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Last week we reflected on the fits and starts of the Christian life, those uneven rhythms where we walk closely with the Lord for a time, then realize we have been following at a distance. This week, it’s worth lingering with what often lies beneath those moments of struggle and return: our wounds. Not the kind we advertise or exaggerate, but the ones we carry quietly, the places where life has marked us deeply and faith has been tested.
It seems to me that there is a divine irony hidden in the pages of Scripture, one that turns human logic upside down and reveals the heart of God. What is that irony? God often uses our deepest wounds to bring healing to others.
Saint Paul, who knew affliction well, writes in his second letter to the Corinthians, “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all consolation, who consoles us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to console those who are in any affliction with the consolation with which we ourselves are consoled by God” (2 Corinthians 1:3–4).
That small phrase, “so that…”, is easy to miss, but it carries the weight of a calling. It reminds us that God never wastes a wound. Every scar can become a testimony. Every dark night endured can become a lantern for someone still stumbling in the shadows.
This is the heart of the message behind Broken Door Ministries. We are all broken, but in Christ our brokenness becomes a doorway. Not a barrier, but a bridge. When we dare to speak honestly about our weaknesses, our sins, and our afflictions, not to glorify them, but to glorify the One who rescued us from them, others begin to find the courage to seek healing as well.
It’s tempting to believe that Christian witness requires a spotless life. But Scripture tells a different story. Peter denied. Paul persecuted. Mary Magdalene wept at Jesus’ feet. The Samaritan woman had five husbands. Again and again, Christ chose wounded people and turned them into witnesses. Their stories, marked by shame, sorrow, and sin, became the very places where mercy shone most brightly.
In my own journey, I have learned that the moments when I felt most inadequate, most ashamed, or most afraid were often the moments God was quietly preparing me to serve someone else. When I stopped hiding behind the appearance of strength and allowed others to see the cracks in my life, real ministry began. Not because I had answers, but because I had learned to rely on grace.
This kind of honesty does not come easily. Our world teaches us to hide pain, to curate perfection, to project strength. Vulnerability feels like weakness. Transparency feels risky. Yet God does not call us to false bravado. He calls us to authentic living.
It is no accident that Paul uses the word consolation repeatedly in this passage. The Greek word, paraklésis, shares its root with Paraclete, a name for the Holy Spirit. True consolation is more than comfort. It is presence. It is God drawing near in suffering, not from a distance, but from within.
Jesus did not remain removed from our wounds. He entered into them. He became the Man of Sorrows. He bore our afflictions so that we might be consoled by His love. And now, He invites us to do the same, not as saviors, but as fellow travelers, carrying the same grace we ourselves have received.
If we have been healed, it is for a reason. If we have received mercy, it is a mission. If we have known consolation, it is a call.
So many people are suffering silently, convinced that no one could possibly understand their shame, their grief, or their failures. I hope you are not one of them, but if you are, there is consolation. Our stories, broken as they may be, can become signs of hope for others. Not because we are strong, but because we have encountered the One who heals.
We do not need to be perfect to be a witness. We simply need to be real.
Let’s allow our wounds to speak, not of our pain, but of our Healer. Our world is hungry for authentic witnesses, people who have been wounded and yet transformed by grace. May we find the courage to share our stories, trusting that God will use them to open doors for others.
Heavenly Father, You are the God of all consolation. Thank You for meeting us in our lowest places and for not leaving us there. Give us the courage to be honest about our wounds, not for our own sake, but so that others may find hope through the healing You have worked in us. May our scars become signs of Your victory. Use our stories to open doors for others. Amen.
AMDG
AMDG is a Latin abbreviation for “Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam,” which means “For the Greater Glory of God.”
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Please join us at the upcoming Blessed Broken and Scared retreat on January 17, 2026 at St. Bonaventure Parish In Manomet, MA.
- From Wounded to Witness - January 11, 2026
- Fits And Starts - January 4, 2026
- A King Is Born - December 29, 2025
