The Struggle, the Tears, the Prayer, and the Glory

Authour Generated

Some of the things I write about do not come from clean study notes, quiet coffee, and a comfortable chair.

Some of them come from struggle.

They come from heartache. They come from tears. They come from places in me that God is still touching, healing, correcting, and exposing. Some topics are not just ideas to me. They are wounds. They are battles. They are places where I have had to sit with the Lord and say, “I do not know what to do with this, but I know I have to bring it to You.”

That is the part people do not always see.

They may read the article after it is polished. They may see the Scripture, the thought, the theology, the conclusion. But many times, before any of that happens, there is a moment where I am sitting with something heavy in my chest, trying to figure out whether what I am feeling is conviction, grief, anger, fear, or the Holy Spirit pressing something deeper out of me.

At times, something I write may look like it came from reading, studying, and then neatly explaining an idea. But the truth is, many times the article is not the end of the struggle. Sometimes it is only the beginning. There are moments when I feel like the Lord has opened my eyes to something through Scripture, prayer, conviction, or suffering, and I can put it into words before I have fully learned how to live it.

That is a vulnerable place to admit.

It means I may be writing from a truth God is teaching me, not from a mountain I have already conquered. The words may sound settled, but my heart may still be wrestling. The theology may be clear, but the obedience may still be forming in me. And maybe that is part of the point. God does not only speak through people who have finished the lesson. Sometimes He speaks through people who are still trembling in the middle of it.

And then comes the immediate call to prayer.

Not because I am holy in myself. Not because I have some impressive discipline. But because I have learned the hard way that if I do not take these things to God, I will eventually take them somewhere else. I will take them into my own understanding. I will take them into pride. I will take them into frustration. I will take them into the flesh. And the flesh can take even a holy topic and twist it into something self-protective, self-righteous, or self-centered.

So I pray.

Sometimes the prayer is not fancy. Sometimes it is not even long. Sometimes it is just, “Lord, help me.” Sometimes it is, “Search me.” Sometimes it is, “Do not let me write this from my wound. Let me write this from Your truth.” Sometimes it is, “I do not want to touch this topic unless You are in it.”

Because I am learning that the goal is not just to say something true.

The goal is to say something surrendered.

There is a difference.

A person can use Scripture and still be speaking from pride. A person can talk about God and still be trying to prove themselves. A person can write about holiness while secretly wanting to look wise, strong, deep, or spiritual. I know that because I can see the temptation in myself.

That is why prayer matters.

Prayer drags the heart back before the throne of God. Prayer reminds me that I am not the source. Prayer reminds me that I am not the Savior. Prayer reminds me that my pain may be real, but it is not lord. My thoughts may be strong, but they are not Scripture. My emotions may be intense, but they are not automatically truth.

Christ is truth.

And when the topic is painful, that is where the glory begins to shine.

Not because suffering is good in itself. Suffering is not the glory. Tears are not the glory. Heartache is not the glory. The glory is that God meets us there. The glory is that Christ does not waste what broke us. The glory is that the Holy Spirit can take something painful, something confusing, something that once felt like destruction, and turn it into a place of surrender, wisdom, compassion, and testimony.

That is the glory.

The glory is not that I have suffered.

The glory is that He was there.

The glory is not that I cried.

The glory is that His presence was real.

The glory is not that I had something to say.

The glory is that He gave me something worth saying.

There are times when I write, and I feel the weight of it. I feel the ache of it. I feel the fear of being too exposed. I feel the discomfort of letting people see something real. But then I remember that vulnerability is not the same thing as making myself the center. True vulnerability, when surrendered to Christ, becomes a window. People are not supposed to look at me and say, “Look how deep he is.” They are supposed to look through the broken place and see the One who is holding it together.

That is what I want.

I do not want to write articles that make people impressed with me. I want to write in such a way that people can see the mercy of God at work in a real man. A flawed man. A man still being corrected. A man still being humbled. A man still being taught how to pray, how to surrender, how to love, how to speak, and how to suffer without letting suffering become his identity.

Because suffering is not my identity.

Christ is.

And that changes everything.

It changes how I write. It changes how I pray. It changes how I understand pain. It changes how I see my own tears. They are not weakness. They are not performance. They are not manipulation. Sometimes tears are just what happens when the human heart comes too close to the presence of a holy God and realizes it cannot contain what He is doing.

And that is the part I never want to lose.

The glory.

The glory of God in the middle of human weakness.

The glory of Christ being enough when I am not.

The glory of the Holy Spirit taking broken places and making them useful.

The glory of a Father who does not throw away wounded sons, but restores them, teaches them, disciplines them, and then sends them back out with scars that no longer only speak of pain, but of redemption.

That is why I write.

Not because every topic is easy.

Not because I have mastered every thought.

Not because I am always calm, clean, and collected.

I write because sometimes God presses something into my heart, and I have to wrestle with it before Him. I write because sometimes the struggle becomes prayer. I write because sometimes prayer becomes surrender. I write because sometimes surrender becomes testimony.

And when testimony points back to Christ, there it is again.

The glory.

Not mine.

His.

-TRAVIS KNOWLTON