We tend to think healing comes with time. That if we just wait long enough, the pain will pass and we’ll be okay. What I’ve come to find is that it’s more about what we choose to do with that time. It’s about what we open up, what we expose, and what we surrender to God.
And more than anything, healing requires God’s light.
A few weeks ago, my husband suffered an injury to his eye. At first, it seemed manageable, but what caught me off guard was how painful light became for him. The brightness was too much. He couldn’t even sit by a window without shielding his eyes. For days, he wore double-layered sunglasses, or sometimes a patch, because even the smallest glimmer of light felt unbearable.
It made me think. That’s how a lot of us respond to spiritual wounds.
God’s Word is described as a lamp to our feet and a light to our path. His presence is light. When we’re carrying shame or pain, that light can feel too bright. It shows us more than we want to see; our brokenness, our anger, our fragility. So, just like my husband, we try to dim the light. We look for something to stand between us and the brightness.
We avoid the hard parts of Scripture. We isolate instead of open up. We distract ourselves with work, relationships, entertainment, and anything else to avoid full exposure.
It’s easier to sit in the shadows than to deal with the sting of being fully seen.
But healing doesn’t happen in the dark.
And that’s exactly why the enemy wants to keep us there. He whispers lies that sound a lot like shame. “If they knew the real you, they’d walk away.” “God’s tired of dealing with this.” “You should be over this by now.”
Shame convinces us to keep hiding. To cover the wound and pretend it’s not as deep as it is. When a physical wound is bandaged for too long without exposure to air and light, it begins to get infected. It gets worse, not better. The same happens to our hearts.
The beautiful thing is, God calls us out of hiding. Just like He did with Adam and Eve when they covered themselves and ran to hide. “Where are you?” He asked. Not because He didn’t know, but because He wanted them to come back into a relationship with Him. He still asks us that today. Where are you? Not geographically. Emotionally. Spiritually. Relationally.
Psalm 147:3 says, “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” He can’t heal what we won’t bring to Him. There are times we’re so hurt that the idea of standing fully exposed in His light feels like too much. Like my husband shielding his injured eye, we try to filter the light, hoping to protect ourselves, to minimize the pain, but the truth is, filtering God’s presence only delays the healing we desperately need.
Sometimes, we even place idols in front of us to dull the intensity. We pursue comfort, control, affirmation, or even ministry success; things that make us feel better without actually making us whole. No idol can substitute the light of Jesus. No distraction can disinfect the wound. We’ve got to let Him in.
Healing doesn’t stop with just us and God. There’s a horizontal layer too, community.
James 5:16 says, “Confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed.” There is something powerful about letting someone else into your process. Someone safe. Someone who reflects the love of God. Someone who doesn’t just offer advice, but who prays, who listens, who stays.
I know that’s scary, especially if you’ve been hurt before. Vulnerability feels like a risk, but hiding has a cost too. If we’re honest, healing isn’t about trusting everyone. It’s about trusting God enough to find the right people. Ask Him to send them AND be willing to be one for someone else.
So I’ll leave you with these reflection questions: what are you hiding? What’s the wound you’ve kept buried, hoping time would take care of it? What have you placed between yourself and God’s presence?
Jesus said in John 8:12, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness but will have the light of life.” The darkness is where the enemy thrives. But light? Light is where healing lives.
My husband is still healing. His eye is slowly adjusting to the brightness again. It takes time. It takes care, but that’s what healing looks like. We let the light in, a little more each day, until what once stung becomes tolerable and eventually, life-giving.
Emotions are not a design flaw. They are part of God’s good creation. They are not sinful in themselves, even when they feel intense or inconvenient. Jesus, fully God and fully man, felt the full range. Luke tells us He rejoiced in the Holy Spirit with joy that overflowed. John records the shortest verse in Scripture, “Jesus wept” (John 11:35), reminding us that sorrow has a place in holy ground. Mark shows us His righteous anger as He looked around at hardened hearts with grief mixed in (Mark 3:5). Matthew lets us overhear His deep distress in Gethsemane when He said, “My soul is very sorrowful, even to death” (Matthew 26:38). Over and over again, we see compassion move Him toward people, not away from them. If Jesus felt emotions without sinning, we need to stop labeling emotions themselves as the problem.
To be unhindered is not to have a flawless plan or a perfectly curated life. It is to clear away the distractions that keep us from being faithful right where we are. It is to remember that our identity is in Christ, not in comparison, not in productivity, not in striving. And because God is our source, we are not dependent on systems that exhaust us. We lean into the Holy Spirit who sustains us. Steward It Well
And as we sit here in 2026, I think many of us aren’t tangled up in obvious sin and rebellion. We’re actually exhausted by accumulation. Expectations. Distractions. Comparisons. The pressure to do more and be more, even when God hasn’t asked us to.
That’s why the Word of the Year, Unhindered, is so timely and fitting.
We’ve got to get more honest about what we’re carrying. We often assume that spiritual growth and maturity are tied to adding more and increase, but here in Hebrews, we see the opposite. We see release. Casting things off. Laying things aside. Surrender.
It’s an invitation to reflection. What has slowly attached itself to us? What fills our days and dulls our discernment? What keeps us busy, but lacking real fruit?
To wait well is to lean in when we want to pull back. It’s to light our lamps with trust and faithfulness. It’s to keep our hearts open, our hands obedient, and our eyes on the horizon.
So if you’re in a waiting season right now, whether it’s for healing, direction, provision, or just a sense of peace, take heart.
