I’m writing this article to myself, and I figured if I needed the message, you might, too.
Christian woman, you can do hard things.
Deep breath, now. Does that statement bring you immense pressure, or a sense of relief? For me, it fills my eyes with tears because I know it’s true. And I know how painful that truth can be.
So, both.
Pressure, because I don’t want to do any more hard things. And relief because I already did them, so I know I can.
Life is such a paradox, isn’t it?
I naively used to think, somewhat subconsciously, that my ticket had been punched. After all, I went through an unwanted divorce at age 30, spent several years as a single mom dealing with a narcissistic ex and all manner of drama, from financial struggles to court battles, and that was enough. Right? That was my thing. My testimony, check. My story, check. My witness, check. After all, my husband of nine years abandoned me, and I survived. I even wrote a book about it to help others (Once Upon a Divorce, Kregel Publications, 2024), so now I was exempt from any other “big things.” Surely, God agreed.
(Insert narrator voice over: God, in fact, did not agree.)
Over the past year-ish, I’ve found myself in what my counselor labels “chronic trauma.” Basically meaning, I’ve had so many emotional punches back to back that my body can’t relax, and I stay in a simmering state of physical and mental anxiety. (In fact, I’ve had so many emotional punches over the past year that I signed up for private boxing lessons. Sometimes a girl just needs to punch back.)
I was not exempt, after all.
And I’m slowly realizing (one boxing lesson, one carpet-soaked prayer session, one worship song at a time) that I don’t want to be. Because there truly is joy in suffering. There’s a unique element to the presence of God in impossibly hard seasons that we simply don’t experience otherwise.
Consider these verses…
Psalm 34:18 (ESV): "The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit."
2 Corinthians 1:3-5 (ESV): "Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as we share abundantly in Christ's sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too."
Psalm 56:8 (ESV): "You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book?"
Have you ever wondered if anyone could really relate to your pain? If they really cared? This is proof, intimate proof, that God does, even when others can’t or don’t. He understands, He sees, He cares. He tracks our tears. And one day, according to Revelation 21:4, He will wipe those tears away forever.
Revelation 21:4 (NASB): "and He will wipe away every tear from their eyes; and there will no longer be any death; there will no longer be any mourning, or crying, or pain; the first things have passed away."
There is hope, friend.
But that doesn’t mean it’s easy. In the heat of some hard things recently, things that left me completely shook, I stated, “I’m so tired of feeling so powerless.” All the things I was experiencing I could do nothing about. People I loved were hurting, and they were hurting me. I felt out of control, helpless. Even victimized, in a sense. (Not what an avid CrossFitter likes to feel, I can assure you!) How was it possible that I could back-squat my body weight and deadlift 200 pounds, yet feel so incredibly weak?
There’s that life paradox again. But as usual, God reminded me—and humbled me—with His Word.
2 Corinthians 12:9 (ESV): "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 of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me."
Oh.
It’s important to know that “made perfect" wording means “complete.” God’s power in us is complete when we’re weak. Full. Total. Which means that with Him operating that way, we are never in lack. He provides what we can’t conjure on our own. That pesky thorn might still be there, as was the case for the Apostle Paul when he wrote this divinely inspired message, but it’s not the final say. Worship was. Paul stopped protesting his thorn and grasped the opportunity at hand to give God glory.
God’s power always gets the last word.
Have you ever watched someone walk through something horrible on social media, or some other public platform, and think, “Wow—that’s so beautiful. Their faith in God through this awful thing is so inspiring. How do they do that?”
The Holy Spirit is equipping them, giving them the ability to praise God in their storm. To turn hearts and eyes to Christ. To be a light in the scary dark.
Good news—it’s not my job to be strong in my trials, and it’s not yours. It’s His. And the more hard things we do with Jesus, the more we believe we can do them. The less overwhelming and unbearable those hard things seem as they come. (And they will come.)
Our faith builds on faith.
What does that mean?
Consider this example. (CrossFit again—sorry!) When I first started working out, I couldn’t do a pull-up to save my life. You could have held a gun on me and demanded I do one, and I’d have been like, "Well, this is it. See you soon, Jesus.” There was no way I could remotely budge myself even a quarter of a way to that bar.
But I really wanted to, so I started working on it. Drill, after drill. Negative descents, lat machine training, floor pull-ups, jumping pull-ups, banded pull-ups. I got to where I could finally do one or two reps on the thickest band in the gym (meaning it supported the majority of my body weight).
Now, I’ve worked my way through all the band levels to the skinniest one that only assists with maybe 15 lbs. I’m almost there! And friend, that’s taken months. And it will probably be a few more months of consistent work before that glorious unbanded, truly strict pull-up finally arrives—because muscle builds on muscle. Practice builds on practice.
Consider anything you’ve ever started hobby-wise. Learning to play the piano, learning a new language, learning how to cook. You had to get in there and start touching the keys, listening to the accents, stirring the batter, before you made any progress. And then that progress (if you were consistent) provided more progress, right?
In that same way, you can build your faith and your trust in God with each new trial.
Christian woman, you can do hard things. Not because you can land a punch or back-squat heavy weights. Not because you can put on a mask and pretend like you’re fine and trick everyone around you. Not because of power trips and new clothes or self-motivating pep talks. Not because of “pulling yourself up by your bootstraps” and “girl-bossing.”
But because of Colossians 1:27 (AMP): "God [in His eternal plan] chose to make known to them how great for the Gentiles are the riches of the glory of this mystery, which is Christ in and among you, the hope and guarantee of [realizing the] glory."
Because of Christ.
In you.
The hope of glory.
And friend, we will realize glory—one way or another, sooner or later.
Maybe you’re like me right now and experience waves—waves of pain, of emotion, of grief, of fear. I’ll be honest: the past several months, many of those waves felt like they were going to drown me. I became scared of my own emotions and even had to text friends for backup prayer. Then one day, another wave came, and while it wasn’t pleasant, I realized it wasn’t over my head. I wasn’t drowning in it.
The water was receding.
More than likely, whatever storm you’re in will pass on this earth. The waves will subside, that churning sea of emotional, or in some instances physical, turmoil will cease. The sun will come out, and what felt so overwhelming just weeks or days ago will start to feel a little more manageable. The grief will fade, the trial will end, and there will be a rest period before the next one. Granted, some storms don’t see a full resolution in this earthly life. But it will still end, because remember that beautiful promise of no more tears?
There is always hope to hold, sister. Always.
If you’re reading this and thinking, “Yeah, I know, I believe all that, but I’m still just so weary right now, so tired of hard,” please know you’re seen. You’re heard. You’re loved. If all you can do some mornings is roll from your bed to that tear-soaked carpet, that’s okay. That doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong.
Hard things are hard. Fears are real. Grief is exhausting. Anxiety is cruel. Lies are loud.
Just remember, you’re not doing any of them alone. God’s presence is real and sustainable, and He is working so much in you and for you. I know that’s hard to see, but that’s because much of that holy work is behind the scenes right now, shrouded by the storm clouds. But the sun is coming.
John 1:4-5 (ESV) says, "In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it."
Darkness can’t stop the light. Big waves can’t drown God’s promises. Truth always conquers lies—and Jesus already conquered death.
So, Christian woman, you can do hard things. Even when you don’t want to. Even when you’re tired. Even when that pesky thorn is piercing over and over. Even when the waves roll high.
Because it’s not up to you. It’s up to Him—and He never gets tired. His glory never fades. And His work in your life is not over until it’s over.
Philippians 1:6 (ESV): "And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ."
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