When It Feels Like Everything’s Falling Apart

There are seasons where the ground gives out beneath us.

We don’t see it coming. Or maybe we did, but not like this. The loss, the betrayal, the diagnosis, the slow unraveling of something we thought would hold. And suddenly, the life we were building feels like wreckage. Not just hard—chaotic. Disorienting. We look around and don’t recognize the pieces anymore. And worse, we don’t always recognize ourselves.

I think that’s why these chapters hit different right now. Because what we see in the pages isn’t just ancient. It’s familiar. A flood that wipes the slate clean. A man who waits in silence, unsure when or if he’ll ever step out on solid ground again. People who try to rebuild their lives not with trust, but with control. A psalmist who quietly declares, “I will not be shaken,” while the world around him sways.

Yeah. That sounds like us.

See, the chaos isn’t just out there—it gets in. Into our thoughts. Our bodies. Our nervous systems. It tells us we’re not safe. That we’ve lost our place in the world. That we have to figure everything out before we can exhale.

But here’s what the Word whispers back:

God remembers. Even when we forget who we are. Even when we’re flooded in grief or anxiety or exhaustion. Genesis doesn’t say Noah remembered God. It says God remembered Noah. And that Hebrew word for “remember” isn’t just mental recall—it means God turned His attention toward Noah to act on his behalf. That same God sees you. His attention hasn’t left you for a second.

God leads gently. Noah doesn’t bust out of the ark the moment the rain stops. He waits. Sends out a dove. Waits again. And God doesn’t rush him. There’s no “Hurry up and move on.” No pressure to rebuild before you’re ready. That’s not how healing works. Whether you're coming out of trauma or just a long, numb season, restoration takes time. And God is patient with you in it.

God interrupts false safety. At Babel, the people aren’t trying to rebel. They’re trying to protect themselves. Trauma makes us do that too—stack bricks of self-protection, control, performance. But sometimes God, in mercy, scatters the plans we made out of fear. Not to punish, but to protect us from building a life that isolates us from Him.

God says wisdom is better than control. Proverbs 3 doesn’t tell you to try harder. It says trust. “Lean not on your own understanding.” Not because you’re stupid or failing, but because your understanding has limits—and God’s care doesn’t. Your nervous system may be screaming that you’re unsafe, but His Word is steady even when your body isn’t. That kind of wisdom is a kindness. It reminds you that you don’t have to figure it all out. You just have to stay close.

And God holds the boundary lines. Psalm 16 says “The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places.” That’s not about having an easy life. It’s about God holding your life. He’s set the boundary lines around you—and they're not punishment. They’re protection. You are not left to drift, unseen. You’re not abandoned in the mess. Your portion is secure, even when nothing else feels that way.

You might not feel that right now. That’s okay. But truth doesn’t depend on our feelings to be true.

So if your life feels like the inside of a storm lately—if you're worn out from trying to rebuild, if you’re scattered, confused, or scared—this is what I want you to know:

God has not forgotten you.

He is not absent from the chaos.

He is not disappointed in your struggle to hold it all together.

He’s drawing near.

He’s leading slowly.

He’s speaking wisdom when your heart wants to panic.

He’s setting boundaries around your soul, even while the world shakes. He is your refuge—and He hasn’t moved.

Take the next breath. Let the striving soften. You are remembered. You are not alone.