Good Friday always felt like a contradiction—how could something so heavy be called “good”? It’s a day marked by pain, loss, and silence. But over time, I’ve come to realize that it’s not just a story of suffering—it’s a story of surrender. Of love holding steady through the darkest hour.
In many ways, I’ve walked through my own version of Good Friday seasons. The heartbreak of divorce. The quiet nights navigating life alone. The ache of starting over when everything felt uncertain. I spent a long time trying to hold it all together, trying to map out a future I could control, trying to earn the peace I was desperate for.
But nothing brought peace like surrender.
The turning point wasn’t some big event—it was a quiet shift. It was learning to loosen my grip and trust that maybe God’s plan was better than the one I kept trying to force. It was walking away from a job that no longer lit me up and stepping into the unknown. It was learning that love—real, healthy love—doesn’t come from striving or fixing, but from healing and waiting and learning to be whole on your own first.
And if you’re in a season like that right now—starting over, questioning everything, or carrying silent pain—I want to tell you something I wish someone had told me: God is not waiting for you to clean yourself up to come close. He already sees you. He already loves you.
If you’ve ever felt like the “church” or so-called “Christian” people turned their backs on you, please know: that is not the God I serve.
The God I know is not one of judgment, but of deep compassion. He doesn’t love you less because of your past. He’s not disappointed in your doubts. He’s not keeping score. He’s chasing after your heart, even now.
This Good Friday, I’m reminded again that the cross wasn’t the end of the story. The silence of Friday gave way to the miracle of Sunday. And your silence—your waiting, your rebuilding—is sacred ground. God is working even when you can’t see it.
So today, I’m choosing to trust without needing all the answers. I’m learning to let go of control and lean into grace. I’m walking forward, not because I know what’s next, but because I know who’s leading.
And that is more than good—it’s holy.
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