not be strong.

Not to be ok.

To not be productive.

To not have it all figured out.

To be completely broken.

Completely open and exposed to God like never before.

And to be completely honest, that pause was deeply needed. Because even in the silence, God was still speaking.

Even in the chaos that is my life right now, He’s still been present. Even when I felt unseen, He saw me.

Sometimes, we need to stop pouring and start resting.

Sometimes healing looks like pulling back for a while and letting God refill what life, family, friends, relationships, jobs and even you…have drained.

If you’re reading this and you’ve felt the same… this is for you.

If your smile has been forced, your prayers have been whispers, and peace feels far away, this is for you.

If you’ve been showing up for everyone else, while secretly hoping someone would notice you or see you.

You are not alone.

And you don’t have to keep pretending you’re okay when you’re not.

Healing is messy and painful.

Faith gets weary.

And strength?

Sometimes it looks like being still instead of pushing through.

Last week reminded me: I don’t have to have it all together to be loved by God. He doesn’t withdraw when I’m low. He draws near.

And even when I had nothing left to give, or I feel like I’m doing something wrong, He gently reminded me:

“I’m still here and you’re still mine.”

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I was reminded of Job a couple of days ago.

Everything he went through… devastating loss, deep pain, betrayal by the people closest to him and yet he never cursed God.

Yes, he questioned. He grieved. He lamented. But even in his confusion and heartbreak, he kept bringing it to God.

His wife told him to curse God and give up. His friends tried to convince him he was to blame.

But Job held on.

Not perfectly. Not without struggle.

But faithfully.

That kind of faith wrecks me.

Job didn’t fake strength. He didn’t try to defend or explain away his circumstances. He didn’t even pretend to be okay. 

But he did choose to stay anchored in God… even when it hurt.

It makes me ask myself some real questions:

Am I truly taking everything to God?

Or am I relying on my own will, my own wisdom, my own strength?

Is my faith built on the rock or on sand that washes away when life gets hard?

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And if I’m honest?

I question my walk sometimes.

I don’t like the pruning process.

I constantly feel like I’m doing something wrong.

I don’t like the pain, the tears, the frustration of it all. But I’m committed to God no matter how shaking my walk is. Why?

Because I know it’s necessary.

Necessary for this season.

Necessary for my growth.

Necessary for the woman I’m becoming.

And this journey? It’s not just about me.

It’s for whoever needs to know they’re not the only one feeling like this.

Honestly, I’m just now starting to feel the strength of God again.

Because as long as I tried to stay in control, life felt like I was being tossed by the wind.

But when I surrendered, God reminded me:

“I’ve been here the whole time.”

No matter if I can’t see Him moving, or if He seems silent…

I’m choosing to trust who He’s shown me He is time and time again.

I’m trusting in His promises.

I’m trusting that He knows best, that His will is best.

His way is better.

His timing is perfect.

Lord, help my unbelief.

He sent people to pour into me when I wasn’t even asking for help.

He caught the tears I didn’t want anyone to see.

He fought battles I didn’t have the strength to face.

God is always near.

And when it’s all said and done, He will get the glory.

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“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”—Matthew 11:28 (NIV)

He doesn’t ask us to be strong for Him.

He just asks us to come.

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A Prayer for the Weary

God,

Thank You for loving me in the places I don’t show to anyone.

For seeing me when I feel invisible.

For catching every tear, every whisper, every broken prayer.

Help me to trust You in the pruning.

To lean into the process.

To remember that You’re still good, even when life doesn’t feel that way.

Give me the courage to rest.

To release control.

To let You be God and not try to carry what was never mine to hold.

And for anyone reading this who feels tired and unseen, wrap them in Your peace.

Whisper to their hearts: You are still mine.

In Jesus’ name,

Amen.

⸻

With love and healing,

Toya 💛