As I sat with God this week, asking Him what He wanted me to share, one phrase kept returning to my spirit — quietly, persistently:
“God will not give you more than you can bear.”
That familiar phrase is rooted in Scripture. In 1 Corinthians 10:13, we’re reminded:
“No temptation has overtaken you except such as is common to man; but God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you are able, but with the temptation will also make the way of escape, that you may be able to bear it.”
He confirmed this word in different ways, at different moments, until I knew this was the conversation He wanted me to have — not just with Him, but out loud.
This isn’t a story of despair — it’s a story of God meeting me in places I didn’t know still needed healing
The Parts of My Story I Packed Away
As a child, I don’t remember living with my grandmother, but I’ve been told I spent the first few years of my life with her. That part of my memory is completely blank.
After that, I moved from home to home, rarely staying anywhere for long. I lived with an aunt — let’s call her Mama K — until Primary Four, then was sent back to my dad for less than a year. Back to Mama K again until it was time for secondary school, then back to my dad.
The moving didn’t stop there. In JS2, I was sent to live with another aunt in a different state for less than a year, then returned to my dad for JS3. For the first time ever, in JS3, my dad actually asked me where I wanted to go next. I chose my cousin’s secondary school, which meant moving again to Mama K’s house — and that’s how my boarding adventures began.
Less than a year later, I was back at my dad’s house — but this time as a boarder, only home for the holidays. For the first time, I felt a sense of stability. Boarding school finally felt like a home no one could take from me.
These were parts of my life I locked away in a box for years. I didn’t talk about them. I didn’t revisit them. I survived by moving forward and pretending I was fine.
I won’t go into every detail of the transitions — not because they don’t matter, but because this post isn’t about reliving everything. It’s about what God is doing now.
The question I kept asking Him was simple but heavy:
“Was it really necessary?”
I was always ready to move. Always waiting. The first time I ever felt truly settled was when I became a boarder in my fourth secondary school. For the first time, no matter what happened, I knew where I was going back to. Stability finally had a name.
When the Body Remembers What the Mind Forgot
As an adult, I still ask God why — over and over:
Why this childhood?
Why this instability?
Why the depth of healing I now have to pursue?
Some mornings, I wake up and my heart is already racing — before my feet even touch the floor. I lie there trying to calm myself. Breathing. Praying. Drinking chamomile tea like it’s about to perform a miracle. Still nothing.
And I ask God quietly, “When does this end?”
Knowing the verse doesn’t always make the experience lighter.
Because when people say, “God will not give you more than you can bear,” there’s a part of me that wants to reply honestly: This one pass me o.
A Gentle Reframing
As I have sat with this more, I have realised something important:
I don’t believe God put me through all of this to bring me back to Him.
I never really left.
What I do believe is this:
God allowed me to walk through these experiences so that one day, I could sit with someone else who has locked parts of their story away — and say, “You are not crazy. You are not weak. Healing is possible.”
What opened the memory wasn’t force — it was grace. While reading Grit & Grace – The Journey of a Woman Forged by God’s Hands by Catherine Oyenike Abagun, something shifted. It felt like God gently lifting the lid on a box I had sealed shut, not to overwhelm me, but to invite me into truth.
And with truth came grief.
And with grief came questions.
And with questions came clarity.
God wasn’t punishing me.
He wasn’t absent.
He was preparing me.
“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ… who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.” — 2 Corinthians 1:3–4
Healing That Goes Deeper Than Answers
Some of us survived by compartmentalising.
We locked things away because it was the only way we knew how to keep going.
But healing requires honesty.
And honesty requires courage.
God didn’t force the box open.
He waited until I was strong enough to look inside — with Him.
And now I understand: this healing isn’t just for me. Even when it feels overwhelming, God is still at work — quietly, faithfully, purposefully.
“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.” — Romans 8:28
If This Is You Too
If you have boxed parts of your story away…
If you’ve told yourself, “It wasn’t that bad” or “Other people had it worse”…
If your body reacts before your mind even understands why…
Please hear this clearly:
God sees it.
God honours your survival.
And God can still bring healing — fully and completely.
Not rushed healing.
Not surface-level healing.
But the kind that reaches the places you didn’t even have language for.
“Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past.
See, I am doing a new thing!
Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?” — Isaiah 43:18–19
God does not ask us to deny our past — He asks us to trust Him with it.
And when He revisits what we buried, it’s never to shame us.
It’s to free us.
Closing Thought
Sometimes God doesn’t heal us instead of others —
He heals us for others.
Not so we can have all the answers,
but so we can walk beside someone else and say,
“I’ve been there too.”
Your story — even the parts you locked away — is now a bridge for someone else.
Your survival.
Your honesty.
Your willingness to face what was hidden.
That’s the ministry God is shaping in you.
Closing Prayer
Father,
Thank You for holding every part of my story — even the ones I hid away.
Thank You for opening what needed to be opened, gently and in Your timing.
Heal me fully, not just for myself, but so I can be a vessel of Your grace to others.
Give me wisdom, compassion, and courage as You continue this work in me.
Help all who read this to trust You with their own stories — the seen and the unseen.
I trust You with what You’re revealing
and with who You’re shaping me to be.
In Jesus’ name,
Amen.
Leave a Reply