Who holds you when you're broken?

Who holds you through the difficult times in life?

Who holds you when you're broken?

Who holds you through the difficult times in life?
  • "Are you coming with us to church?"

  • "I'm not going anywhere with you. I can't stand you. Who wants to live like this?!?"

  • Just as I'd done the many weekends before, I gathered my three boys and without another word drove to my safe haven.

  • I strapped my newborn onto my chest so I had free arms for the other two; side straddled the diaper bag and shoved my Bible into the front of it. Like a warrior preparing for battle, I dug down into the depths of my guts and pulled out the bravest smile I could find.

  • And He held me

  • I wrapped my arms around my babies like my life depended on it knowing that pretty soon, we'd really be on our own.

  • I'd had that realization before, but this time there was an unexplainable sense of peace that entered my shaky bones.

  • With each step as I approached the nursery, I felt stronger. I knew that the end was coming soon and God was paving the way for me to get out.

  • I walked into the cool stillness of that room and God's arms wrapped around me just as mine had been wrapped around my sons minutes earlier.

  • I stood in that church - the literal sanctuary of my heart. Alone. Riddled with fear. Searching for answers.

  • And He held me

  • The knowledge that there was a plan for my life was so strong I could taste it. I knew my marriage was ending, but in that moment, I also knew life was about to really begin.

  • The band started to play and with each beat of the drum I felt another ounce of fear drain from my body.

  • Tears welled up in my eyes and as I sang, my heart poured out. I lifted my arms with complete abandon. Unafraid, unashamed, unreserved.

  • Unbroken.

  • I had always been reserved in my praise. I worshipped with my whole heart and soul, but not so much my arms. That night, with my eyes closed and my arms opened, I didn't even feel like it was me lifting my limbs. Like a child reaches for his mother, I reached for God.

  • And He held me

  • With hopeful energy I sang. Heart aching, but held. Fear-stricken, but at peace.

  • Each song we sang felt like it had been hand selected just for me. As I sang to the heavens, He echoed back to me.

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  • I was safe.

  • I gave my heart to God.

  • I trusted him without reservation.

  • I asked him to guide my every step because I had no idea what I was doing.

  • And He held me

  • I continued to sing, wrapped in the arms of my Father, assured that although I felt like an exposed nerve walking around in the world, God would cover me. He would heal my wounds and ease my burden. He would pave the way and direct my steps.

  • The next year was one of the hardest of my life. But the one thing I knew for sure all along was that I was walking the right path and that I wasn't doing it alone.

  • When I couldn't see, He was my eyes. When I couldn't sleep, He was my rest. When I couldn't breathe, He was my air. When I felt alone, He was my comfort. When I felt afraid, He was my peace. When I felt angry, He was my forgiveness. When I couldn't take another step, He was my legs. When I was weak, He was my strength.

  • I kept my eyes fixed on the things above.

  • I looked ahead with hope.

  • No matter what, He held me.

  • And He's holding you too.

  • Editor's note: This article was originally published on Rachael Boley's blog, Three Boys and a Mom. It has been modified and republished here with permission.

Rachael is the proud single mama of three wild angels. She learned the hard way to never say never but believes firmly that our messes make us beautiful. She has her Master's Degree in Social Work and works full time as an Oncology Social Worker. She spends her "spare time" loving on her boys and enjoying life, one moment at a time. Rachael is also a contributor to sites including The Huffington Post, Scary Mommy,, For Every Mom and many others. Join her in her crazy, messy, beautiful journey and follow her on her blog.


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