It’s Not Brokenness—It’s Sacred Sadness

Trauma narrows our vision like a flashlight beam—we only see what's illuminated in that small circle of pain. Everything beyond feels like impenetrable darkness. I learned this when I decided to be brave and reach out to some friends. It's so much easier to suffer alone, at least that's how it feels. The fear, vulnerability, and shame linger from trauma and carry over into normal life circumstances like telling your friends you need help. But something stuck with me after sharing with her, she described my struggle with intimacy not as "brokenness," but as "sadness." That one word shifted everything. I'd never thought of it from that perspective. It's not sad because I'm broken, but because what was stolen mattered.

Intimacy was designed to be:

• a sacred gift

• a joyful bond and

• a reflection of God's love.

  
  

But sin—through abusive hands—perverted the metaphor. What God designed for mutual delight became a weapon of control. This isn't just violation—it's blasphemy against a holy picture. No wonder the grief runs so deep.

When I finally risked sharing my story, I expected the worst. Instead, my friend told me she was sad—not for me, but with me over the sacred thing that had been desecrated. The tears I cried mirrored God's own heart (John 11:35). That's when I realized: My sorrow wasn't a sign of weakness, but of spiritual discernment—I was mourning what God mourns. So where does that leave us ... it leaves us with Jesus.

Jesus came to fulfill the prophecy of the Old Testament of redemption and restoration. Jeremiah 31 :13 is set during a time of impending exile for Judah, as Babylon threatens to destroy Jerusalem. In this chapter, God promises future restoration, assuring His people that despite their coming suffering, He will one day bring them back with overwhelming joy. The verse depicts a scene of celebration-young women dancing, men and elders rejoicing-as God transforms their mourning into gladness, symbolizing the reversal of judgment into redemption. Jeremiah 31:13 is more than a post-exile celebration-its a promise of hope amid impending exile-it's a prophetic glimpse of the gospel. Just as Israel's mourning turned to joy after exile, it points to God's power to bring joy from suffering, ultimately fulfilled in Christ's redemptive work.

Christ's resurrection turns:

• Death into life

• Sorrow into praise

• Judgment into grace

But what about the sorrow that lingers-the grief over what was stolen, the wounds that still ache? The same God who promised joy to Israel sees our pain and meets us there. Just as He vowed to turn Judah's exile into dancing, He whispers to our brokenness: "This is not the end." The restoration Jeremiah foretold wasn't just for a nation-it was a shadow of the healing Jesus would bring to every shattered heart. Our mourning, too, is held in His hands, and His resurrection power declares that no loss, no betrayal, no shame gets the final word.

Here's the promise: Our mourning has an expiration date. God doesn't just patch wounds-He trades sorrow for joy-just as the cross, the darkest moment in history, became the source of everlasting gladness for all who believe.

The same cross that bore the weight of sin now carries our sorrow, and the empty tomb proves that joy will always have the victory. Where shame once spoke condemnation, Christ speaks "redeemed." Where pain left scars, He pours out healing. The God who turned Israel's exile into homecoming is turning your weeping into worship-one step, one grace ­filled moment at a time.

A PRAYER OF LAMENT: POURING OUT OUR HEART TO GOD

"God, I come before You with the weight of what was stolen—the sacredness that was broken, the joy that was twisted into shame. You designed intimacy to be good, a reflection of Your love, but sin and the hands of others made it a source of pain. So I bring my grief to You, because You are the God who collects every tear (Psalm 56:8).

I’m angry. I’m sad. I mourn what should have been. I grieve the trust that was shattered, the innocence that was taken, the love that was used against me. You see it all, and You do not dismiss my sorrow. Like Jeremiah, I cry out from the depths of exile—but I cling to Your promise that mourning will turn to dancing (Jeremiah 31:13).

I don’t have to pretend I’m okay. You invite my raw honesty, just as Jesus wept at Lazarus’ tomb (John 11:35). So I pour out my heart like water—every question, every hurt, every ‘why?’—because I trust that You can hold it. You're not afraid of my pain. You're redeeming it.

Meet me here, Father. Where I feel broken, remind me I am beloved. Where shame whispers lies, shout Your truth over me. You are the God who rebuilds ruins (Isaiah 61:4). Take my lament and turn it into a song of deliverance—not because the past changes, but because You change me in the midst of it.

I choose to place my sorrow in Your hands, believing that even this will one day bow to Your redemption. Until then, hold me close. Amen."

A GIFT FOR YOUR HEALING JOURNEY

I created a free downloadable Prayer Card with a shortened version of this prayer—a portable reminder that God holds your grief and redeems it.

Download Your Prayer Card on the Resources Page. Tuck it in your Bible, tape it to your mirror, or pray it when the weight feels heavy. You don’t have to carry this alone.