The kitchen was quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the steady, rhythmic ticking of the wall clock. Tess sat at the worn wooden table, her hands wrapped around a mug of chamomile tea that had long since gone cold.Before her lay an open Bible, its pages softly illuminated by the amber glow of a single desk lamp.
There is so much that you have healed me from, Jesus, she whispered into the empty room, her voice trembling slightly. And I know I have such a long way to go.
She closed her eyes, letting out a breath that felt heavy with exhaustion. The past few years had been a grueling warzone of deliverance. Chains of old trauma, fear, and deep-seated regret had been broken, one by one. She had felt the warmth of His hands mending the jagged pieces of her heart. She had rejoiced in the victories, wept tears of profound gratitude, and believed she was finally stepping into the sunlit meadows of a restored life.
Yet, here she was. The monsters of the past were gone, but the mundane, terrifying reality of "regular life" remained. And somehow, it felt harder now than the battles.
"Just living regular life seems so hard," she murmured, tears spilling over her lashes. "And I can't hear you, Jesus. The silence is so loud."
It was a strange kind of loneliness—the kind that crept in after the adrenaline of survival wore off. When the giants were slain, the daily chores of existing rushed in to take their place: paying bills in a world that felt increasingly hostile, managing the persistent ache in her lower back, fighting the creeping fog of anxiety that threatened to paralyze her before she even got out of bed.
After all the healing and deliverance, then what, Jesus? Then what?
It felt as though suffering had pulled up a chair and seated itself permanently at her table. It didn't roar anymore; it just sat there, quietly heavy, eating from the same plate.
She looked down at the open pages of Scripture, tracing the faded ink of Romans 5 with a fingertip. Suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.
"I know," Tess whispered, swallowing the lump in her throat. "I have to remember what you say in your word. You use this. You say that suffering shapes you and creates a character that is perfected to match you."
She pulled the Bible closer, letting the familiar promises wash over her weary mind like cool water on a fevered brow.
“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Corinthians 12:9) “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” (Psalm 34:18) “And the God of all grace... will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast.” (1 Peter 5:10)
Tess realized then the subtle trap she had been falling into. Suffering that breaks a soul leads inward—to despair, to frantic self-reliance, to the desperate, exhausting urge to fix everything on her own strength. But the suffering she was facing now, surrendered at His feet, was doing something entirely different. It was chiseling away the last remnants of her self-reliance, driving her deeper into the relentless, sustaining grace of Christ.
She didn't need to understand the "then what." She only needed to know the One who walked through it.
Tess bowed her head, resting her forehead against the cool, polished wood of the table. The fear didn't magically vanish. The uncertainty of tomorrow still hung in the air like a heavy mist. But something shifted in the quiet.
"Jesus," she prayed, her voice barely a breath, "I am asking for help. I am asking you to pick me up, because I truly feel like I can't get up on my own."
She was tired. She was fragile. But she was not alone.
With trembling fingers, she reached out and turned another page in her Bible, her eyes catching the bold, enduring promise of John 16:33: “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”
Tess closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. The suffering was at her table, yes. But so was He. And as long as He was there, she would remain faithful.
