Dear divorced Christian,
You are not what was done to you.
You are not the choices you made in the fog of sorrow or survival.
Divorce may be a chapter, but it is not your name.
You are not marked by what broke. You are held by the One who didn’t.
I See You.
You walk into church and wonder if the quiet glances mean anything, or if they mean everything. You sit in Bible study, smiling at prayer requests while praying no one asks about him. You scroll past posts about marriage miracles with an ache you can’t explain, wondering if yours was the only one heaven did not mend.
You love Jesus. But you carry a kind of heartbreak for which the Church rarely makes casseroles. And in the silence, questions fester:
Is God disappointed in me?
Will I always feel like a house split down the middle?
You don’t want pity. You don’t want applause. You want to know: Is there still a place for me at the table where grace is served?
And let me say this as clearly as I can: Yes. There is.
“You walk into church and wonder if the quiet glances mean anything, or if they mean everything.”
Divorce Was Never the Plan, But Neither Was Shame
Divorce is not the plan. God’s design for marriage is covenant, not convenience. We don’t walk away because it’s hard or because we’re bored. Covenant means we fight for what is sacred. We fight for restoration, not just for comfort. And when we’ve strayed, repentance is the doorway back to grace. God doesn’t demand perfection, but He does invite us to turn away from sin toward Him and find mercy waiting.
But we live in a world cracked by betrayal, addiction, abandonment, and the quiet ache of trying to hold a holy vow in a house gone cold. Some of you didn’t want this. Some of you begged God to fix it. Some of you stayed longer than anyone knows. And still, it broke.
The shame-filled echo of “God hates divorce” still rings. But listen carefully: He doesn’t hate you. He hates what divorce does to the heart because He loves you. He hates the tearing, the silence, the cold war across the dinner table. He hates the way it bruises children, the way it unravels trust, the way it leaves even the most faithful woman wondering if she’s too much or not enough. He hates it for the same reason you do, because it hurts.
God’s hatred of divorce is not the same as rejection of the divorced.
He doesn’t discard you with your wedding dress.
He doesn’t exile you to the back row of His Kingdom.
He doesn’t love you less now than He did when you said, “I do.”
“God’s hatred of divorce is not the same as rejection of the divorced.”
Healing Doesn’t Come with Time; It Comes with Jesus
Frankly, the self-help idea that time heals all wounds is a lie. The pain of divorce doesn’t heal with time; it heals with Jesus. Healing begins when we bring Him our whole selves including the places where we need to repent. His mercy is never withheld from the one who turns to Him. He is not disgusted by your wound. He’s near to the brokenhearted. He binds up what pride, sin, and the enemy tried to break.
Divorce doesn’t get the final word. Jesus does. And His word over you is not shame, it’s mercy. Not rejection, but restoration. You, my friend, are still called, still His, still beloved.
Your Story Still Matters
You may feel like your past disqualifies you. Like your mistakes are too big for grace. But let me remind you of the woman at the well in John 4.
She had five ex-husbands. She wasn’t married to the man she lived with. She wasn’t looking for Jesus, but He came looking for her. He didn’t begin with condemnation. He began with a conversation. But notice this too, He named her sin and in that naming, gave her the freedom to leave it behind. Repentance wasn’t a punishment; it was the path into her new assignment. He did the unthinkable. He made her the first evangelist in Samaria.
Yes, her. A woman with a wrecked history and no religious credentials was the one He trusted to carry the message of Living Water.
Why?
Because Jesus is not afraid of women with complicated stories. He redeems them. He restores them. He sends them back into the world, bold, beloved, and with an assignment. “Bring other hurting people to Me.”
“He sends them back into the world, bold, beloved, and with an assignment. ‘Bring other hurting people to Me.'”
There’s Room for Your Grief
The Church should be saying what too many have only whispered:
Your sorrow is welcome here.
The covenant you kept mattered.
And so does the grief that followed its breaking.
We won’t insult your pain with platitudes.
We won’t dress your story in tidy bows.
We’ll kneel beside you in the ache and call it holy ground.
God is not afraid of your grief.
He’s not confused by your circumstances.
He’s not done with you.
The cross covers what your heart still carries. Grace is not only for the easy cases. It is for every case. And the King never calls you by your marital status; He calls you His.
Yes, there will be hard days. There may still be healing to do. And yes, there may be uncomfortable conversations or awkward silences in pews. Take heart: Jesus doesn’t fumble with stories, and He’s not done with yours.
There is room for you here: in the Church, in His mission of His children becoming who He designed them to be.
“There is room for you here: in the Church, in His mission of His children becoming who He designed them to be.”
We pray for your healing.
And we stand beside you, not as fixers, but as sisters.
With fierce love and full hope,
Megan Rawlings
