Have you ever received an instruction from God that felt… impossible?
Not the exciting, faith-boosting kind.
But the kind that makes you pause and think,
“God, I really don’t want to do this.”
That’s where I am right now.
If you’ve been reading my recent posts, you’ll notice a pattern — God keeps calling me into stillness. Not inactivity, but the kind of stillness that forces trust. The kind that quiets my need to explain myself, defend my choices, or look for approval elsewhere.
This instruction feels uncomfortable — even painful. At times, it makes me feel foolish. And as a retired people-pleaser, I’ve learned to be careful with my motives. So I often ask God:
Is this You, or is this my flesh?
And if it’s You, please make it unmistakably clear.
From “Why Me?” to “What Are You Teaching Me?”
I’ve come to a place in my walk with God where I no longer ask,
“Why me?”
That question kept me stuck.
Now I ask instead:
“What are You trying to teach me through this?”
And one day, in the quiet — the same quiet He keeps drawing me into — I heard Him say something that caught me off guard:
“I want to break you.”
My first reaction wasn’t spiritual at all. Break me?Lord… what do You mean? Is this not enough already?
A Heart of Stone
Then He went deeper:
“Your heart is still made of stone. I want to give you a heart of flesh.”
Scripture describes it perfectly:
“I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.”
— Ezekiel 36:26
I realised that some of what I had called strength was actually hardness.
Some of my independence was self-protection.
Some of my busyness was avoidance.
This connected to everything God has been showing me lately — the slowing down, the stripping away, the rebuilding from the inside out. Just like the lesson He taught me through my implant journey: nothing permanent can rest on a weak foundation.
So He said:
“I want to break you down — so I can rebuild you.”
What God Meant by “Breaking”
If I’m honest, fear crept in immediately.
Lord, if I break one more time, I don’t think I can handle it.
But then God clarified something that changed everything:
“The breaking is not your responsibility.
The rebuilding is Mine.”
He wasn’t asking me to hurt myself, punish myself, or relive pain unnecessarily. He wasn’t asking me to force humility or manufacture brokenness.
The breaking was simply what He would allow to fall away — false identities, unhealthy attachments, self-reliance disguised as strength.
My role wasn’t to destroy myself.
My role was to yield.
And the rebuilding?
That part belonged entirely to Him.
“Yet You, Lord, are our Father.
We are the clay, You are the potter;
we are all the work of Your hand.”
— Isaiah 64:8
Clay doesn’t fix itself.
It stays soft in the hands of the Potter.
A Word for You
If God is asking you to obey in a way that feels uncomfortable…
If you’re afraid of what obedience might cost…
If you feel like you’re being stripped rather than celebrated…
This may not be destruction.
It may be preparation.
“A broken and contrite heart, O God, You will not despise.”
— Psalm 51:17
God never breaks what He doesn’t intend to rebuild.
Closing Thought
Stillness.
Breaking.
Rebuilding.
Surrender.
They are not punishments — they are invitations.
And I’m learning to stay on the wheel.
To stay soft.
And to trust that the same hands that allow the breaking are faithful enough to put me back together — whole, secure, and strong.
Reflection Prayer
Father,
Help me obey even when it hurts.
Soften every hardened place in my heart.
Remove what no longer serves Your purpose in me.
Teach me to stay still, stay surrendered, and trust Your hands.
Do the breaking You need to do — and the rebuilding only You can do.
In Jesus’ name,
Amen.
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