BubbleBabble

Dear friend,

I’ve been sitting on this for a while, unsure how to put it into words. Lately, I’ve been walking through a season that has felt heavy and strangely quiet. It is the kind of silence that makes you both ache and breathe at the same time.

A few months ago, I ended a relationship with someone I had been with for three years. Someone I truly thought I would marry. We shared laughter, plans, and very loving good-night calls that once felt like part of my daily rhythm. But as time went on, something changed.

The relationship that once felt healthy began to shift. Earthly values started to take hold of us. Of course, I had my part to play too. In any relationship, it’s never just one person’s fault. There were moments when I tried to satisfy my heart through his presence instead of God’s. When he wanted to spend time with his friends, I blamed him for my loneliness. I became emotionally dependent, and he became dominant; but not in the biblical sense of servant leadership. It was in a way that often left me unseen and unheard.

Because I was deeply in love, I was ready to sacrifice everything — my career, my social life — just to make it work. But thank God for His gentle convictions.

It’s hard to admit this, but I had made him my emotional home. I didn’t realize how much until God showed me that my heart had anchored itself in the wrong place.

Letting go wasn’t easy. I prayed, cried, and questioned everything. I was terrified to end it because I wanted to marry him. But I also couldn’t see the vision of marriage anymore. So I surrendered it to God and prayed, “Lord, I don’t know how to do this anymore. If this isn’t Your will, then please end it for me — because I don’t have the courage to.”

And that’s exactly what happened.

Here’s what I’ve been learning:
Sometimes God asks us to release something good because He wants to give us something better — a deeper relationship with Him.

When the Silence Feels Too Loud

The first nights after the breakup were the hardest. I missed the good-night texts, the good-morning messages, the little check-ins during the day, the warmth of knowing someone was there. The silence felt too loud.

I remember opening up to a dear friend about it, and praise God for her heart. As I shared my pain, she told me she felt the Holy Spirit whisper, “Welcome back home.” That moment stopped me. I thought of the parable where the shepherd leaves the ninety-nine to bring back the one that wandered off. In that moment, I realized, God was chasing after me, too.

That didn’t erase the pain, but it reframed it. I realized that what I had been calling loneliness was actually an invitation, an open space for God to meet me, comfort me, and remind me that His love is constant even when humans fail or changes.

Psalm 13 begins with David crying,

“O Lord, how long will You forget me? Forever? How long will You look the other way?”

And I felt that. I felt forgotten, unseen, and deeply hurt. But David also ends that psalm saying,

“I trust in Your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in Your salvation… for You have been good to me.”

Even in pain, David chose to praise. And if David had a choice, so did I.

Slowly, I began turning those “good night calls” into quiet times with God. Instead of talking to someone else before bed, I started talking to Him, about everything and nothing, about my fears, memories, and how strange it felt to sleep alone again.

And somehow, that stillness began to feel sacred, and intimate.

When Dependence Turns Into Devotion

Looking back, I see that I had made another person the center of my emotional world. But God, in His kindness, used this season to show me where my heart had been misplaced.

Through prayer and reflection, I realized that what I thought was “clinginess” was actually something deeper — maybe an anxious attachment, shaped by old fears of being left or unseen during my childhood days. But even then, God met me there with gentleness, teaching me to rely on Him as my anchor.

I think that relationships are beautiful gifts, but when they become the source of our peace, identity, or worth, we start building on sand instead of solid ground.

For a long time, my stability had been coming from another person — physical presence, human comfort, worldly approval. But now, brick by brick, I’m slowly learning to rebuild on Christ, the only foundation that doesn’t crumble.

Friend, I have to admit. This healing is still in progress. There are nights I still miss the familiarity, the hugs, the comfort. But every time that longing comes, I remind myself:
this isn’t punishment; it’s redirection.

I think that this is God reminding me that I’m not meant to find completion in another human being, but in Him.

When God Becomes the Intimacy You Crave

Friend, I think that one of the most tender lessons I’ve learned in this season is that God desires intimacy, too.

For so long, I equated closeness with physical connection, such as a hand to hold, or a voice to hear. But now, I’m learning to find intimacy in prayer, quiet worship, and Scripture before bed.

Some nights, I still feel the ache of wanting someone beside me. But instead of fighting it, I’ve started inviting God into it. My nightly prayer has become,

“Open up my heart, open up my mind. Spirit, come and fill this space.”

And somehow, that feels enough.

There’s peace in knowing that even in heartbreak, it does not mean that we are disconnected from love. We are still held, still seen, still chosen.

When You Start to Heal

Friend, I am beginning to realize that healing isn’t linear. Instead, it comes in waves. Some days I feel strong and free, and other days, tears come way too easily. But I’m coming to learn that it’s okay. I realize that growth isn’t about never hurting again; it’s about learning to hand that hurt over to Jesus again and again until it no longer controls you.

It starts by laying everything at His feet, even the messy parts, and letting Him transform them, transform you. I say this as if I were an expert, but honestly, I’m preaching this to myself too. Writing this out to you somehow makes it feel more real, as if putting these thoughts into words helps me realize it even more.

One thing that has helped me so much is my community. Being surrounded by people who love God and remind me of His truth has been very life-giving. Through lifegroups, friendships, and honest conversations, I’ve realized that healing isn’t meant to be done alone. Sometimes, the way God comforts us is through His people.

And in Christ-centered community, I realized that no one’s burden is “too heavy.” We rejoice together, grieve together, and lay everything at the foot of the cross together. That’s the beauty of the body of Christ — we don’t carry it alone.

When You Don’t Know What to Pray

The first few nights, I didn’t know how to pray. I’d hold my Bible and just breathe. But even in that, I think God met me in that sacred space.

Friend, have you ever had those moments when you just… don’t have the words? I hate to say that I have had plenty of them. One night, feeling completely lost, something struck me and jolted me to open my Bible app. I started reading the verse of the day. Somehow, it was exactly what my heart needed.

So I kept going. Verse by verse, paragraph by paragraph, section by section. I would pause after each part, just to sit in His presence, let the words sink in, and meditate in His words. And in those quiet pauses, something beautiful happens. The Holy Spirit begins to take over, turning my silence into prayer, and my prayer into peace.

A Gentle Reminder

So, if you’re walking through something similar, if you’ve had to surrender something you love, please remember this:

God isn’t taking something away to hurt you; He’s inviting you to trust Him more deeply.

Luke 11:11 “Which of you fathers, if your son asks for a fish, will give him a snake instead?

I hope that this season will be one of recognizing your identity in Christ, rediscovering who you are apart from anyone else, and remembering that even when love ends, God stays.

And when the silence feels too heavy, this is what always helps me:

“Open up my heart,
open up my mind.
Spirit, come and
fill this space.
Help me listen to You.
What do You want to say to me?”

Because after all, is prayer not a conversation? And aren’t the best ones two-way?

With love,