There comes a point in our journey when we must confront a profound truth: nothing external will ever truly save us. Not relationships. Not careers. Not success. Not possessions. This realization often arrives after years of searching, of placing our hope in things that ultimately cannot bear the weight of our deepest needs.

I understand this journey intimately. For so long, I believed salvation lay just beyond the next achievement, the next relationship, the next solution. But true healing only began when I stopped running and faced the emptiness within.

The paradox of divine love is that we find it most powerfully in our moments of greatest vulnerability. When we sit silently with our pain, our brokenness, our emptiness—not fighting against these feelings but allowing ourselves to fully experience them—something remarkable happens. In that sacred space of surrender, we discover we are not alone.

This is where the love of God reveals itself. Not in the noise and distraction of our busy lives, but in the quiet acceptance of our wounded hearts. The Creator who formed us knows every broken piece and loves us completely, not despite our imperfections but inclusive of them.

Our culture seduces us with endless distractions. Social media, entertainment, work, relationships—all can become escape routes from confronting our deeper selves. The path of healing isn’t celebrated publicly; it unfolds in private moments of courage when we choose to stay present with our pain rather than flee from it.

This practice of presence requires immense bravery. It means resisting the urge to numb ourselves when emotions become overwhelming. It means trusting that on the other side of our suffering lies not more pain, but profound connection with the divine source that created us.

When we finally grant ourselves permission to be broken before God—to sit in that space daily, consistently—organic healing begins. Our bodies and spirits contain remarkable capacity for renewal when given the chance to connect with their Creator. Like plants turning toward sunlight, we naturally orient toward divine love when we stop blocking its warmth with our frantic searching elsewhere.

The tragedy is that we rarely give God this chance. We exhaust ourselves exploring every other possibility, placing our faith in temporary solutions while the eternal answer waits patiently for our attention.

The love of God cannot be found through intellectual pursuit alone. It must be experienced—felt in the body, known in the heart. This experience becomes possible when we create space for divine presence amidst our brokenness, when we stop trying to fix ourselves and simply allow ourselves to be held.

The miracles, abundance, and blessings we seek have always been available. They await only our willingness to become still enough to receive them, to surrender our illusion of control, and to trust that in our most vulnerable moments, we are being carried by a love greater than anything we can imagine.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​