He became comfort

You’ve gotten good at looking strong.

You wear perseverance like armor,

and a quiet smile like a shield.

You show up, hold it all together,

nod in the right places,

and no one knows that you’re gasping for air

underneath the silence.

You keep whispering, “God is enough.”

And I am.

You’re right to believe that.

But somewhere along the way,

you started thinking My sufficiency meant

you had to suffer alone.

That faith looked like silence,

like tears cried only in the shower,

like carrying every burden without ever loosening your grip.

But, My beloved—

who told you that needing help meant you weren’t trusting Me?

Did you forget that I work through the unexpected?

That I wrap My help in human hands,

in the voice of a friend,

in the hug you didn’t ask for,

in the kind stranger who somehow knew you needed prayer?

Why do you keep crying out for Me,

yet refusing the ones I’ve sent?

Why do you wait for a miracle,

while ignoring the people carrying the answers to your prayers?

You keep asking where I am—

but I am right there,

in the text that came out of nowhere,

in the neighbor’s kindness,

in the gentle invitation to rest.

I am your help.

And sometimes, My help has skin on.

Didn’t I show you this in Jesus?

I didn’t stay distant.

I came down.

I touched the lepers.

I wept with the grieving.

I called people by name.

I broke bread and bore burdens.

I bled.

I didn’t just send comfort—I became it.

And I still do.

I still come close.

So hear Me:

It is not weakness to need help.

It is not a lack of faith to say, “I’m not okay.”

You don’t have to keep proving something I already know:

That you are human.

That you are dust.

That you are Mine.

I never asked you to be invincible.

I asked you to be available.

To Me, and to the help I send.

Even when it doesn’t look like what you imagined.

Even when it humbles you.

So I’m asking you now:

Will you let Me rescue you…

even if My rescue doesn’t come in thunder or fire, but in the warmth of a friend who sees you,

or the quiet presence of someone who won’t let you carry this alone?

Lay down the performance.

Let go of the illusion.

You don’t have to pretend in My presence.

I see through the strength you wear like armor.

And I love you.

Completely.

Unconditionally.

Let Me carry this.

Let them carry it with you.

That, too, is holy.

That, too, is Me.