Following Jesus doesn’t guarantee a pain-free path; it promises His presence on the path. Because we live in a broken world, trouble will visit us, and misaligned expectations can quietly tug our souls toward resentment and confusion—like a car pulled off course by poor alignment. Adjusting your expectations to reality frees your heart to notice Jesus with you in the storm rather than assuming He is distant. Today, expect the unexpected—and, even more, expect Him: near, compassionate, and steady. Let this alignment make room for a durable peace that lasts through both smooth roads and rough ones. [07:38]
John 16:33 — I’ve told you these things so you can share in my peace. In this world, pressure and pain are normal realities, but take courage—My victory over this broken world stands firm.
Reflection: Where has a hidden expectation (“God should keep this from happening”) been pulling your heart out of alignment, and how might you rewrite it this week to “Whatever comes, Jesus will be with me and help me”?
God is not watching from a distance; He comes close to the brokenhearted. At Lazarus’s tomb, Jesus knew resurrection was coming, yet He first entered grief—He wept openly with friends who were aching. Your tears are noticed and honored; your wounds are handled gently, without shame. You are not a project to be fixed but a beloved child to be comforted. Let His nearness steady your breathing and soften your fear today. [11:22]
Psalm 34:18 — The Lord draws near to people whose hearts feel shattered, and He rescues those whose spirits have been crushed.
Reflection: What would it look like, practically, to let God near your grief today—five unrushed minutes to cry in prayer, a journal page, or a simple “Lord, I hurt” sighed aloud?
Healing often begins when you name your pain before God. Like the blind man by the roadside, Jesus draws you close and asks, “What do you want Me to do for you?”—not because He needs information, but because He wants relationship. Naming shifts you from being the emotion to noticing it with Him, instead of numbing, distracting, or dumping it elsewhere. Be present in the process; pour out your heart like water, and come again tomorrow for more wound care. He will meet you with comfort, not condemnation. [24:06]
Luke 18:40–41 — Jesus stopped, called for the blind man to be brought near, and asked, “Tell Me what you want Me to do for you.” The man replied plainly with his need.
Reflection: Which three words best describe your current ache (for example, “betrayed,” “afraid,” “exhausted”), and when this week will you speak those exact words to Jesus?
Sometimes God does not remove the thorn; He gives Himself. His grace isn’t a shortcut around weakness but the strength of Christ within weakness. When self-reliance collapses, space opens for His power to uphold you and accomplish His purposes through you. You may not receive less weakness, but you can receive more of Him. Let your brokenness become the very place where His power is most visible. [20:10]
2 Corinthians 12:7–10 — A painful “thorn” was allowed to keep Paul from pride, and three times he begged the Lord to take it away. The Lord replied, “My grace is enough; My power shows best in your weakness.” So Paul chose to boast in his frailty, because when he was weak, Christ’s power rested on him; in that paradox, he was truly strong.
Reflection: What ongoing trial have you asked God to remove? What is one small, concrete step you can take today that depends on His sustaining grace rather than the problem disappearing?
God comforts us so that comfort can flow through us. As sorrow and joy run like parallel tracks, His goodness runs alongside your pain, shaping grace, identification, faith-building, and tenderness in you. Your survival becomes someone else’s hope—not because you were impressive, but because God proved faithful. Walk into the year unafraid of heartache, hand in hand with Christ, ready to share the same care you keep receiving. He will bless you in your brokenness and bless others through it. [33:55]
2 Corinthians 1:3–4 — Praise be to the Father of mercies and the God who comforts. He consoles us in every trouble so that we can extend the very comfort we received to others whenever they face trouble.
Reflection: Who is one person you could quietly sit with this week—without rushing or fixing—and how might you offer gentle, specific comfort that mirrors how God has comforted you?
Part two of “Broken” explores not moral failure, but the heartbreak that comes from living in a fractured world. Humanity dwells in an “age of knowing”—the knowledge of good and evil—so joy and sorrow arrive like parallel train tracks, running side by side. Because this world is not as it was or as it will be, real discipleship requires aligning expectations with reality. Jesus promised trouble, not insulation from it, so misguided expectations distort perception of life and even of God. The result is subtle but costly: unnecessary disappointment, spiritual drag, and a caricature of God as distant or indifferent.
Yet Scripture reveals the opposite: God draws near to the brokenhearted. Jesus wept at Lazarus’s tomb even as resurrection power stood ready. God records every tear, bandages wounds carefully, and refuses to shame the hurting. His way is not merely to fix; it is to comfort. Comfort regulates the soul, reconnects the isolated, and carries hope for the despairing. From that comfort, God gives strength.
Paul’s thorn shows that the deepest gift in pain is not removal but presence—“My grace is sufficient for you.” Weakness becomes the stage for divine strength; power shines through limits, not apart from them. Practically, healing often begins by naming brokenness. Jesus’s question to the blind man—“What do you want me to do for you?”—invites honesty, not information. When pain isn’t named, it quietly shapes us into hardness; when it is named before God, the soul begins to mend. This means returning repeatedly to God for “wound care”: pouring out the heart, receiving fresh bandaging, and discovering again that his grace and comfort truly are enough.
Over time, those who bring their pain to God are changed. Tenderness replaces sharpness. Empathy expands. The self-focused orbit breaks, and life turns outward. The comfort received becomes the comfort shared. God does not merely heal; he makes sufferers into healers. Grace, identification, faith-building, and tenderness flow from people who have been held by God in their sorrow. Facing the future, courage is not denial of pain but companionship in it—walking into heartache hand in hand with Christ. Running parallel to a broken world is the unbroken goodness of God. His nearness, mercy, and faithfulness do not blink in the dark; they shine there.
And when our expectations about life are misaligned, it doesn't just affect how we see life, it actually affects how we see God as well. And we start to come to some conclusions like this. We see God as one who is distant, as one who's rather unaware of what's going on, unmoved, unconcerned. He doesn't really care. When suffering shows up and we expected protection, when loss comes and we expected fairness, when pain lingers and we expected quick relief, we don't just question the situation. We question God's heart. [00:09:22] (45 seconds) #ExpectationsShapeFaith
Scripture reveals that we can and we should expect the very opposite. We should expect the unexpected. Scripture assures us that we are never, ever alone. Our God is present. He is with us. And we can even add this, that he is emotionally engaged with us. He cares deeply. [00:11:40] (23 seconds) #GodIsNear
Jesus didn't show up kind of, you know, emotionally detached, clinical, let me get this done. He stepped right into the grief of Lazarus' sisters, Mary and Martha, and all their friends. He was with them in their pain and sorrow. He saw their tears. He heard their cries. And he was moved by their heartache. I think his tears were saying, I know. [00:12:57] (28 seconds) #JesusWeepsWithUs
God heals by bandaging our wounds. Think about that carefully. Picture that. I mean, you don't bandage a wound from a distance, right? You have to get up close, real close and personal with someone and maybe even kneel down. You get tenderly close and bandaging a wound, it isn't rushed. It's careful. It's gentle. It acknowledges the pain. It doesn't dismiss it. [00:15:23] (33 seconds) #HealWithGentleCare
When we come to him hurt with our broken hearts, God doesn't shame us for being wounded. He doesn't say, you should be over this by now. Suck it up, buttercup. No, he carefully and he tenderly and he lovingly tends to the wounds of our heart. Healing will come, but bandaging is the tender, loving care that you and I experience along the way. We so often, we just want God to fix it. [00:15:56] (37 seconds) #TenderBandageNotFix
Because we are human beings made in the image of God, we are wired for relational healing. From infancy onward, comfort is how we survive distress. I mean, think about it. If a baby doesn't get comforting, it's not good. Even developmentally, developmentally for years to come. And that need never goes away for us. We just experience it in more complex forms as adults. Pain and heartache from a broken world need, desperately need comfort. And that's exactly what our creator wants to give us. [00:17:56] (43 seconds) #WiredForRelationalHealing
Because healing often begins when we finally give our pain a voice. By inviting the man to name his brokenness, Jesus was communicating, look, I don't need information. I want relationship with you. I don't need information from you. I want relationship with you. That's the most important thing. And I want you to know I see you. I'm here right now for you. Your need matters, so tell me about it. Tell me what hurts. I'm listening, and I care. Before healing the man, he comforted the man. [00:23:38] (46 seconds) #NameYourPain
And until you and I, until we deal with our pain, our pain, it's going to deal with us. What remains unnamed will remain unhealed. And pain that stays unnamed, it doesn't just go away. What it does is it quietly shapes us. And not in a good way at all. It shapes a hardened and a bitter and a harsh heart that cannot be broken. And that's not a pretty thing. [00:25:46] (33 seconds) #UnnamedPainUnhealed
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