“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
— Psalm 34:18
There are days when the kitchen feels more like a silent battleground than a place of joy. You’ve poured your time, your heart, your energy into caring for someone—only to be met with silence, indifference, or worse, entitlement. No thanks. No kind glance. Not even a hello.
And in that moment, something inside you wilts.
Does anyone see me?
You may even wonder if you’ve done something wrong. You try to swallow the tears and keep going. But eventually, the ache becomes a weight you carry alone. And worse still, when you snap or retreat in bitterness, you’re the one convicted by conscience, kneeling in the confessional once again.
It feels unjust. It feels like his sin is driving you into sin. And if you’re honest, you sometimes feel more peaceful when he’s far away—not because you wish him harm, but because he’s not present to provoke the cycle of neglect and anger.
But beloved daughter of God—He sees it all.
He sees the silent service.
The cold dinners you still make warm.
The gentle restraint when your soul is roaring.
The devotion it takes not to leave.
The holy endurance of a heart that still hopes.
This is the kind of suffering that, when offered to Christ, becomes not just pain—but prayer. You are not invisible to the One who made you. Jesus sees. He knows. And He weeps with you.
He also invites you to step into His own mystery of being unloved in return. “He came to His own, and His own did not receive Him” (John 1:11). And yet—He loved anyway. Not because it was returned, but because love is who He is.
When you love in the absence of response, you’re not failing.
You are resembling Christ.
That doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to set boundaries or seek healing. But it means that every unseen act becomes a candle in the dark. It matters. And heaven sees.
So cry when you need to. Go to confession when the burden becomes too heavy. But do not mistake that for failure. You are in the fire with Jesus, and even here, even now, you are becoming holy.
Prayer
Jesus, when love feels invisible, remind me that You see every act of kindness, every tear, every quiet offering of the heart. Help me to not become bitter but refined. Teach me to love with Your strength—not as a martyr of codependency, but as a daughter rooted in divine love. Heal the wounds within my home. And when I feel more peace in solitude than in his presence, draw near to me and be the peace I crave. Amen.
This is an updated edition of a post originally published on Holy Beautiful Life
Featured Image by Patrick Marty from Pixabay
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