Grace Filled Lemons

There are seasons of life that break us open.
Not in ways we wanted. Not in ways we planned.
But in ways that bring us to our knees, trembling and honest.

Maybe you’re in one of those seasons now.

Grief. Illness. Loneliness. Fear.
The ache that lingers in your chest even after the world moves on.
The prayers you keep whispering into silence.

It’s hard to imagine that this place—this raw, weary place—could be part of building God’s Kingdom.
But it is. Because in God’s hands, even suffering becomes sacred.

“I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake… and in my flesh I am filling up what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions…”
— Colossians 1:24

These are words we don’t fully understand—only grace can interpret them.

St. Paul knew what it was to suffer.
So did the saints. So did Christ.

In Catholic teaching, suffering united to Christ becomes redemptive.
Not meaningless. Not wasted. But offered.

It becomes intercession. Communion.
A mysterious participation in Christ’s love poured out for the world.

This doesn’t mean your pain is good or that God caused it.
But it does mean your pain is not the end of the story.
It has weight. It has worth. It can bear fruit you may never see.

You are not being punished.
You are being held.

In your surrender, you are building something eternal.
Not in spite of your suffering—but through it, with Him.

Christ does not stand far off from your pain—He enters into it.
He weeps with you.
And He stays.

A Prayer for the Suffering Soul:

Jesus, I offer You my pain—this heavy, aching part of my story.
I don’t always understand it. I don’t always know what You’re doing in it.
But I believe You are near.
Let this suffering be transformed.
Let it become a prayer. Let it become love. Let it bear fruit, even if I never see it.
I trust You with this part of my life, too. Amen.

Journaling Prompts:

• What suffering am I carrying right now that feels too heavy to speak aloud?
• How can I begin to offer that suffering to Christ—not with perfect words, but with trust?
• Have I seen a past season of pain bring unexpected growth or grace?
• What would it mean to believe that even this—especially this—is not wasted?

Take heart. Your tears are not lost on the floor.
They are gathered. Blessed. Redeemed.

With you in the ache,
Laura