Wounded

“He was despised and rejected by mankind, a man of suffering, and familiar with pain…” - Isaiah 53:3 (NIV)“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” - Psalm 34:18

We double-check our hair.

We adjust our outfits.

We smile with perfect teeth and curate comfort like it’s currency.

Behind the mirrors and manicures we are bleeding. Not externally, internally.

Those wounds?

They’re crying louder than your lip gloss ever could. No amount of designer wear covers the soul that’s hemorrhaging insecurity. No luxury car silences the ache of rejection. No job title outshines the trauma you haven’t treated.

We say we’re tired, but anger doesn’t just come from exhaustion, it comes from exposure. Those outbursts aren’t personality quirks, they’re pain leaking through polished surfaces.

We scroll endlessly, fluent in the headlines of celebrity breakups, viral feuds, and curated drama. But when was the last time we paused long enough to listen to the gossip of our own woundedness, the quiet chatter of pain we’ve buried, the unspoken disappointments, the unattended ache?

We know who’s feuding on reality TV, but not how our own past is still speaking beneath the surface.

Jesus invites us not into spectacle, but into intimacy. He doesn’t binge-watch our lives from a distance. He steps into the sacred, messy inner rooms.

What if we exchanged the entertainment of other people’s brokenness for the healing of our own?

You cannot heal what you won’t admit is broken. We’ve mastered the art of maintenance. Curated smiles. Strategic silence. We don’t look sick, so we think we’re well. The truth is, we bleed in private. We’ve disguised our avoidance, calling it strength when it’s just survival on fumes.

Your confidence isn’t real, it’s rehearsed.

Your calm isn’t peace, it’s suppression.

That “busy” schedule? It’s often just a decoy for pain you won’t face.

We don’t just hide our wounds, we decorate them. Call it healing.

Makeup doesn’t stop infection. Sermons don’t replace surrender. Worship doesn’t cleanse what confession never revealed. You can’t outrun your ache. It has your name and it’s following you through promotions, relationships, ministries, and milestones. It will not be denied.

We cry out that God is silent, but He’s been speaking through the rupture. Through the trauma we dressed up. Through the wound we spiritualized into a sermon without surrender. Jesus is not absent. We are just addicted to comfort. We preach from behind the veil, sing behind it, write devotionals from behind it. All while sweeping our bleeding places under the rug like sacred clutter. The veil was torn, and with it came the invitation to be seen, not staged.

We say we want revival, but we won’t even admit we’re still infected. Some of your “growth” is just avoidance dressed up as productivity. The anger isn’t just a reaction, it’s a symptom.

Healing demands exposure, and exposure feels like failure until you remember that Jesus bled too.

Spiritual Inventory:

• What have I dressed up that’s still bleeding beneath?

• What lies have I labeled “mood” that are really masked wounds?

• Am I asking God to speak but ignoring the echo of my pain?

• What have I spiritualized to avoid surrendering?

• Have I made ministry a stage instead of a sanctuary?

Prayer:

Jesus, I’ve become so good at hiding.

Smiling through suffering and dressing the part, but burying the pain.

You don’t heal what I refuse to expose. So I’m handing You the places I ignored. The anger I justified. The sadness I disguised. 

God, I’m tired of managing wounds You’re waiting to heal.

I confess my hiding. I confess my rehearsed strength. I don’t want shallow healing, I want surgical grace.

Teach me not to decorate what You died to deliver me from. Strip the facade. Touch the places I won’t even name.

If wholeness costs comfort, then break me wide open.

I don’t want to look healed, I want to be healed.

In You.

Through You.

For You.

Amen.