HE SAT WITH ME WHILE I WAS BROKEN

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There is a sacred promise in the pages of scripture that is just waiting for the moment that our hearts are shattered enough so that we can finally hear it. It is this:

“The LORD is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit.” (Psalm 34:18)

This isn’t a promise for the strong or the brave. It’s a promise for the rest of us. It’s a promise for the nights that feel endless.

Have you ever had one of those nights? Where the tears won’t stop, and each one feels heavier than the last? Where your chest is so tight with grief or anxiety that it’s hard to draw a full breath? Where the silence of your room is so loud that it feels like no one in the universe—not even God—can see the depth of your despair?

If yes, then you have perfected the art of functioning while fractured. You smile around people. You say, “I’m fine,” while you feel yourself drowning on the inside. You are an expert at holding it all together, even as you are falling apart.

But let me tell you something today that perhaps nobody has said loud enough for you to believe: God doesn’t walk past broken people. He sits with them.

In our pain, we often carry a burden: the belief that our brokenness is a disappointment to God. We think that if we’re not okay, if we’re not healing fast enough, then we are failing Him. We pray for a quick fix, an instant removal of the pain, because we assume that’s what He wants for us.

But look at the ministry of the Lord Jesus. He never rushed healing. His first act was never to fix, but to connect.

He sat with the Samaritan woman at the well, engaging her story and seeing her soul long before He offered her living water. He didn’t just heal Mary and Martha’s grief; He entered it, weeping with them beside their brother’s tomb. He didn’t just shout a command from a distance to the leper; He broke religious and social law to touch the untouchable man before healing him.

His presence always preceded His power.

God doesn’t wait for your healing to love you—He loves you in the wound. He is not afraid of your mess. He is not put off by your tears. He is not tapping His foot, waiting for you to get over it. He is here, now, in this, with you.

The world has a very low tolerance for brokenness. It whispers lies that can sound like truth:
“You’re too broken to be useful.”
“You should be over it by now.”
“You’re not good for anything anymore.”

The world sees damaged goods. It sees a liability, a story that is over. But God looks at the very same pieces, and His response is breathtakingly different. He says:
“I’m going to use this part—yes, the broken, bruised, shattered part—to show my glory.”

For it is written in 2 Corinthians 12:9:

“And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.”

That depression that has held you captive? That heartbreak that leveled you? That grief that carved a canyon through your soul? That is the very place He is building from. That is the raw material for a miracle. The prophet Isaiah declared this beautiful, redemptive promise:

“…To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness…” (Isaiah 61:3)

God doesn’t throw away ashes. He doesn’t discard the rubble of our lives. He gathers it with tender hands. He makes art from them. He builds cathedrals from our ruins.

There is one place where your mask is not required. There is one presence where your “I’m fine” is unnecessary. God can handle the full force of your honest heart.

He can handle your tears.
He can handle your anger.
He can handle your silent, stony withdrawal.
He can handle your confusion.
He can handle your complete and utter breakdown.

He is not scared of your questions. The heroes of our faith were honest in their anguish. Elijah, after a great victory, sat under a tree and prayed for death. Job, having lost everything, cursed the day he was born. The Lord Jesus Himself, in the agony of the cross, cried out the question that has echoed in every human heart at one time or another: “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46)

And what was God’s response to their raw, unfiltered pain? He didn’t abandon them. He stayed.

And He stays with you, too.

A man asks, “Where was God when innocent people and children were killed in a plane crash?” He answers, “The same place I sat when John the Baptist my servant was beheaded. When Stephen my servant was stoned to death. When Paul my servant was murdered in Rome. The same place I sat when my only Son was brutally crucified, wounded, bruised and killed. I have not moved from my position.”

It is not the means of exit from earth that matters but the destination.

I believe if heaven could whisper to your heart right now, if you could hear past the noise of your pain, you would hear this:

“I saw you when they didn’t see you. I heard your silent cries when no one else responded. I have caught every single tear. And even now—I am still here. I didn’t leave. I’m not leaving. I am sitting right beside you… and I will stay here until you are ready to stand again.”

Cling to this truth. Let it be the anchor for your soul, especially when the storm is raging.

“It is of the LORD’S mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness.” (Lamentations 3:22-23)

Even if yesterday broke you beyond recognition… today still holds mercy. His compassion for you has not run out. It is new, right now, in this moment.

You don’t have to be strong today.
You don’t have to have the right words.
You don’t even need a loud prayer.

If all you can manage to whisper is, “God, please stay with me…”
That’s enough. That is an act of profound faith.

Because sometimes, the most powerful faith is not the kind that moves mountains, but the kind that simply doesn’t walk away in the dark.

So cry.
Breathe.
Rest.

He is not going anywhere.

He’s still sitting with you… in the dark… in the pain… in the silence. And He will not let you go.