The Cut That Went Deeper
I had suffered hip pain for as long as I could remember. One day at work I fell, and the pain went from something I managed to a struggle I lived with every single day. It took me two years to finally say yes to a hip replacement.
Who thinks about bionic parts in their 30s? But the surgery felt like the only path forward.
This was supposed to be the fix-the thing that would take away the days of limping, the nights of aching, the constant battle just to walk. The plan was simple: the same surgery thousands of people have, four weeks off work, a little therapy, and then back to life without the relentless pain.
At least that’s what I believed going in.
I thought I was going in for a new hip. A clean fix. A fresh start.
It didn’t happen that way.
What was supposed to help me rise instead pulled me into a stillness I never expected. I didn’t wake up stronger or renewed-I woke up needing help. More help than I was comfortable with. More help than I even knew how to receive.
Needing extra care made me feel small- not humbled, but forgotten. It stirred up old wounds I thought I had long outgrown. Memories of childhood moments where pain was met with silence. Where being strong wasn’t a choice; it was the only option I had.
Waking up broken wasn’t the surprise. Realizing how long I had been living broken…that was.
I woke up with my femur broken and surprise bands holding everything together. Going into this surgery, I expected to be off work for a total of four weeks. But I woke to a much more complicated healing process than anyone had prepared me for.
As time went on, the pain didn’t make sense. The struggles didn’t match the expected timeline. And deep inside, I knew something was really wrong- but every professional kept telling me the same thing:
“Maybe a little more time.”
That weakness convinced me I was a burden-disqualified from love, from softness, from being cared for.
But somewhere in all of that uncertainty, something began to shift.
Not because the pain erased.
Not because the answers came.
Not because healing happened quickly-it didn’t.
It shifted because stillness has a way of revealing what motion hides.
When I was forced to slow down, I could finally hear what I had been drowning out for years- the quiet places inside me that had been hurting, unnoticed and unspoken. And in that same quiet, God began to speak differently to me.
Not dramatically. Just steadily, like a truth that rises to the surface after being buried too long.
A whisper formed in the stillness:
“You don’t have to hold yourself together to be held.”
It didn’t fix everything.
It didn’t erase the pain.
It didn’t give me clarity about the struggle.
But it did plant something-small, unseen, but alive.
It wasn’t blooming.
It was rootwork.
The kind of healing that begins underground, long before anyone can see it. The kind of healing God often starts before we realize we even need it. And although I didn’t know it then, this was the beginning of a much larger story-one that would eventually lead to answers, redemption, and a deeper relationship with God than I had ever known before.
Much later, when the truth finally surfaced-when the infection was discovered, when the pieces made sense, when the timeline finally connected-I could look back at this moment and realize:
God had been preparing me long before I understood what He was preparing me for.
And as the healing continued-physically, emotionally, spiritually-something else began to grow.
A stirring.
A calling.
A sense that everything I had endured wasn’t meant to sit silently inside me.
What had tried to break me ended up becoming the very thing God used to anchor me deeper in Him.
And eventually… it gave me a desire to share my story-
not because it’s tidy,
not because it’s triumphant,
but because it’s real.
If God could meet me in the deepest cut… He can meet someone else in theirs.
📖Scripture Reading
2 Corinthians 12: 1-10 (ASV)
It is not expedient for me doubtless to glory. For I will come to visions and revelations of the Lord. 2. I know a man in Christ, fourteen years ago (whether in the body, I know not; or whether out of the body, I know not; God knoweth), such a one caught up even to the third heaven. 3. And I know such a man (whether in the body, or apart from the body, I know not; God knoweth), 4. how that he was caught up in Paradise, and heard unspeakable words, which is not lawful for a man to utter. 5. On behalf such a one will I glory: but on mine own behalf I will not glory, save in my weaknesses. 6. For if I should desire to glory, I shall not be foolish; for I shall speak the truth: but I forbear, lest any man should account of me above that which he seeth me to be, or heareth from me. 7. And by reason of the exceeding greatness of the revelations, there was given to be a thorn in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to buffet me, that should not e exalted overmuch. 8. Concerning this thing I besought the Lord thrice, that it might depart from me. 9. And he hath said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my power is made perfect in weakness. Mostly gladly therefore the power of Christ may rest upon me. 10. Wherefore I take pleasure in weaknesses, in injuries, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ’s sake: for when I am weak, then I am strong.
Scripture Summary
In this passage, Paul speaks openly about something deeply personal-a weakness he carried that would not go away. Even after extraordinary encounters with God, even after faith and obedience, there was still a piece of pain he couldn’t outrun or outgrow.
Paul asked God to remove it. More than once. And God did not.
Instead, God answered in a way that changed how Paul understood strength altogether: '“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”
This wasn’t dismissal. It wasn’t punishment. It was an invitation to stop measuring life by what was missing and begin recognizing what was present-God’s sustaining grace.
Paul learned that the very place he wanted healed, hidden, or removed became the place where God’s power rested most clearly. His weakness did not disqualify him; it anchored him.
What once felt like a limitation became a doorway-one that allowed God’s strength to be seen, not in perfection, but in surrender.
Why This Matters for Us
Paul’s story reminds us that:
God is not waiting for us to be fixed before He shows up.
Weakness does not qualify us- it invites Him in.
What feels like a breaking point can become a meeting point with God.
Paul discovered that the very place he wanted removed became the place God met him most deeply, and that changes how we look at our own struggles.
🌱Reflection
When in your life have you begged God to remove something painful… only to find He met you in it instead?
Have you ever felt like your weakness made you a burden? How does Paul’s story shift that perspective?
What “thorn” in your life have revealed more of God’s strength than your own?
Where do you sense God inviting you to rely on His grace instead of your own abilities?
What would it look like to stop fighting the place God may be trying to meet you?
🌿Rooted Reminder
You are not disqualified by weakness.
You are not overlooked because you struggle.
You are not less loved because you limp.
God’s strength grows best in the places where our own strength runs out. And what feels like the deepest cut may become the deepest place you meet Him.
You don’t have to be whole to be held.
You don’t have to be strong to be supported.
His grace is enough-even here.
Closing Prayer
Lord, You see the places in me that feel weak, tired, or unfinished. You know the thorns I carry- the ones I’ve begged You to remove. Help me trust that Your grace meets me even here. Teach me to lean into Your strength instead of hiding my weakness. Use my story, my scars, and even my struggles to bring hope to someone else. Anchor me deeper in You today.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.
