When something takes place in your life that really hurts you in the core of your heart, it can be devastating. You feel trapped in the moment, stuck in the pain. You try to move past it. You try to let go of it again and again and wonder why it still lingers, like a penetrating ache in your chest.
You realize the pain has walled you in, becoming a prison cell. At first you find comfort here: the walls protect you from being hurt again. They keep people away. But soon you learn you’re only free to walk around in the confined space, reliving the conversations, the crushing moments, and the devastating blows to your spirit. You relive each failure in your mind, the guilt and shame wrapping itself around you like the cold, musty air in your cell. And you can’t see anything new, nothing to hope for because the one window is boarded up, leaving only a crack of sunlight to shine through; that sliver of light hurts because you know the world is moving on without you.
You hear muffled sounds of laughter, joy. It stings because you can’t remember the last time you laughed a genuine laugh that welled up from within and spilled out; not the laugh you force because no one knows where you really are and you don’t know how to ask for help.
But maybe you finally do ask for help because you’re so tired of scratching the walls, of trying to dig your way out. You’re lying on the floor, exhausted from picking yourself up. You cry out from your prison cell only to hear silence from beyond the bars. You stare and wait. But no one reaches in.
You fall to your face and beg God to help. You’re too tired to fight the darkness, the depression, alone. The burden is too heavy to hold any longer. A part of you breaks open and spills onto the floor. You can’t do this alone, not this one. Not this time.
You need God now more than ever and you tell Him. And when you admit it, when you speak it out loud, God holds you and whispers to your heart, “Let Me have it.”
Your first reaction is anger. You want to yell at God, argue with Him that you have already done that. You’ve already given Him the entire situation again and again and He should know.
But He gently whispers, oh so gently to your wounded spirit, “Let Me have what’s in your hand.”
You notice your hand, the one you weren’t using to try and claw your way out, is tightened into a fist. And when you finally relax it, finally open it, you find a key.
You drop the key into God’s hand knowing you can trust Him and that He will protect you. As He unlocks the door and carries you out and into the light of a new day, you thank Him for rescuing you. And you continue to rest in His arms as He holds you close and carries you forward.
“O Lord, I have come to you for protection; don’t let me be disgraced. Save me and rescue me, for you do what is right. Turn your ear to listen to me, and set me free.” (Psalm 71: 1-2 NLT.)