When Trust is Broken

Trust isn’t something we give freely.
It is earned slowly, layered carefully, and protected fiercely.

And once it’s stolen… it can feel almost impossible to give back.

I often find myself wondering what a relationship even is once trust is no longer a factor. If trust is the foundation, what remains when the foundation cracks?

The framework may still be standing.
The title may still exist.
The vows may still echo in memory.

But something essential has shifted.

The foundation of any healthy relationship should be built on trust and honesty. When we begin to trust someone, conversations deepen. Emotional connection begins to form. Safety is established. A friendship grows. And in that space, love flourishes.

Especially in marriage.

The love between a husband and wife is not casual — it is covenant. It is sacred. It is “till death do you part.” It is two becoming one, vulnerable and exposed without fear of harm.

But what happens when that covenant is fractured?

When lies replace truth.
When deception clouds clarity.
When manipulation distorts reality.
When addiction takes precedence over intimacy.
When dishonesty becomes a pattern instead of a mistake.

It takes you to an unrecognizable place.

A place where you question your discernment.
Where you replay conversations.
Where peace feels foreign.
Where dissatisfaction quietly begins to manifest in your soul.

It is not just disappointment.
It is disorientation.

Because trust is not simply about behavior — it is about safety. And when safety is compromised, the heart goes into survival mode.

You begin guarding instead of giving.
Withholding instead of welcoming.
Protecting instead of partnering.

And somewhere in the midst of that, you grieve.

You grieve the marriage you thought you had.
You grieve the version of the person you believed in.
You grieve the simplicity that once existed.

Broken trust does not just damage connection — it wounds identity. It makes you question what was real and what was performance.

But here is what I am learning in the quiet:

Even when human trust is broken, God remains faithful.

Where people fail, He does not.
Where deception lives, He is truth.
Where manipulation confuses, He brings clarity.
Where dishonesty destabilizes, He stands firm.

Trust may feel impossible to rebuild in the natural — but it was never meant to rest solely on human strength.

Psalm 118:8 says:

“It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in humans.”

That verse used to feel harsh to me. But now it feels protective.

God never intended for another human to be the sole keeper of our security. Marriage is covenant, yes — but ultimate trust belongs to the Lord.

When earthly trust is fractured, it drives us back to the One who cannot lie, cannot manipulate, cannot abandon, cannot betray.

“The Lord is faithful to all His promises and loving toward all He has made.” — Psalm 145:13

Faithful to all His promises.

Not most.
Not sometimes.
All.

Trust may take time to rebuild. Healing may require boundaries. Restoration may demand truth, repentance, and accountability.

But even if the relationship feels unrecognizable right now — you are not without foundation.

If everything else feels unstable, anchor yourself here:

God is trustworthy.

And when you build your peace on Him first, you will never be standing on shifting ground again.

Not Consumed

“Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness.” — Lamentations 3:22–23

There is a sacred weight that comes with truly loving and serving the Lord.

When you devote yourself to the Church.
When you pour into ministry.
When you show up for people again and again.
When you carry burdens no one else sees.

You strive to serve Him well. You want to be faithful. You want to honor God with your life.

And yet… life can still feel heavy.

Ministry can exhaust you.
Family responsibilities can stretch you thin.
Spiritual battles can drain your strength.
Unanswered prayers can test your endurance.

Sometimes the very ones who serve the most are tempted to be consumed by discouragement.

Jeremiah wrote Lamentations in the middle of devastation. Everything looked ruined. Yet in the center of grief, he declared:

“We are not consumed.”

Not because the chaos stopped.
Not because the future looked promising.
Not because he had answers.

But because of who God is.

The enemy would love to consume you with:

Distraction
Comparison
Offense
Fatigue
Anxiety about what’s next

He cannot steal your salvation — but he will try to steal your focus.

And here is the truth:
You will be consumed by something.

If we leave our hearts unguarded, the noise of the day will fill the empty spaces.

But Scripture calls us to something different.

Instead of being consumed by chaos, we must consume ourselves with His presence.

Fill the empty spaces with:

Worship music playing in your home and car
Quiet moments of prayer, even whispered prayers between tasks
Reading Scripture before reaching for your phone
Sitting still long enough to let His peace settle your spirit

When you fill your atmosphere with His presence, there is no room for bitterness to take root.
When you saturate your mind with His Word, fear has no place to grow.
When you practice worship in the middle of heaviness, discouragement begins to lose its grip.

His mercies are new every morning — but we must step into them.

Faithfulness is not striving harder.
It is surrendering deeper.

It is waking up and saying:

“Lord, this day is Yours.
This ministry is Yours.
These struggles are Yours.
Lead me through what I cannot see.”

We fight the good fight not by controlling outcomes, but by guarding our focus.

When life feels overwhelming, don’t allow the silence to be filled with the enemy’s whispers.
Intentionally fill it with worship.
Fill it with Scripture.
Fill it with prayer.

Because what fills you will shape you.

And when His presence fills you, the distractions that try to consume you simply have no room.

You may still walk through heavy seasons.
You may not yet see the light at the end of the tunnel.
But you will not be consumed.

Not because you are strong —
But because He is faithful.

Great is His faithfulness.
New mercy is waiting for you tomorrow morning.

And when you choose to fill yourself with Him, you will have strength to keep fighting the good fight — steady, surrendered, and unconsumed.

Beyond the Cupboard Doors

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”
— Matthew 11:28 (NIV)

Loneliness brings with it a longing—for conversation, for connection, for someone who will simply listen. Often, we can be surrounded by people and yet feel completely isolated in the room. It’s in those moments that our thoughts tend to take over. A million things swirl through our minds—things we long to say out loud, hoping someone might care enough to hear them.

And so, we begin to ramble to ourselves.

Washing dishes. Sweeping the floor. Folding socks.
The simplest tasks of life become the closest thing to conversation we have. I found myself there—stuffing blankets into the cupboard, talking out loud, letting random thoughts spill into the air, fully aware that no one was listening. My mind jumped from one thought to the next until I suddenly stood still, suspended in a moment that felt detached from reality.

And then, I imagined walking into the fairytale land of Narnia.

Disappearing into the cupboard that stood before me—its presence faint, almost inviting. We often find ourselves dreaming of a place beyond reality, a place that offers escape from everything we carry inside. A world of redemption waiting just beyond the applewood doors. A life untouched by pain, fear, or disappointment.

If only it were that easy.

The weight of real life presses so heavily on our souls that we begin to create a delusion—believing there must be something better, something lighter, somewhere else. Yet, as we journey through this uncharted land of fantasy, we quickly discover that even it is plagued by an eternal winter. Betrayal comes from those closest to us. Innocence is stripped away by deeper magic. And the escape we longed for becomes nothing more than a reflection of our own broken reality.

And then—we see Aslan.

The creator. The redeemer.
The one who transforms this place of escape into a mirror of truth. Suddenly, it becomes clear: the sinner is desperate—for forgiveness, for redemption, for salvation. Desperate for a Savior willing to lay Himself down, taking on every sin of humanity.

I close the applewood doors.
I snap back to reality.

And in that moment, I realize my burdens were never meant to be carried into another world—they were meant to be laid at the altar. His grace is sufficient for me. Always. Every single day of my life.

Lord,
You see the quiet moments—the cupboards, the silence, the words spoken into empty rooms. You see the longing, the exhaustion, the places we wish we could escape from and the places we wish would save us. Help us to remember that true redemption is not found beyond imaginary doors, but at Your feet. Teach us to lay down what is heavy, to stop carrying what was never ours to hold, and to trust that Your grace is enough—right here, in this life, on this day. Amen.

Fight Like David

“But I trust in your unfailing love;
my heart rejoices in your salvation.
I will sing the Lord’s praise,
for he has been good to me.” – Psalm 3:5–6 (NIV)

As I sit here enjoying a hot cup of coffee on what might be the largest snowstorm of my lifetime, I find myself thinking about King David. In all of his greatness, he still reached places of abandonment, fear, and deep vulnerability in the eyes of his enemies.

Oh, how I relate to this—knowing the Almighty God walks with me through life, yet often feeling as David did: alone, doubtful, abandoned, and vulnerable to the enemy.

I keep returning to the words David poured out to his God:

“How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
and day after day have sorrow in my heart?” – Psalm 13:1-2 (NIV)

I feel David’s cry deep within my soul—that longing to know how long the suffering will last, how long the wrestling within the mind must continue. Sorrow slowly drains joy and opens the door just enough for the enemy to creep in. In those moments, I feel David’s vulnerability at the deepest levels of my being.

Although David was facing a literal army, I am fighting a spiritual warfare far fiercer than we can imagine. Spiritual battles knock at our doors every single day. And it is often in moments of weakness or complete abandonment that I’m reminded David still drew his strength from the Lord. His hope came from the Lord.

It is easy to offer hope and God’s grace to others through my own experiences, yet often nearly impossible to accept that same hope for myself. When my hope runs thin, I write from the trenches—allowing God to use my words to shine light into the lives of others.

But what about me?

I am humbled to realize that it is okay to feel.
To question.
To doubt.
To make mistakes.

It is okay to say:
“I am carrying too much alone.”
“I don’t want to be the strong one today.”
“I don’t want to fight another battle quietly.”
“I don’t want to be the one who always understands.”

I am allowed to feel.
Allowed to be weak.
Allowed to cry out to God, just as David did, in my despair.

And you have permission to do the same.

God longs for us to want Him, need Him, cry out to Him. He doesn’t expect perfection—He expects trust, faith, and vulnerability.

Be a David. Let your true feelings be heard. Speak them out loud to the Father and trust His perfect plan and timing.

Leanna Crawford’s song “Honest” feels especially fitting when entering a posture of worship in the pit of despair—when fear surrounds us and darkness feels heavy. It captures the raw tension of witnessing God’s power, faithfulness, and miracles in others’ lives while still holding onto the promise of our own victory.

Don’t give up.
Be a David.
Remain steadfast, persistent, faithful, honest—
and wake up every day expecting.

Father,
You see the battles we fight out loud and the ones we carry quietly.
You know the weariness, the doubt, the questions we’re afraid to say.
Meet us here—in our honesty, in our weakness, in our longing.
Give us the courage to cry out like David,
and the faith to trust You even when answers feel far away.
Teach us to rest in Your unfailing love
and to believe You are still good, even here.
Amen.

When the Battle Is Over but the War Lingers

“The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.” — Exodus 14:14

Is the most difficult part to bear in the midst of the battle, or the silent mental prison that lingers behind? Undoubtedly, it is the aftermath—the chaos, the battle, the struggle, in whatever form it arises. It’s the adrenaline in the moment, the anxiety, the blood boiling, the heavy silence that overtakes every ounce of your being as you whisper, this is not my battle… this is not my battle.

Let’s be honest—it is incredibly difficult to exercise full surrender in the hellish heat of the battle. Every part of our body is screaming to enter fight mode. We want to defend ourselves, lash out, say the harsh words we don’t mean… or maybe the ones we do. Raise our voices louder than we should, sometimes even scream in the face of the one we love most, just to cover the pain.

But it is the self-control and complete confidence we find in our glorious Maker that tames the flesh-driven spirit inside of us. Getting through these battles by allowing God to fight them—that is what makes a true overcomer. There is a quiet sense of victory that follows, a moment where we rest in His peace and hear Him whisper, well done, my child.

The Holy Spirit living within us is what keeps the fight under submission. He restrains what our flesh longs to release. Flight mode, on the other hand, can sometimes get the best of us in the moment. While retreat may feel safer and often produces less immediate damage than fight, it can still carry lasting consequences once the heat dies down. Running doesn’t heal the wound—it only delays the reckoning. Only surrender allows God to fully step in and restore what the battle tried to destroy.

Then… the aftermath comes.
If you’ve been there, you know.

The overwhelming feeling of failure. The self-doubt. The belief that everything that transpired is somehow your fault. It feels like a million demons chasing you as you push through heavy brush, desperately trying to make it to the feet of the Father. The thoughts. The emotions. Or maybe the absence of emotion—which can be an even darker place to sit.

This season feels endless, like a million days rolled into one. We bathe in it, suffer in it, and somehow—only by the grace of God—we function in it. Every single day in this lonely place, we put on a smile and face the world with strength that comes only from our Maker.

Through my belief in the power of Jesus, I have seen time and time again that this place is only a season. Resting in the truth that He will work even this for our good is what carries us through. That belief clears the path through the heavy brush, makes the demons flee, and opens the way to the feet of the Almighty.

That is where we should always strive to be—at the feet of Jesus.

Keeping faith and holding tightly to God’s promises is what brings us through the battles. It carries us through the moments when we feel like our worst selves, reminding us that through Him, we can become the best version of ourselves—regardless of the circumstances. When we listen to that quiet whisper, this is not my battle, we invite God onto the scene to fight for us, and we allow ourselves to rest in His arms through the silent mental war that always follows the storm.

Prayer

Father God,
In the heat of the battle and in the silence that follows, remind us that this is not ours to carry alone. When every part of our body is screaming to fight or run, help us to be still and trust You to move. Quiet our minds, guard our words, and tame the storm inside us with Your Spirit. When the aftermath feels heavy, and the mental weight tries to pull us under, lead us back to Your feet. Fill our lungs with breath, our hearts with peace, and our souls with the assurance that You are fighting for us. Teach us to surrender—not out of weakness, but out of trust. We lay it all down and rest in You.
Amen.

Depths of the Sea

If I make my bed in the depths, You are there.”
— Psalm 139:8 (NIV)

That feeling. That thought. That deep emotion that instantly takes you to your secret place.

The place you go to escape — to not exist, to not feel. The place you only visit in desperate moments, when reality feels heavy, hopeless, breathless. A place that somehow feels both lifeless and powerful as you control each breath, taking in the oxygen your body so desperately craves.

It’s like sitting at the bottom of a vast body of water, drowning out everything in existence except the steady rhythm of your own breathing. Time freezes. The noise you’re escaping slowly fades into the distance while you soak in the silence, the darkness, the serenity of nothingness.

As the oxygen begins to dissipate, everything in you longs to stay there — alone, silent, suspended, lifeless.

Then, in a single moment, comes the gasp. Fresh air floods your lungs. Life rushes back in. Reality hits like a brick.

And it’s in that moment you realize something powerful: you were still in control of your chaos.

That brief glimpse of nothingness — the stillness you longed for — was given for only a moment. And as your lungs refill, you’re reminded of the gift of life… the miracle of breath.

It is in moments like this that I truly appreciate life. The awareness that tomorrow is never promised. The understanding that my time here on earth rests fully in the hands of my Master.

These moments bring clarity — a deep appreciation for breath, for choice, for life itself. Even in the darkest places, God’s mercy and grace never fail. They sustain me. They call me to choose Him. To choose life in the chaos.

And even when it feels like there is no way forward — only the deep darkness of a silent sea — He walks with me through every weary step of my journey. Even in the deepest, darkest waters.

One of my go-to encouragement songs says:

“And I’ll testify of the battles You’ve won,
How You were my portion when there wasn’t enough.
And I’ll testify of the seas that we’ve crossed,
The waters You parted, the waves that I’ve walked.”

In my deepest moments of desperation — at the bottom of what feels like an endless sea — God parts the waters. He gives breath to my lungs and strength to walk the waves once again.

It is only through complete surrender that I release control and hand my battles over to Him.

You will face battles. You will suffer moments of desperation. You may even feel as though your time on this earth should end.

Let this be your reminder: breathe. Just breathe.

There is a God who sees you, hears you, and fights for you. A God who parts waters, restores breath, and gives strength to rise again. Even when you feel buried in the depths of the sea, He fills your lungs and leads you back to the surface.

Put your faith in Him.
Allow Him to be your breath.

You Are Worthy of One More Day

Lamentations 3:22–23 (NIV)
“Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”

You are worthy of new mercies.
You are worthy of fresh starts.
You are worthy of hope.
And you are worthy of a God who sustains you through even the heaviest nights.

One thing that keeps me going is the start of a brand-new day.
Every night, when I lay my head down and the noise in my mind refuses to quiet, I hold on to this truth: morning is coming, and with it, a fresh start.

Each early morning, when my eyes open to the never-ending sound of the alarm clock and my feet hit the cold hardwood floor, I’m reminded that God saw me worthy enough to give me one more day. One more day to breathe. One more day to try again.

One more day to enjoy a hot cup of coffee as I feel its warmth run through my veins. One more day to love my beautiful children. One more day to love my veteran to the very best of my ability—even when it’s hard. One more day to forgive. And most of all, one more day to worship a Savior who calls me worthy of the life I’ve been given.

If you have a moment today, I encourage you to listen to the song “One More Day” by Sons of Sunday. Let the words settle into your heart as a reminder that every morning is a gift, and every breath is grace.

Do you often wake up feeling like tomorrow will just be another dreaded day? Do you ever count yourself as unworthy or incapable of handling the life you’ve been given? I know that feeling well.

Try to start today as a new day—a day of praise, a day of life, and a day to love, even through the struggle. Tomorrow is never promised, so thank God for giving you one more day today.

What is one small thing you could change to make this day a little more positive?

Some nights are loud. Some days feel heavy. But every morning is mercy—quietly reminding us that we are still here, deeply loved, and that God is not finished with us yet.

Together we take on one more day…

Strength for the Weary Warrior

When the wages of war get heavy, you will often find yourself lost in the loneliness of the battlefield. If you silently remain there for too long, it becomes a dangerous place—a dark place—where the enemy creeps into the silence to destroy what you have worked so desperately to sustain.

It is in those moments that the small whispers of defeat grow louder—reminders of your failures, fears of your inadequacies, and worries about not possessing the strength to face another day. These thoughts strike when you are at your weakest.

And yet, it is in these very moments that you must gather what strength you have left to employ your most powerful weapon: prayer.

Your weakest prayers—those uttered from a place of complete desperation—are not ignored; they are heard, treasured, and cherished by your Heavenly Father. He longs to protect you from the evil one.

In the darkest moments of your marriage, you must prioritize your spiritual well-being—not only to guard your own heart but to shield your family from the lies of the enemy. This is how you claim victory over your life, over your marriage, and over your home. This is how you find the strength to pray fervently, even when it feels like you have nothing left to give.

The Bible tells us:

“Be very careful, then, how you live—not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil.” (Ephesians 5:15-16)

Wives, we are warned in the living Word of God that our days on this earth are filled with evil. Every single day you will face battles against an enemy who wants to destroy your marriage, your faith, and your peace. That’s why, each day, you must make choices rooted deeply in faith—choices that put God first, then your spouse.

Your decision to stand in faith in the loneliest places—when no one else sees, when no one else knows—may be the very thing that brings hope, healing, and victory to your marriage.

There is Victory in the Name Jesus

There are moments in this life where the weight of spiritual warfare feels unbearable. I find myself paralyzed—not by what I see, but by the invisible war waged in my mind and spirit. It’s as if the enemy is constantly whispering lies of defeat into my ears. Without even realizing it, I begin to spiral—drawn into a pit of sorrow, pain, and overwhelming exhaustion. My heart races, my palms grow sweaty, and I close my eyes, taking deep breaths, wondering how I ended up in such a battle.

But even in that silence… the still, small voice of the Holy Spirit breaks through. And He reminds me who I am.
I am loved.
I am worthy.
I am treasured.
I am enough.

In that holy moment, I rise up and begin to declare victory over my life, my marriage, and my children. I remember that through faith in Jesus Christ, I hold the key to every victory. “The horse is made ready for the day of battle, but the victory belongs to the Lord” (Proverbs 21:31).

Ladies, hear me: you do not fight this battle alone.

When you step into the war for your marriage, your family, your peace—you’re entering a spiritual battlefield. And unless you’re prepared, the lies of the enemy will leave you paralyzed. But God is calling you to rise up. Prepare your horse. Put on your armor. Don’t let the pain of today keep you from the promise of tomorrow.

No matter how weary or broken you feel, seek the Lord. Stay steadfast in prayer. Immerse yourself in God’s Word. Set your mind and heart on the One who fights for you. Yes, some days it feels like you have no strength left to even pick up the saddle—but it is your faith that will carry you through. It is your faith that places the blood of Jesus over the doorway of your home. It is your faith that will break chains and set your husband free.

You may feel outnumbered. You may feel unseen. But let me assure you, heaven sees you. God is with you. And the victory is already won.

As the Bible tells us:

“Our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, against the world forces of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places.” (Ephesians 6:12)

So today, I challenge you—reject the lies of the enemy and rise up in truth.
Declare victory over your life, your husband, and your marriage.
This battle is not yours—it belongs to the Lord.
And through Him… you will see a VICTORY.

When the Battle Is Over: A Devotion for the Wife of a PTSD Warrior

When the battlefield goes silent, a new war begins—the battle of the mind. Your husband is forever changed. Your marriage is forever changed. And so are you.

They say time heals all wounds, but if I’m being honest, time has only carved out deeper ones. I’ve learned that true healing—lasting, soul-deep healing—can only come from God. Life as the wife of someone with PTSD is a silent suffering that only fellow survivors can truly understand. It’s waking up every morning, putting on a brave face, pouring yourself out in hopes of bringing light into the darkness that now lives in your home.

And yet, what our husbands need most is not our strength, our solutions, or even our smiles. What they need is our consistent, unfailing love—a love that chooses them again and again, even in the hardest, darkest moments. I know how exhausting that love can be. I know the minefield you walk daily, unsure what might trigger an explosion of anger, silence, or shame. Addiction. Isolation. Bitterness. A deep sense of unworthiness. I’ve seen it. I live it.

More than anything, I long to see the man I love rise from the ashes. So many days feel like grief—grieving the man he once was, while watching the shell of who he’s become slowly fade. But friend, this is where God steps in.

This is the place where ashes turn into beauty.

God sees you. He sees your heartbreak, your loyalty, your hope that flickers even on the dimmest days. Isaiah 61:3 reminds us that He will bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. Through your steadfast faith, through your tears and prayers, God is working—even when you can’t see it.

Wife of a warrior, this battle isn’t yours to win. “Do not be afraid or discouraged… For the battle is not yours, but God’s.” (2 Chronicles 20:15)

So today, press into His Spirit. Breathe deep. You are not alone, and you are not without hope. Your faithfulness matters. Your prayers matter. And your story is not over.

Let Him carry what you can’t. Let Him fight the battle that overwhelms you. Let Him bring life back into the places that feel lifeless.

Because with God—nothing is beyond redemption.