Finding Hope in the Ruins: God’s Love in Brokenness

The other night, I was driving with a gas light on (again), hungry (always), and muttering about Chick-fil-A being closed (because it was Sunday). I was grumbling about gas prices and digging through my console for a half-melted protein bar when Love Me Still by Seph Schlueter came on the radio. Without question, this is one of the most powerful songs I’ve ever heard. Seph sings about the unstoppable, unfathomable, and unbelievable love of God. Even when I’ve run from His arms and broken His heart, He loves me still.

Cue the lump in my throat and a flood of memories I didn’t expect to relive. I lost it. I remembered all the moments God showed up in my brokenness… not after I had it together, but right there in the middle of my mess. As I wrote in my last article about my marriage failure: “Divorce is the kind of soul-crushing life event that doesn’t just rearrange your furniture. It flips your entire life upside down and leaves your heart in a pile of emotional rubble.”

So, I sat there with crumbs on my shirt, my dignity hanging by a thread, and I ugly-cried. Not just a sniffle, but the kind of soul-cry that comes when your heart finally catches up to grace.

At that moment, my car became holy ground where God met me, and I met him in a way I can hardly describe. Sitting in my Toyota, I knew Jesus had not given up on me. That song reminded me that God’s goodness and faithfulness do not depend on my performance or crumble under my inconsistency. His love for me isn’t transactional, but a choice He made long before I ever succeeded or failed at anything. Jesus is more like the best friend who shows up early, stays late, and still brings pizza even when you told him not to.

Still Counting Blessings in the Wreckage

The next day started with one of those mornings. You know the kind. The coffee machine decided it needed a sabbatical; the dog left a gift on the rug (not the type you’d want), and my to-do list looked like it had been hijacked by a hyperactive toddler with a crayon. Life felt like one of those “Are you serious, God?” moments.

Then, I heard that song again by Schlueter from my iPhone playlist over my kitchen wireless speaker. It stopped me in my tracks.

Cue the tears… Again.

I admit I’m a big crier, but something about that lyric hit me square in the chest. Why? Because I needed the reminder that God’s love isn’t like my coffee machine or my day. It doesn’t break, run out, or take a hike when life gets messy.

If you’re anything like me, prone to wander and prone to doubt, take heart. God’s love never changes and never wavers. His mercy doesn’t run dry. His love is the one thing you can count on in a world that often feels like shifting sand.

So, these days, I don’t spend my energy trying to earn my way back into the good graces of people who gave up on me. I’m not climbing some moral ladder to prove I deserve a second chance. I have stopped trying to perform for applause that may never come. I’m learning to breathe again, and the rest in the reality that I’m not God’s project, I’m His kid. Still loved. Still being shaped by the One who turns ruins into resurrection stories and messes into miracles.

Instead, I’m counting blessings in the ruins and thanking God for both His mercy and grace. (Here’s an article that unpacks the difference.)

I don’t have an Instagram-worthy life. My story is more scars than snapshots. But I’m learning that God isn’t after perfection. He’s after presence. He wants my honesty, not my highlight reel.

The Ceiling Fan Theology

I once tried to install a ceiling fan. Key word: tried. Three hours, one janky YouTube tutorial, and a whole lot of dropped screws and foul words later, the fan looked like a flying saucer trying to escape. Katherine graciously said, “It’s the thought that counts.” I gave her a very unkind look.

But here’s something to ponder: God isn’t a “thought that counts” kind of Father. He’s the “I’ll come in and fix what you broke” kind. His love isn’t shaky and doesn’t wobble like my fan. It’s solid, secure, and unmoved by our instability.

When You Think God Feels Like You Do

One of our biggest problems? We project our human inconsistency onto God. When we’re moody, flaky, or unforgiving, we assume He must be too. But He’s not.

God’s love is steady. Constant. Relentless. His love is not just a song lyric. It’s a promise.

I think about all the times I’ve blown it. The big, small, and in-between failures. Times when I’ve been impatient, selfish, or just plain stupid. And yet, there He is. Every time. Whispering, “I still love you.” It’s not a begrudging, eye-rolling kind of love, either. It’s the kind of love that stands at the edge of the driveway, waiting for the prodigal to come home. The kind that celebrates our repentance, not scolds our rebellion.

When life falls apart, He’s there. When I mess up, He stays. When I doubt, He doesn’t. His love isn’t based on my ability to get it right. It’s rooted in who He is, and God doesn’t change.

He’s not the God of “maybe.” He’s the God of always. Always present. Always merciful. Always for you, even when you’re against yourself.

His love doesn’t depend on our performance. It runs on His nature. And last I checked, that doesn’t change with our worst day.

You Always Will

Another part of the song lyrics by Seph keeps playing in my heart.

You’ve been good all my days,

Through the highs and the pain.

It’s not just a line in a song but a banner over my life. A truth I cling to when nothing else makes sense.

Yes, I’ve fallen short (a nicer way of saying sinned). Repeatedly. Yes, I’ve failed and hurt people I care deeply about. I’ve lived through seasons of regret so thick that it felt like swimming upstream in concrete.

But God?

He’s still here.

Still patient.

Still calling me His.

So, If You’re There Too…

If you’re in the rubble of your own brokenness and holding the shattered remains of dreams you thought would last, know this: you are not disqualified or abandoned.

You’re not too broken, too far gone, or too messed up for Abba.

God still wants you. Not the someday perfect, cleaned-up version of you. The right-now, tear-stained, barely-holding-on, and totally screwed-up version. Because that’s where He meets us. In the ache. In the pain. In the silence. In the “God, are You even still here?” moments.

The answer is always the same: “Yes, I am here, and I’ve got you.”

Even on Sundays. Even when the restaurant is closed, the tank is empty, and you’re stuck with nothing but grace and a half-eaten granola bar.

That’s enough.

Because He’s enough.

Here’s What I Know, Deep in My Knower

You may feel like you’re sitting in the wreckage of dreams that didn’t survive your self-induced storm. You may be nursing regrets that still sting or wondering if you’ll ever be whole again. Embrace this reality: God doesn’t show up only after the dust settles; He kneels with you in it. He’s not asking you to clean it all up. He’s asking you to let Him all in.

So, if you’re there and choking on shame, clinging to scraps of hope, wondering if you’re too far gone, please know that you’re not too late. You’re not too broken. And you’re not alone.

You don’t have to hold it all together to be held.

The “ruins” don’t get the final word.

Grace does.

I’d love to hear from you—seriously.

Drop a comment below and let’s start a conversation. Your thoughts matter, and they might just encourage someone else as well.

Want more stories, hope, and honest insights? You can find me on X and Facebook, or delve deeper into my heart and writing on my website.

My books are available too, if you’re curious (or just need something to read with your coffee).