A Rising Remnant

Tag: emotional pain

  • When I Had Nothing Left to Give

    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.”

    ⸻

    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?

    ⸻

    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.

    ⸻

    “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.

    ⸻

    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 💛

  • When Healing Feels Like Breaking

    When Healing Feels Like Breaking

    —2 Kings 20:5

    The in Between

    If healing were a straight line, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much.

    If it always looked like worship music, soft tears, and fresh journal pages, then maybe I wouldn’t question whether I’m doing it right.

    Real healing… that deep, soul-level, God-led healing… doesn’t always feel good.

    Sometimes it feels like breaking in places that I keep trying to rush through, knowing they’re still fragile.

    Sometimes I don’t want to go through the breaking. Sometimes I wish I had a Time Machine, so I could take a glimpse into my future… just to see if I ever get through it.

    But I know, that’s not reality.

    Sometimes healing feels like facing the same wounds, just with a stronger heart, but still feeling the sting.

    Grief in the Quiet Moments

    This past week… it’s like the surface of my healing was peeled back a bit.

    Not in a dramatic way, but in a quiet, uncomfortable one.

    I’ve felt moments of sadness I didn’t want to feel. Emotions that caught me off guard.

    And I had to face the fact that I’m still carrying some things I thought I had laid down.

    It’s like every week I discover something new, something that was buried deep. Hidden even.

    As if it’s God’s way of reminding me this is a journey of discovery, not a journey to a destination.

    Sometimes it’s not the big heartbreaks that set you back, it’s the little reminders.

    A conversation, a tone, a familiar silence.

    Things that seem small, but hit deep when your heart is still tender.

    And I’ll be honest, I’ve had moments where I wondered if I’m really healing at all.

    Because how do you explain crying over something you’ve already given to God, and already forgiven?

    How do you tell people you’re moving forward when emotions still comes in waves?

    What Healing Really Looks Like

    I’m learning that healing isn’t just the absence of pain.

    It’s the ability to feel it without it undoing me.

    Healing isn’t always visible.

    It doesn’t always feel victorious.

    Sometimes healing looks like holding it together long enough to fall apart in God’s presence.

    Sometimes it’s forgiving again.

    Surrendering again.

    Choosing peace again, even when your heart still feels sore.

    Healing isn’t linear. It loops. It lingers. It surprises you.

    But it also builds something deeper in you each time.

    It’s being honest with God about the mess and letting Him hold you there.

    Brokenness can be a doorway to wholeness, as it reveals a need for God’s grace.

    In the tears that turn into prayer.

    In the questions that push you closer instead of further away.

    God Never Said It Would Be Easy

    God never said this would be easy.

    He said He would be near.

    He uncovers before He restores.

    He reveals before He rebuilds.

    And this space I’m in right now, the in-between, the not-quite-there, is still part of His master plan.

    So I remind myself:

    Feeling pain doesn’t mean I’ve failed.

    Struggling doesn’t mean I’ve gone backward.

    Needing grace doesn’t disqualify me, it invites me closer to God.

    This season is stretching me.

    But it’s also grounding me.

    Teaching me that healing isn’t about “getting over it.”

    It’s about letting God into the places I can’t handle alone.

    And even now, even here, I believe…

    He’s doing something beautiful with the broken parts of me.

    Because sometimes healing is subtle.

    Sometimes it’s slow.

    Sometimes it’s one shaky prayer, one deep breath, one brave “yes” at a time.

    And even in the discomfort of this season, I know this much is true…

    God is working.

    Even when I can’t see it.

    Even when I don’t feel whole.

    Even when I don’t feel “better.”

    Scriptures That Keep Me Grounded

    — Psalm 147:3 – “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”

    (God’s ability to restore wholeness and bring comfort to those who are hurting, both physically and emotionally.)

    — 2 Corinthians 4:16–18 – “Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day…”

    (Encourages Christians to focus on the unseen, eternal rewards promised by God, rather than getting discouraged by the temporary troubles of this life.)

    — Romans 8:18 – “I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.”

    (This provides comfort and encouragement. A reminder that present hardships are temporary and will be overshadowed by eternal joy.)

    A Prayer in the Middle of It All

    God,

    I don’t always understand why I still feel this way. Or understand the way You heal.

    Why something I laid down shows up again in a different form.

    But I trust that even in this, You’re near.

    Teach me not to rush what You’re doing in me.

    Give me the courage to sit with the hard parts.

    Remind me that I’m not behind, I’m just becoming.

    Be close to me in the places that still ache.

    Because I know You’re not finished yet.

    Not with this season.

    Not with this story.

    Not with me.

    In Jesus name.

    Amen.