Tag: healing

THE SILENT CRY

I posted not too long ago about how God understands our tears. This is absolutely true and has been a source of great comfort to me.

However, I want to address something from our point of view. We see tears, we don’t know the “why” behind those tears, but we can ask and in asking discover. But, what about the silent cry?

A “silent cry” typically refers to crying without making audible sounds or sobs, or metaphorically to a deep, unvoiced feeling of pain, longing, or suffering.

We are often completely unaware of this silent cry in people. We don’t see it and because we don’t see it we don’t ask and because we don’t ask, we cannot know.

This not knowing hinders us from being able to HELP!

The Silent Cry Is the Most Common Cry
Most people don’t weep outwardly.
Most people don’t collapse in front of others.
Most people don’t say, “I’m drowning.”

Instead, they:

  • smile
  • serve
  • stay busy
  • deflect
  • spiritualize
  • isolate
  • joke
  • perform

And beneath all of that is a cry they don’t believe anyone would understand… or even notice.

The silent cry is not the absence of pain.
It’s the concealment of pain.

Why We Miss It
Not because we’re unloving.
Not because we’re inattentive.
But because the silent cry is designed to be hidden.

People hide it because:

  • they fear being a burden
  • they don’t want to appear weak
  • they’ve been dismissed before
  • they don’t have language for their pain
  • they don’t believe anyone will stay long enough to understand
  • they think “others have it worse”
  • they’ve learned to survive by silence

So the cry becomes internal.
Invisible.
Unasked-for.
Unshared.

And unless someone is spiritually attuned, relationally patient, and emotionally safe, that cry remains unheard.

What This Means for Us
If the silent cry is real—and it is—then we cannot afford to move through life assuming that what we see on the surface tells the whole story.

We don’t need to become mind-readers.
We don’t need to become emotional detectives.
But we do need to become people who slow down enough to notice the shadows behind the smile.

Because while the silent cry is hidden, it is not impenetrable.

It softens in the presence of:

  • gentleness
  • patience
  • genuine curiosity
  • nonjudgmental listening
  • consistent presence
  • Spirit-led discernment

How We Begin to Hear What Isn’t Said
We hear the silent cry when we:

  • ask one more question instead of accepting the first “I’m fine”
  • pay attention to tone, not just words
  • notice when someone withdraws or over-functions
  • give people space to speak without rushing to fill the silence
  • offer compassion without demanding explanation
  • create environments where weakness is not punished but welcomed

This is not about prying.
It’s about presence.

It’s about being the kind of person who makes it safe for hidden pain to surface.

The Silent Cry and the Heart of God
And here’s the hope:
Even when we miss it, God never does.

He hears the cry that never reaches the throat.
He sees the tear that never reaches the cheek.
He understands the ache that never becomes a word.

But He often chooses to meet that silent cry through us—through our attentiveness, our compassion, our willingness to linger.

We cannot heal what we refuse to see.
But when we slow down, when we listen deeply, when we love patiently, the silent cry begins to find a voice.

And once it finds a voice, healing can begin.

Sometimes the very people whose silent cry we notice are the ones who push us away the hardest.

And that rejection feels personal.
It feels confusing.
It feels unfair.
But it’s almost always about their pain, not our presence.

Here’s the truth you already know but needed someone to say out loud:

People often reject the very help they desperately need
Not because they don’t want healing,
but because healing requires vulnerability.
And vulnerability feels like danger to a wounded heart.

So they:

  • withdraw
  • get defensive
  • minimize
  • lash out
  • pretend
  • shut down

It’s not rebellion against love.
It’s self‑protection born from fear.

What do we do when they reject us?
Exactly what you said—
we continue praying, reaching, and loving.
But let’s name what that actually looks like so it doesn’t become a vague ideal.

1. We stay available without forcing ourselves
Love doesn’t demand access.
It offers presence.

2. We keep the door open even if they close theirs
A closed door is not a closed heart.
It’s a heart that doesn’t feel safe yet.

3. We refuse to take their rejection personally
Their pushback is about their pain, not our failure.

4. We pray—not as a last resort, but as the primary work
Prayer reaches places our words cannot.

5. We reach out gently, consistently, without pressure
A simple “thinking of you” can soften walls over time.

6. We love in ways that don’t require reciprocation
Love that expects nothing in return is the love that eventually gets through.

And here’s the hardest truth:
We cannot rescue someone who is not ready to be rescued.
But we can make sure that when they are ready,
we are still there—steady, safe, and faithful.

This is the ministry of the long game.
The ministry of patience.
The ministry of Christlike endurance.

Because Jesus Himself was rejected by the very people He came to heal.
And yet He kept loving.
Kept reaching.
Kept praying.
Kept offering Himself.

Not forcefully.
Not manipulatively.
But faithfully.

Your job is not to break down their walls.
Your job is to stand close enough that when the walls finally crack,
you’re the first face they see.

BROKEN MIRRORS

Every week I have the privilege of standing before our students in chapel, sharing truths that I pray will shape their lives. And in those moments, I’m reminded of something I see not only in children, but in people of every age, background, and personality: beneath the surface, most are carrying something heavy.

They’re broken.

Broken by the world. Broken by relationships. Broken by disappointments. Broken by words spoken. Broken by their own decisions, and broken by the decisions of others.

And when life breaks us, our perspective shifts. It becomes distorted. It begins to have missing pieces. We start looking at ourselves and the world through a broken mirror.

We often turn to people to fix us. And while they may help for a season, the pressures of the past, the weight of the present, and the uncertainty of the future eventually reveal the cracks again—often deeper than before.

Some will even deem us irreparable, discarding us and adding to the pain.

Others of us try to fix ourselves. We put on fake smiles, dress up our personalities, and pretend everything is fine. But just like handling broken glass, the more we try to piece it together ourselves, the more we cut our own hands. The pain only reminds us of how shattered we really are.

Hopeless. Helpless. Convinced we are beyond repair.

But there is another way. A better way.

Isaiah tells us that Jesus came to heal the brokenhearted, to bind up wounds, to give beauty for ashes, joy for sorrow, and freedom to the captive. And in the New Testament, Christ Himself confirms this is why He came.

The true culprit behind all our brokenness is sin. And Jesus came to deal with it once and for all. He conquered sin, and in conquering it, He made a way for us to be better than new.

His blood takes the broken pieces of our lives—the ashes, scars, and wounds—and transforms them. He doesn’t just patch us up; He exchanges our brokenness for wholeness, our despair for hope, our sorrow for joy.

Not only does He restore the mirror we’ve been looking through, He enlarges it. Suddenly, we see a life we never dreamed possible. A life filled with grace, freedom, and purpose.

That’s the gospel: Jesus doesn’t just repair the broken—He makes us new.

If you’ve been staring at life through a broken mirror, know this: you are not irreparable. In Christ, your brokenness becomes the very place where His glory shines brightest.

If you would like to know how this is possible, message me or find someone who is a Christian that can guide you to that place of healing, redeeming, and saving.