Tears on the Page: How I Know I’m Hitting the Mark and Healing Through the Process
There’s something sacred that happens when your words begin to minister to your own soul.
Not because you’re trying to write something polished… but because what’s pouring out of you is finally real enough that it stirs something deeper than pride or performance. It moves the part of you that needed to be heard. It touches the places that had grown numb. It cracks open what had been sealed shut.
That’s where I find myself now—writing with tears on my face.
Not because I’m sad. Not because I’m trying to impress. But because for the first time in a long time, I know I’m hitting the mark.
What Does It Mean to “Hit the Mark”?
In archery, hitting the mark is literal. It's a bullseye. Dead center. Measured by sight and distance.
But in the realm of calling, creativity, healing, and kingdom purpose—“hitting the mark” is felt more than it is seen.
You feel it in your chest. In the goosebumps that follow a sentence. In the sudden lump in your throat when a memory finds its voice. In the presence of God that settles into the room as your fingers hit the keyboard, not just with skill but with surrender.
There’s no scoreboard for this kind of writing. There’s no editor’s red pen. There’s just the Spirit whispering, “Yes… this is it. Keep going.”
Psalm 45:1 says, “My heart is stirred by a noble theme as I recite my verses for the king; my tongue is the pen of a skillful writer.”
That verse has always hit home for me. But today, more than ever, I understand it.
These words aren’t just for others—they’re for the King.
And when your heart is stirred and your tears are real… that’s when you know you’re not just writing—you’re worshipping.
The Realness of the Final Chapters
As I reach these final chapters—whether it’s a book I’m writing or simply the end of a long healing process—I feel the weight of every word.
The realness hits different here.
I’ve written before. I’ve spoken before. I’ve shared and testified. But these last few pages carry a kind of holiness that earlier ones didn’t.
Because now I’ve lived enough to see what healing really looks like.
And here’s what I’ve learned: Healing rarely looks like celebration. It often looks like a quiet tear in a dark room, when you finally say, “God, I’m still here.”
It’s the miracle of survival.
It’s the strength to put periods on sentences that used to have question marks.
It’s looking back on the wreckage and realizing—not only did you not die there… but you grew from it.
Psalm 34:18 says, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
When I write from that place, the words come out differently.
Less polished. More powerful.
Less controlled. More free.
And that’s how I know… I’m hitting the mark.
Why the Tears Matter
Tears don’t always mean weakness. Sometimes they mean the anointing is active.
Jesus wept. And in that moment, heaven didn’t rebuke Him—heaven recorded it.
John 11:35 is the shortest verse in the Bible, but it speaks volumes:
“Jesus wept.”
He wept at the tomb of a friend. He wept in Gethsemane. He wept over Jerusalem.
He wept not because He lacked faith—but because He carried so much love.
Tears are not proof that you’re falling apart. Sometimes, they’re proof that your heart is finally working again. That you’re feeling what God feels. That you're awake again.
And when I write and tears come—it’s not performance. It’s presence.
It means I’m no longer writing to impress. I’m writing to process. To worship. To heal.
And healing… that’s the real bullseye.
Why This Season Matters More Than Ever
There’s a temptation to rush the process. To skip the quiet reflection and get to the “next big thing.” But this season—this sacred silence where God is still doing heart surgery—it matters more than I can explain.
The world might not see what’s happening. But heaven does.
Isaiah 30:15 says, “In repentance and rest is your salvation, in quietness and trust is your strength…”
I’ve found my strength not by pushing harder, but by resting deeper. By letting the Holy Spirit minister to me in the places no one else sees.
And as the pages of this chapter unfold, I can see now that my healing wasn’t just for me—it’s for others.
Someone needs these words.
Someone needs to see that survival is possible.
Someone needs to know that scars don’t disqualify you—they prove you’ve been through the fire and came out with a testimony.
Three Ways to Heal From Your Past and Step Into God’s Greatness
We all have a past. Some of it was our doing. Some of it was done to us. But none of it can cancel the greatness that God placed in us.
You were created for more.
Here are three ways I’ve learned to heal, step forward, and embrace the identity God has always spoken over me—as His child, His warrior, His ambassador.
1. Acknowledge the Wound and Invite God In
Healing starts with honesty.
You cannot heal from what you will not name.
God doesn’t need you to hide the wound—He wants to enter it. Not to condemn you, but to cleanse you. To bring light where shame used to live.
Psalm 147:3 says, “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”
God is not afraid of your mess. He’s the only one who knows exactly what to do with it.
Invite Him into the memory. Invite Him into the pain. Invite Him into the part of your story you’ve tried to forget.
Practical Step: Set aside 30 minutes to sit in God’s presence and journal. Ask the Holy Spirit: “What wound am I still carrying? Show me. Heal me. Meet me there.” Don’t rush it. Let the tears come. Let the breakthrough begin.
2. Speak the Truth About Who You Are
The enemy will always try to label you by your past.
He will call you by your failure. But God calls you by your name.
Isaiah 43:1 says, “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine.”
You are not your mistake. You are not your divorce. You are not your addiction. You are not your trauma.
You are a child of God.
And when you start speaking that truth over your life, your soul begins to believe it.
Faith comes by hearing. That includes hearing yourself declare the Word of God over your own life.
Practical Step: Write a declaration statement. Keep it on your mirror, in your car, or on your phone. Speak it out loud every morning. Example: “I am redeemed. I am forgiven. I am chosen. I am not who I was. I am who God says I am.”
3. Walk Forward With Purpose, Not Guilt
You can’t move forward while staring at the rearview mirror.
Yes, your past shaped you—but it doesn’t define you.
Philippians 3:13-14 says, “But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal…”
To heal is to move. To forgive is to walk. To live is to run with new fire.
Don’t carry guilt into a chapter God has already redeemed. Don’t relive what God has already released. Let go of the chains. The future is calling.
And not just any future—but one filled with purpose, with legacy, with greatness.
You’re not just healing for yourself. You’re healing for your family. For your community. For the lives your story will reach.
Practical Step: Ask God for your next assignment. Not based on guilt—but on grace. Ask Him: “Now that I’ve healed, what would You have me build? Where would You have me go? Who needs my story?”
Then go boldly.
Final Thoughts: Thank You for Reading
Maybe these words aren’t perfectly structured. Maybe they’re more raw than refined. But if you’ve read this far, thank you. Thank you for holding space with me. For letting me process in real time. For reading what, for me, has been more than writing—it’s been healing.
This is more valuable to me than I can say. Because these moments on the page—where heaven meets hurt, where faith meets reflection—are the places where I feel most alive.
It’s here that I remember: I was never meant to write for applause. I was meant to write for impact.
And when the tears flow, when the Spirit stirs, when the truth feels too weighty to ignore—that’s when I know.
I’m hitting the mark.
Not because it’s perfect. But because it’s real.
And real… always reaches people.
So keep going.
Keep healing.
Keep writing your story—one tear, one page, one miracle at a time.
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