Life has been unbearably hard lately. The word hard doesn’t even come close to describing the heartbreak that I’m going through. I’ve barely left my bed, my appetite is gone, and I’ve cried so much that tears don’t even fall anymore when I do. Every night I stare at the ceiling, wondering how everything changed so fast, and why it feels like God is far away. 

I’ve always known that God is good, that He listens, He cares, and He answers prayers. But lately, I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t feel it. My prayers felt like they were bouncing off the ceiling and landing right back in my lap unanswered. 

And the other night, I broke.

I was angry, not just sad but angry. Angry that my story didn’t look like the one I prayed for or one that I was promised. Angry that I felt neglected and forgotten. Angry that I had been trying so hard to do the right things and still ended up in the middle of chaos and heartbreak. 

And in my anger, I ripped up my bible. 

I tore through pages that once gave me peace.

I ripped apart my prayer journal filled with dreams and words that suddenly felt completely empty. 

I thought maybe if I destroyed the evidence of my hope, my dreams, my efforts, my love, I wouldn’t have to feel its loss anymore. And afterward, I sat in the mess, torn pages all over the floor, and just wept. 

I told God, “You don’t care about me.”

I told him, “I must not be worthy enough for you to answer my prayer, that I so desperately am asking for.”

But even in my anger, he didn’t leave me. 

The next morning, I woke up on the floor surrounded by the torn and crumpled pages. But this time I felt different. Because even though the pages were ripped, the Word still stood. The truth of who God is didn’t rip with the paper. His promises didn’t vanish when my hope did.

The Word still says He’s close to the brokenhearted (Psalm 34:18).

It still says He works all things together for good (Romans 8:28)

It still says He is faithful, even when we are faithless (2 Timothy 2:13).

And that brought me comfort. 

My bible isn’t perfect anymore. There are ripped corners, the seam is broken, bent pages, Jonah is holding on by a single thread, and little fragments of Psalm are tucked between Ephesians and Philippians, and weirdly I love that. Because that’s my life right now, out of order, messy, broken, but still held together by grace. 

God doesn’t need pretty to be powerful. He can work with torn pages. He can work with broken hearts. He can work with the doubts and the fears. He can redeem what we thought was ruined. 

Sometimes faith isn’t quiet or graceful. Sometimes it’s loud, tear-stained, and messy. Sometimes faith looks like ripping before it looks like restoring. And I’m learning (very slowly) that it’s okay. Faith isn’t about never breaking, it’s about trusting that God can still put us back together when we do. 

Because he can. He redeems. He restores. He heals. 

I don’t know how or when or what it will look like, but I know that God can do the impossible. I believe He can take a heart that’s been shredded by disappointment and breathe life into it again. He can bring beauty from ashes, because that’s who He is. 

The bible is torn apart and my heart feels the same way some days. But His Word still stands. His promises are still true. His hands are still capable of putting every broken thing back together, even the ones that I think are beyond repair. 

I still pray for a miracle and I know that the story isn’t over yet. And I know when life feels shattered, God holds the pieces in His hands. 

• Savanah, The Salty Company