Oh Father, let us be a people who catch the tears of the hurting. Teach us to hold sacred the tears of the aching. Move us to draw near, to draw in. Pull our hearts towards the mess of grief and ache in others. Forgive us when we long for sterilized settings and tidy stories. Help us reflect you better in the realm of weeping…

From the beginning of time, we have a God who is active in the face of loneliness. As we look back across the meta-narrative of Scripture, from creation, the tabernacle and temple, the incarnation of Jesus, and the indwelling of his Spirit at salvation, we have a God who is determined to draw near, pursue, and care for the lonely. 

And now, his Church is a forever family for the lonely and cast out.

The Church is the very body of Christ–His hands, feet, arms, ears, eyes. And as that Body comes together under the Head, Jesus, the battle against despair and hopelessness is waged. What a high and sacred calling the Church has!

Forgiving my husband after the confession of his unfaithfulness was the hardest faith step I ever had to take. 

Continuing to forgive my ex-husband over and over, and over again (what feels like 70 x 7 x a billion times) has felt like waging a faith war. 

If Christ alone can satisfy a longing heart, we need your help to believe this. 

Sometimes it feels like marriage is the better answer. Or children. Or a higher paycheck. Or job security. Those things are often set out as the ultimate reward for those who follow Christ. But my marriage crashed and burned, and I don’t always know where I fit when we begin talking about God’s blessings.

The gospel can feel like a pipe dream for those who are walking the lonely road of abandonment by their fathers.

Share the Gospel with tenderness. Remind betrayed wives and their kids that there is a Father in heaven who loves them perfectly.

When I learned of my husband’s infidelity, it felt like I was on the side of the road, my heart bleeding out, noise, chaos, trauma, confusion, pain—so much pain. A small number of people jumped out of their cars, ran towards me (literally—dropped work, got on airplanes, raced to get to me). They were the ones who worked to calm the chaos, triage the immediate pain, and hold me while I sobbed and surveyed the loss.

But most were onlookers…

Oh, Church, how desperately we need Jesus! It might feel like you need to do something extraordinary to help and support us, but the best thing you can do for us is to gently carry us to Jesus, over and over again. You can do this in so many simple ways…

I have come to know that God has a very soft spot in his heart for those most weak in his kingdom. Like a shepherd who tucks his wee lamb into his arms, our Lord scoops up the downtrodden and wraps them close and tight in the shadow of his wings (Is 40, Ps 91). 

I’ve never felt more weak, wounded and cast down than I have walking through an unwanted divorce. When Isaiah speaks of a “bruised reed” and a “smoldering wick”, I have rarely felt so seen and known. These descriptions make sense to me because they have been my reality. Maybe your’s too? 

Have you ever been so weak in your new life, you feel like a wisp of air could swamp you forever? 

Unfulfilled desires. We all have them. Your’s might look different than mine, but I have no doubt you share a similar heartsickness over the no’s you’ve received. Living in this world means living with desires that might be delayed or even left unmet. We were not made for this place. God has set eternity in our hearts and this world will just never live up (Ecclesiastes 3:11). 

So what do we do with these longings that ache within us? Where do we place the desires that will not let go of our hearts? 

It’s a question I’ve really struggled with…

Dear Church, remind abandoned women that her Shepherd is her Eternal Dwelling Place.

Home has been restored.

He offers welcome. He will never walk away or shut out. He offers a place at His table forevermore. 

What a beautiful, redemptive, sacred work the Church has before her. Let’s press on today…

The abandoned wife in your community has experienced the trust-destroying damage of unkept promises. The ground beneath her feet feels shaky as she questions who to trust. The most life-giving gift to give her is the full counsel of Scripture. 

The grass withers, the flowers fade,
but the word of our God remains forever.
(Isaiah 40:8)

Her marriage withered, her vows faded, but the word of her God remains forever. It is vitally important for you to remind her that the Word of God is unchanging & trustworthy. 

Our God is WITH us. He chose to dwell with us.
He is God of the lowly and cast down.

If you’re feeling at a loss to know what to pray for the woman walking through an unwanted divorce, could I point you towards Psalm 138:8? This verse is a treasure and praying it over a woman walking through marital breakdown will be a hope-filled and powerful gift.

My soul, bless the Lord...
Oh weary soul of mine, choose today to bless the Lord. Choose to lift your cast-down gaze, your fatigue, your heaviness, and your grief to the Lord who is so near. Your heart will lighten as you praise. It makes no sense, but a sacred exchange happens in the heavenly places when you praise from the bottom of the pit. 

The Church is the very body of Christ–His hands, feet, arms, ears, eyes. And as that Body comes together under the Head, Jesus, the battle against despair and hopelessness is waged. What a high and sacred calling the Church has!

There is a heaviness here. 
The storm-tossed and heavy-laden sit beside us. 
Her sighs and tear-soaked face tell a deeper story than words ever could. 
Oh Father, hold her near.

Give her yourself. 
You are our True Rest...

The anxieties are heavy. And the trek is so hard. And I am seriously weary. 

But the Bible tells me to cast all of that on to Jesus (1 Peter 5:7). We are told to hurl all our bags of worries and anxieties onto Jesus. 

Why?

When I learned of my husband’s infidelity, it felt like I was on the side of the road, my heart bleeding out, noise, chaos, trauma confusion, pain—so much pain. A small number of people jumped out of their cars, ran towards me (literally—dropped work, got on airplanes, raced to get to me). They were the ones who worked to calm the chaos, triage the immediate pain, hold me while I sobbed and surveyed the loss.

But most were onlookers...

Some friends have gone silent and seem to be avoiding me & it hurts. Did this happen to you?

Oh, this is a hard one. Yes this happened to me, and yes it hurt. My heart is with you.

Here’s the thing—I truly believe that your friends are not trying to avoid or ignore you. My guess is they don’t know what to say or do—to the point that it’s paralyzed them and now they feel it’s too late, so they step back to avoid making things worse. 


How do I know? Well, this has been me before, and probably you too?