I Wasn’t Sure Why God Woke Me Up…

I wasn’t sure why God woke me up at 4am today, until this morning… When my eyes opened, I could feel a heaviness in my heart, and I sensed a strong prompting to pray. But I honestly didn’t know what I was supposed to pray for—or who I was supposed to pray for.

So I stayed there for a while, listening. And as I began to recognize what I felt the Lord was putting on my heart, I started typing. I wasn’t trying to write anything. I simply began to put into words what was coming to me, almost as though I was writing as He was speaking to my heart.

When I finished, I wondered, “Lord, what am I supposed to do with this?” I didn’t have an answer. Until this morning.

I met a dear friend who has been sharing with me some of the prophetic impressions and visions she believes the Lord has been showing her. As she spoke, something became crystal clear to me. I suddenly understood why this had been placed on my heart in the early hours of the morning.

And so, with humility and prayer, I am sharing what I believe the Lord was speaking to my heart. I don’t know who needs to hear this today. Perhaps it is You. But I want to remind you of this: The Lord has not forgotten you. He sees you. He is thinking about you. And He is with you.

So, wherever you are and whatever you may be carrying today, take a few moments to read this—not simply with your eyes, but with your heart. And if these words are for you, I pray that you will know that you don’t have to carry everything alone.

I am titling this: When “I’m Fine” Isn’t Fine.

Have you ever come across people who don’t talk about their pain? You ask them, “How are you?”.. “I’m fine.” “How is work going?” “It’s Fine”. “Is everything okay?” the answer is “Yes, its fine.” And sometimes, without even blinking, they say it again: “I’m fine.”

But are they really?
Perhaps somewhere along the way, many of us learned that pain should be hidden.

1. We learned not to let it show on our faces.
2. We learned to hold back the tears.
3. We learned that saying “I’m struggling” could make us look weak.
4. We learned that saying “I can’t do this” might make people question our ability.
5. We learned that asking for help could sound like failure.

And slowly, without realizing it, we learned to laugh when we wanted to cry.
We learned to say, “I can manage,” when inside we were desperately hoping someone would simply say, “You don’t have to do this alone.”
We learned to say “I’m strong” when what our heart was really saying was “I’m tired.”
And we learned to say “I’m fine” even when we were anything but fine.

There are people around us who are carrying entire storms inside them, while appearing completely calm on the outside. You may not see the waves… You may not hear the thunder… You may not know how hard they are fighting just to get through the day.

But sometimes, if we slow down enough to look beyond the words and listen beyond the answer, we may begin to notice something in their eyes, their silence, their sudden withdrawal, their tiredness, or even in the smile that seems just a little too carefully placed.

Because not every pain announces itself.
Some pain becomes quiet.
Some pain becomes functional.
Some pain goes to work, cooks dinner, takes care of children, attends church, answers emails, smiles at people and says,,, “I’m fine.”

But Scripture gives us a different picture of strength.

The Bible does not teach us that strength means never being broken. It teaches us that we were created for one another.

Paul writes:

“Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.”
— Galatians 6:2

Notice that Scripture doesn’t say, “Carry your own burdens.”

It says: Carry each other’s burdens. That means there will be seasons when I carry yours. And there will be seasons when you carry mine. That isn’t weakness. That is God’s design for community.

Ecclesiastes reminds us:

“Two are better than one… If either of them falls down, one can help the other up.”
— Ecclesiastes 4:9–10

There is something profoundly beautiful about that picture. Someone falls. Someone notices. Someone reaches out. Someone helps them get back up. The goal isn’t to prove that you can stand by yourself. The goal is to make sure that when you fall, you don’t fall alone.

Jesus never seemed threatened by human weakness.

In fact, Jesus repeatedly created space for people to speak about what was really happening inside them. He invited the weary:

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”
— Matthew 11:28

He didn’t say, “Come to Me when you have fixed yourself.” He didn’t say, “Come to Me when you are strong enough.” He said,, “Come.”

There is an invitation in that word…
1. Come with your exhaustion.
2. Come with your questions.
3. Come with your tears.
4. Come with your disappointment.
5. Come with the things you don’t know how to carry.
6. Come with the things you are embarrassed to admit.
Come...

And perhaps that is also what we are called to say to one another. Not, “Why can’t you handle this?” But, “Come. Let me walk with you.”

Sometimes loving someone means asking twice.

Perhaps the first time we ask, “How are you?” they will say,, “I’m fine.” Maybe we shouldn’t always accept that answer as the end of the conversation. Not by forcing them to talk… Not by intruding… Not by trying to solve everything. But sometimes simply by saying,, “Are you really okay? You don’t have to explain everything. But if something is heavy, I’m here.”
Because sometimes people don’t need an answer… They need permission.. Permission to stop pretending.. Permission to cry.. Permission to say, “I’m struggling.” Permission to admit, “I don’t know what to do.” Permission to ask for help without feeling ashamed.

And perhaps this is one of the most beautiful ways we can offer ourselves to one another.

Romans 12:15 says:

“Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.”

Sometimes offering ourselves to another person doesn’t mean having the right words. It simply means being willing to enter their moment. When they rejoice, rejoice with them. When they mourn, mourn with them. When they are weak, don’t make them feel ashamed of their weakness. When they are tired, don’t make them prove their strength. When they cannot carry the weight, help carry it.

We are not called to be everyone’s saviour.

There is an important distinction here. We are called to love one another, but we are not called to become someone’s saviour. Only Christ can carry the weight of a human soul completely. Sometimes the most loving thing we can do is not to try to fix someone, but to help them find the right help.

1. A friend.
2. A spouse.
3. A pastor.
4. A counsellor.
5. A trusted family member.
6. A professional.
7. And above all, God.

Asking for help is not a failure of faith. Sometimes asking for help is an expression of faith. It is saying,

“I recognize that I was never created to carry this alone.”

Even Scripture tells us to confess our struggles to one another and pray for one another (James 5:16).

That requires vulnerability. And vulnerability requires trust. And perhaps this is where Christian community becomes something much deeper than simply attending the same church, sitting in the same Life Group, or knowing one another’s names. It becomes a place where we can say: “You don’t have to pretend here.”

And perhaps we need to learn to look differently.

We should not only look at what people say. We should learn to notice what they don’t say. The person who is always helping everyone else may also need help. The person who always encourages others may also need encouragement. The person who always says “I’m praying for you” may sometimes need someone to pray for them. The person who always appears strong may secretly be exhausted. And the person who keeps saying “I’m fine” may simply be waiting for someone safe enough to say,, “You don’t have to be fine with me.”

Because sometimes the greatest ministry we can offer another human being is simply our presence.

1. To sit.
2. To listen.
3. To pray.
4. To cry with them.
5. To walk beside them.
6. To remind them that their weakness doesn’t make them less valuable.

“If you feel pain, you are alive. If you feel another person’s pain, you are human.”

I think there is something even deeper in this thought.. Perhaps we can say: If you feel your own pain, you know that you are alive. But when you can feel the pain of another, you begin to understand what it means to love.

The Christian life is not simply about receiving God’s love. It is also about becoming a vessel through which that love reaches someone else.

Paul describes the church as one body:

“If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it.”
— 1 Corinthians 12:26

That means your pain matters to me. And my pain should matter to you. Not because we are responsible for fixing each other. But because we belong to one another. Maybe this is what it means to truly be the hands and feet of Christ. Sometimes Christ’s hands look like someone reaching out and saying,, “Let me help you.”

1. Sometimes His ears look like someone willing to listen.
2. Sometimes His arms look like someone giving an exhausted person a safe embrace.
3. Sometimes His voice sounds like,, “You are not alone.”
4. And sometimes His love comes through the person who simply refuses to walk away.

So perhaps the next time someone tells us,, “I’m fine,” we shouldn’t immediately assume they are. Maybe we can gently ask again. Maybe we can create a safe space. Maybe we can listen without judgment.

Maybe we can remind them that asking for help is not weakness. And maybe, when it is our turn to be the one who is hurting, we need to have the courage to say the words we have been afraid to say: “I’m not fine.”

Because there is no shame in being human. There is no shame in needing help. There is no shame in crying. There is no shame in admitting that the burden has become too heavy. The shame is not in needing someone.

The beauty is that God has given us someone.

And sometimes, God answers a prayer for help not by removing the burden immediately, but by sending someone to help us carry it.

So let us become people who don’t simply ask,, “How are you?”
but people who are willing to stay long enough to hear the answer. Let us become people who notice.

1. People who listen.
2. People who carry.
3. People who pray.
4. People who reach out.
5. People who make it safe for others to say, “I’m not okay.” And perhaps, through us, they may discover the heart of Christ saying: “You don’t have to carry this alone.” Because we were never meant to.

“Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.”
— Galatians 6:2

And maybe that is what being human—and being Christlike—is really about:
Not merely feeling our own pain,
but having enough love to notice someone else’s.

Prayer:

Dear Lord,
Give us eyes to see beyond the words “I’m fine,”
hearts that notice what others may be carrying,
and courage to reach out when someone is hurting.
Teach us also to humble ourselves enough to say,
“I need help,” when we cannot carry the burden alone.

Make us people who listen, love, pray, and carry one another—
and through us, let others experience the compassion of Christ.
Amen.