26/05/2026
I Am Still God’s Story
There are seasons in life when the heart becomes a battlefield between faith and disappointment.
This is one of mine.
Recently, I heard Pastor Stephen Furtick say:
“You are the story God is writing.”
And something inside me broke open when I heard those words.
Because when I look at my life, I do not always see a beautiful story. Sometimes I see heartbreak. Loneliness. Waiting. Rejection. Mistakes. Wandering. Returning. Tears. Silence.
But maybe stories written by God are not meant to be perfect chapter after perfect chapter.
Maybe some chapters are written through tears.
For a long time, I carried a love in my heart for someone who did not love me in the same way. I loved deeply, sincerely, spiritually. And while part of me genuinely wanted happiness for him, another part of me grieved because I wished I was the one chosen.
That tension was painful.
I asked myself:
Can I love someone and still feel hurt?
Can I bless someone and still feel rejected?
Can I trust God while also feeling disappointed?
The answer, I am learning, is yes.
Some people enter our lives not to become our forever in the way we imagined, but to awaken parts of our soul, help us grow, reflect us back to ourselves, and shape us spiritually.
And sometimes the deepest heartbreak is not losing a person — it is confronting the fear that maybe we were never truly worthy of being chosen.
That fear became louder because this was not the first time I loved someone who chose another path.
At one point, someone even told me that perhaps there was a spiritual curse over my life, a veil preventing people from seeing my worth. Those words frightened me deeply. I started wondering whether every rejection was proof that something dark was attached to me.
But slowly I began realizing something important:
not every repeated pain is a curse.
Sometimes it is an unhealed wound.
A wound can shape how we love, who we chase, how quickly we attach, and how deeply rejection confirms the lies we already fear about ourselves.
And maybe healing does not begin with fear.
Maybe healing begins with tenderness.
Not tenderness that ignores accountability.
Not pretending pain does not exist.
But tenderness that says:
“I am hurting, but I am still worthy of love.”
For a long time, I abandoned myself emotionally while trying to love others well.
I spoke to myself harshly.
I measured my value through whether someone chose me romantically.
I carried guilt from past mistakes.
I feared loneliness so deeply that rejection began feeling like prophecy.
But heartbreak is not prophecy.
And rejection is not identity.
I am learning now that healing is not becoming cold or detached.
Healing is returning gently to yourself.
It is:
sleeping again,
creating again,
praying honestly again,
laughing again,
making beauty again,
walking with God without pretending,
allowing grief without drowning in it.
I am also learning that God’s silence is not always abandonment.
Sometimes silence is where roots grow deepest underground before anything blooms.
There are still days I feel lonely.
Days I feel like I do not fully fit anywhere.
Days I stand among people and still feel unseen.
But maybe loneliness is not proof that I am unloved.
Maybe it is proof that my soul longs for depth, truth, and genuine connection.
And despite everything —
despite wandering away from God at times,
despite heartbreak,
despite disappointments,
despite physical pain,
despite confusion —
I still keep returning to Him.
Like the prodigal child returning home again and again.
And perhaps that, too, is part of the story God is writing.
Not the story of a perfect woman.
But the story of a woman who kept reaching toward God even while carrying sorrow.
I no longer want to live believing I am cursed.
I want to live believing that healing is possible.
That love is still possible.
That my life is more than who chose me or did not choose me.
That I am still becoming.
And maybe someone reading this needs to hear it too:
Your heartbreak is real, but it is not the end of your story.
Your loneliness is painful, but it is not your identity.
Your sensitivity is not weakness.
Your tears do not make you less faithful.
And God is not finished writing yet.
Sometimes we let go.
Sometimes we trust and let God.
And somehow, through it all, we grow.
Sylwia
