hollow spaces

You are carrying heavy things.

Weight upon weight, layered deep where no eye can see. Even if your hands look empty, your heart is laden with burdens untold.

Even if your smile fools the crowd, God knows the tremble beneath it.

And still, you wonder—

Does this even count as hard?

You silence your own ache before it ever finds its voice. You compare, you minimize, you shrink your suffering in the shadow of someone else’s.

You tell yourself others have it worse.

You’ve stood upright on days you thought surely you would collapse.

You’ve spoken kindness with a mouth dry from swallowing tears. You’ve laughed through silent panic. And still—

the questions claw at your weary soul:

Am I just being dramatic? Shouldn’t I be stronger by now?

Hear this:

You are not weak.

You are not overreacting.

You are simply tired.

Because no one was ever meant to carry this much alone. No one was designed to shoulder these silent devastations in solitary strain.

He is near—oh, closer than your breath—to the overwhelmed. He is near to the ones who cry hidden tears on bathroom floors and midnight pillows. He is near to the ones whose hearts have forgotten how to slow, whose minds race and thrash, who can’t remember what rest feels like.

You don’t have to keep pretending it’s fine.

You don’t have to keep bracing your shoulders under loads that were never yours to bear alone.

It is holy to be honest.

It is worship to be weak before Him.

It is sacred to be held.

God sees what no one else does.

He knows the story behind every sigh, the prayer tangled inside every breath, the war behind your weary eyes.

And He is not asking you to keep dragging this weight across barren miles.

He is not demanding that you toughen up and keep going alone.

No.

He beckons you to collapse into Him.

To pour it out.

To let Him gather every shard, every groan, every hidden bruise.

To let Him be the strength you stopped trying to summon.

To let Him carry what was always too heavy for your human shoulders.

So come, child.

Lay it down.

Let yourself be undone.

For in your unraveling, He does His most tender work. In your weakness, His power is perfected.

And in the hollow spaces of your honesty, He builds a dwelling for His glory.

Be still.

Be held.

For the God who sees what no one else sees has no intention of letting you carry this alone.