Tag: jesus

When God Heals, He Heals Completely

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There are moments in life when the ache feels unending. It sits deep in the chest, like a weight you can’t shake off. Maybe it’s the grief of a loss, the sting of rejection, the fatigue of chronic illness, or the quiet loneliness that lingers long after the world has gone to sleep. We become experts at surviving – smiling through the silence, functioning while broken, convincing ourselves that this is just how life will be.

But the beautiful truth is that God doesn’t leave us there.

When God heals, He doesn’t just patch the wound with a plaster. He restores. He reaches into the hollow spaces we try so hard to fill ourselves and brings life where we felt empty. He doesn’t just silence the ache, He transforms it.

I’ve learned that healing often doesn’t happen overnight. Sometimes it’s quiet and slow, like the sunrise creeping over the horizon after the longest night. There’s no fanfare, no sudden moment when everything is “fixed.” Instead, it’s the gentle awareness that you’re breathing again. You’re not just existing – you’re living.

And it’s not because we’ve figured out all the right prayers or because we’re strong enough to push through. Healing happens because God is faithful. He sees the cracks we try to cover. He knows the silent battles we fight and the tears no one else sees.

If you’re in that aching place today, don’t give up. Don’t believe for a second that God has forgotten you. He is near, even when you can’t feel Him. He knows every detail of your pain, and He knows exactly how to restore what’s been broken.

When God heals, it’s never halfway. It’s not just about survival – it’s about revival. It’s about turning the hollow places into something full of hope and beauty again.

“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” – Psalm 147:3

But I also know this: healing doesn’t always look the way we imagine it will. Sometimes the ache lingers longer than we hoped. Sometimes the miracle we prayed for never comes in the form we expected. And sometimes, healing isn’t something we experience fully this side of eternity.

This is the tension we live in – the now and not yet of God’s Kingdom. Yes, God brings healing now – in our hearts, our minds, our relationships, our bodies. But we also wait for the not yet – the day when every tear will be wiped away, when all pain will cease, when we’ll be made whole in the fullest sense.

That doesn’t mean His healing isn’t real in the present. It just means we trust Him to carry us through the in-between. We learn to hold space for both: the hope. that He is healing us today, and the faith that one day, everything broken will be made new.

So if you’re still waiting, still aching, still asking – know that you’re not forgotten. You’re living in the middle of a promise, and God is faithful to finish what He started. Wholeness is coming. If not in this life, then in the one to come.

He did it for me. He’s doing it now. And one day, He will do it fully for you, too.

All my love,

Anna x

God, Remind Me I Still Need You – Even on My Best Days

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There have been seasons in my life when I have held onto God like a lifeline. Not because I was particularly faithful or holy, but because I was utterly desperate. Rock-bottom, no-light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel, breathless kind of desperate. The kind of season where you don’t just want God – you know you won’t survive without Him.

And it’s a feeling I will never forget.

I remember crying in the middle of the night, not even sure if my prayers were coherent – just groaning out to God in the dark. I remember begging Him for strength to get through just one more hour. I remember reading Psalm 34 on repeat, clinging to the promise that “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” (Psalm 34:18)

And He did. He came close. Not always with quick fixes or instant answers, but with presence. With mercy. With enough grace to keep going. I needed Him every second, and I knew it. But here’s what I’m learning now:

It’s easy to remember your need for God when you’re drowning. It’s much harder to remember it when you’re dancing.

Healing Doesn’t Make Us Self-Sufficient

In recent months, my life has started to feel a little more stable, especially in regard to my mental health. Not perfect – far from it – but better. I laugh more. I breathe easier. I’m able to do things that once felt impossible. There’s more light, more space to rest, more reasons to hope. And I thank God for that – I truly do.

But I’ve also noticed something else: on the days when things go well, I sometimes forget how much I still need Him.

I forget to pray with urgency.

I forget to pause and listen.

I forget that grace is still what sustains me – not my own strength, not my own recovery, not my own resilience.

When things are chaotic, it’s easy to cry out, “God, help me.” But when life feels good, how often do I cry out, “God I still need you”?

The truth is, I still need Him just as much on my best day as I did on my worst. I always have, and always will.

“Apart from Me, you can do nothing”

Jesus said these words in John 15:5 and they’ve been echoing in my heart lately:

“I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in Me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from Me you can do nothing.”

Nothing.

Not “a little.” Not “less than usual.”

Nothing.

This isn’t just about surviving the hard moments. This is about abiding – staying close, staying connected, staying dependent on Him whether the skies are stormy or clear.

When I’m thriving, when I feel emotionally strong, when everything is going “right” – I’m just as dependent on Him as I was in the pit. I may not feel that need as acutely, but it’s there. My need for God isn’t based on how difficult life is. It’s based on who He is – the source of every breath, every blessing, every bit of peace and purpose.

Don’t Let Me Drift

I think one of the subtler dangers in our faith is the slow drift that can happen when life gets easier. We stop pressing in quite as much, we let our guard down spiritually, we become a little too comfortable.

Not because we’re being rebellious – just because we’re tired. Or distracted. Or because life has finally given us a little bit of space to breathe, and we want to enjoy it. And we should. Rest is good. Joy is good. Healing is good!

But let’s not forget who gave them to us in the first place.

“Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights.” (James 1:17)

If the good days are a gift, then the giver is still worthy of our full attention.

Remembering the Wilderness

Sometimes, I go back and reread old journal entries or prayer notes from the hardest chapters of my life. Not to reopen wounds, but to remember what God carried me through. I never want to romanticise the suffering – it was awful – but I also don’t want to forget the intimacy I experienced with God in the middle of it.

I want to carry that same dependence into the calm.

I want to love Him not just because I need Him to rescue me, but because I know I need Him to guide me, shape me, anchor me, and hold me – no matter what season I’m in.

If you’re in a hard season right now, I see you. Keep clinging to Him. He is near, and He is faithful.

But if you’re in a season of healing or peace – don’t forget your need for Him. You haven’t “graduated” from grace. You’re not supposed to. You don’t have to earn the good days or prove you’re strong enough without Him. Because the point was never to be strong without Him. The point has always been to walk with Him.

On your worst day, He was enough.

On your best day, He still is.

All my love,

Anna x

When God Doesn’t Answer “Why?”

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We’ve all been there. Collecting exam results, alone with a diagnosis we don’t want (either for ourselves or a loved one), sat in a waiting room for test results, living with a grief so sharp it leaves us breathless. Or, maybe we’re just walking through another day that feels heavier than we can carry, events around the world breaking our hearts. And the word “Why?” rises from somewhere deep within us.

Why did this happen? Why didn’t God stop it? Why me? Why am I not better? “Why?” is the question that haunts suffering and is so often one that we aim at heaven.

We ask God, “Why?” – but so often, we’re met with silence. Or answers that make no sense or don’t satisfy us. We want clarity. Resolution. A divine reason wrapped in a bow that makes everything okay. But more often than not, God doesn’t give us the answer we want.

Instead, He gives us something else: He gives us Himself.

“And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.” – Matthew 28:20

God may not explain every pain. But He promises to be present in it. And that is no small thing. The Creator of the universe doesn’t sit far away, looking down on our struggles and ignores them. He steps into them. He wraps Himself in our humanity. He walks through the fire with us. He suffers with us.

That’s why we call Him Emmanuel.

God with us.

Not God above us, or God far from us, or God explaining everything to us – but God with us.

And nowhere is that more clear than in Jesus.

On the cross, Jesus cried out words that many of us have whispered through tears:

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” – Matthew 27:46

Even Jesus – God in flesh – asked “why?”

That moment wasn’t weakness. It wasn’t failure. It was Jesus fully entering into the human experience. He didn’t skip the agony. He didn’t bypass the questions. He became like us, even in our confusion and anguish.

Which means your questions don’t scare God. Your “why?” doesn’t make you less faithful. It makes you human. And Jesus meets you there.

So often we think faith is about having all the answers. But maybe faith is about trusting that even when there are no answers, we’re not alone.

Because “why” may not always be answered in this life. But “with”?

That’s God’s eternal promise.

With you in the dark.

With you in the waiting.

With you in the ache that won’t let up.

With you to the very end of the age.

Maybe the better question isn’t “Why, God?” but “Where are you, God?” And the answer is always the same: Right here. Right beside you, still holding you, still faithful.

We don’t have a God who only gives explanations.

We have a God who gives presence.

We get Emmanuel.

And sometimes, that’s the answer we need most.

All my love,

Anna x

Not Your Time

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Content Warning: This post talks about suicide. Although no details are given please be mindful of this and don’t read on if this is something that might be triggering for you!

Have you ever had someone say to you, “It’s clearly not your time,” after a suicide attempt? If you have, you probably know how cliche it sounds. Those words can feel empty, as though they’re meant to close a conversation rather than open one. Yet, as much as I’ve resisted the phrase, I can’t deny the weight it holds in my own life. After surviving multiple attempts to die – despite every intention to leave this world – I’ve been forced to confront the possibility that those words might carry a truth I hadn’t been willing to see.

I’ve tried. Many times. In moments of despair, I’ve done everything within my power to end the pain. And every single time, something has stopped in from happening. Maybe it was an intervention of a friend, the police or hospital staff, or a twist of fate that kept me alive. Maybe it was sheer luck, or as I’ve come to consider more and more, maybe it was because it wasn’t part of the plan that God has for my life.

The idea that survival is part of a greater plan is as difficult to accept as it is to dismiss. If I believe that God has a purpose for my life – and some part of me does – then surviving when I was ready to die suggests that my story isn’t over yet. If my time had come, wouldn’t I have succeeded? Wouldn’t I finally have found that escape?

But believing in that purpose doesn’t make the pain vanish. If anything, it complicates things. I’ve found myself asking why God would keep me here, struggling, when I was so ready to let go. What possible reason could justify the agony that led me to those moments in the first place? It’s a question I don’t have an answer to – at least, not yet.

If you’re reading this, maybe you’ve asked yourself similar questions. Maybe you’ve also faced moments when death seemed like the only way out. And maybe, like me, you’re still here, unsure of why. Here’s the conclusion I’ve started to reach: survival might not feel like a gift in the moment, but it’s an invitation to keep going. To keep searching. To keep asking what’s next.

When I think about the times I’ve survived, I realise that those moments weren’t random. They were filled with small interventions – a text from a friend, a hug from a family member that I so desperately needed, the police turning up at exactly the right moment to stop me doing something I wouldn’t be able to undo. Those moments weren’t the answers to all my questions, but they were signposts pointing me toward something bigger.

Wrestling with God’s Plan

If you believe, as I do, that God has a plan for each of us, then the idea that “it’s not your time” takes on a heavier, more significant meaning. If God has kept me here through all of this, then it would stand to reason that my time to leave this world is not now – because if it were, I would be gone. Period.

But it’s hard to reconcile the pain and hopelessness that drive someone to attempt suicide with the concept of a loving God who is guiding everything. It can feel cruel. Why keep me here, God, if it hurts this much? Why not let me go when I was so ready, so certain?

I don’t know exactly what God’s plan for me looks like. But I’ve started to think that surviving is part of it. Being here, despite everything, is part of it. And maybe writing this, sharing this, is part of it too.

“It’s still clearly not your time” still sounds cliche to me. It probably always will. But maybe the reason it’s such a persistent phrase is because there’s a deep truth buried in it. If you’ve survived something you didn’t think you could survive, it’s worth considering that there might be a reason for that. Not in a shallow, sugar-coated way, but in a profound, weighty way that calls up to look deeper into our lives and our purpose.

So here I am, still trying to figure it all out. Still asking questions. Still frustrated. But also still here. And if you’re reading this, you’re still here too. Maybe that’s worth something. Maybe that’s worth everything.

‘But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.” – 2 Corinthians 12:9

All my love,

Anna x

It’s Been a While

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I don’t have many photos from the last few months but this is one of the happier ones, one where I was starting to feel a little more content with the situation at that time.

It’s been a long time since I’ve posted on this blog, and so much has happened in my life – I could write for days about it all, but I’ll spare you. I thought, to ease myself back in, I’d share something I recently posted on Facebook – a testimony of sorts. It’ll give you some insight into where I disappeared to and the kind of things that have been going on. So here you are… enjoy!

(This post includes topics of suicide, hospital and acute illness (both physical and mental) so please don’t read on if this might affect you negatively in any way!)

It’s been a little over three months since I was admitted to hospital, yet it feels like a lifetime ago since the police intervened and took me to the local Place of Safety.

It’s a weird one, being suicidal and wanting life to end, whilst also believing in truths from the Bible such as the familiar verse, Jeremiah 29:11 where we’re told “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.” Those things are seemingly in contradiction with one another – because if I believe what God has to say, all of this is somehow part of his plan and I need to wait and see how it all slots into place. It’s just hard holding on to that when your mental health is at rock bottom as it feels like something that has to be so far removed from God’s plan for life. I know he doesn’t get pleasure out of it, that it breaks his heart when we are in situations like this – so why do we end up in them? It’s difficult to wrap your head around.

Just after Christmas I was transferred from the Psychiatric Hospital I was sectioned to, to the local general hospital. I was pretty physically unwell – depression has ruined my appetite lately and I’ve found it near on impossible to eat anything. When I was moved I had extremely low blood sugar and was ketoacidotic. And very soon the conversation turned to NG feeding. Most of you will know that I have a difficult history with tube feeding – I spent 6 months back in 2019 with an NG tube being fed against my will and it was the most traumatic, difficult 6 months of my life. When they bought it up I prayed ‘God, I can’t do this again. I need a sign that you’re here with me.’ Nothing. I carried on praying this over the next couple of days, even more so when the NG tube was placed. Still nothing.

On day three of NG feeding the doctors came round to see me and told me I had refeeding syndrome. This is when your body tries to metabolise nutrients again but there are severe shifts in body chemistry which are related to electrolyte deficiencies. It caused a whole host of problems for me including low phosphate levels, low magnesium levels, low potassium levels and caused symptoms including muscle weakness, nausea, abnormal heart rhythms, fatigue, muscle cramps and low blood pressure. Again, I prayed ‘why, God? I really can’t do this.’ Again, I got nothing.

But the icing on the cake for me, was on New Years Eve. All of a sudden I began to feel incredibly unwell, completely out of the blue. My temperature shot up to 40.3, my blood pressure dropped dangerously low and I felt like my heart was going to come out of my chest. Doctors came to see me and said that they suspected that I had Sepsis which, by that point, I think I thought as well. I was seen by the Intensive Care Outreach team multiple times a day and 2 days later my blood cultures came back showing that I did, in fact, have Sepsis again. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so unwell – I had the worst headache that radiated down to the bottom of my neck and for 3 days I couldn’t move at all. My blood pressure refused to come up and I was still spiking fevers. I continued to pray ‘God, I really need that sign because this just feels like one thing after another and I really need a break.’ Yet still there was nothing.

Then, as I was starting to feel a little more human I spoke to one of the hospital chaplains (and by spoke to, what I really mean is sobbed at). We had a really good chat and I explained that I’d spent the last 2 weeks asking God for a sign because it was the one thing I really needed. She asked me if I knew of the poem ‘Footprints in the Sand’ which I do. And all of a sudden things started to slot into place. She reminded me that the poem says “The times when you have seen only one set of footprints, my child, is when I carried you.” So, that set me off into a crying mess again. Because that was my sign. Later that day, as I lay in bed I prayed, only this time it was different as all I could say, over and over again, was ‘God, thank you for carrying me through.’

Things aren’t somehow better now, I’m still struggling and still sectioned in hospital but I remind myself every day that even though things are hard, God is carrying me and will continue to carry me. And my prayer is still ‘God, thank you for carrying me through.’

All my love,

Anna x