Healing After the Letting Go

Letting go is never easy, especially for those of us who lead, preach, nurture, and care. Whether it’s a vision that didn’t unfold the way we dreamed, a relationship we had to release, or a version of ourselves we’ve outgrown, letting go can feel like grief. But what happens after we let go? How do we heal from what we no longer hold?

The Ache of Empty Hands

There is a holy ache that follows release. When Abraham laid Isaac on the altar, his heart must have trembled. Even though God provided a ram in the thicket, Abraham never got back the same Isaac. Something sacred had shifted. Letting go often reshapes what, or who, returns to us. We must heal not only from the act of surrender but also from what surrender reveals.

For many of us, what we let go of has left scars. The calling that broke our hearts. The marriage that ended in silence. The ministry that never took root. The version of ourselves we thought we had to be. We are walking testimonies, not just of resurrection, but of the long and lonely Saturday that came before the empty tomb.

Jesus and the Wounds That Remain

After the resurrection, Jesus still had scars. That alone is one of the most healing truths in all of Scripture. In John 20, Jesus appears to the disciples and shows them His hands and His side. Thomas wasn’t there the first time. When he hears about the encounter, he boldly declares, “Unless I see the nail marks... I will not believe.”

When Jesus returns, He does not rebuke Thomas. He invites him: “Put your finger here.” The wounds become evidence of grace, proof of power. They are not erased. They are glorified. Healing begins by recognizing that your wounds do not disqualify you, they authenticate you. Jesus used His scars to minister to Thomas. You can do the same. Your testimony is not about being untouched by pain but about surviving it and finding God in the ashes.

Healing is not about forgetting. It is about living differently because of what you’ve survived. The scar becomes a story. The loss becomes an altar. The former thing becomes a seed.

The Israelites Had to Mourn Egypt

Even deliverance requires healing. After the Red Sea, Israel still had Egypt in their bones. They sang songs of freedom and then, just days later, longed for the leeks and garlic of their oppression. Trauma has memory. Liberation has layers. You can be out of bondage and still be grieving what once was.

And here is the beauty: God didn’t rush the people of Israel. He gave them manna. He gave them time. He gave them a wilderness to detox their souls. Healing after letting go takes presence, not just divine presence but human as well. We must ask ourselves: Who is walking with me as I weep over what was and make space for what’s becoming?

Surround yourself with people who stay. People who don’t need to fix you, but who will simply walk beside you. Healing requires safe places and the courage to receive what we so often give.

Healing Is Slow, Holy Work

Letting go is not the end of the story. It is the beginning of a new one. Even the prodigal son, after wasting everything, is still received with a robe, a ring, and a feast. What looks like an ending may very well be the threshold of restoration.

But it takes time. Healing is slow, holy work. It often comes in layers. Don’t rush it. God meets us in process, not just in the final product. We often want to sprint to wholeness, but God is more interested in walking with us there. Trust the pace of grace.

Stay on the Altar

Romans 12 tells us to present our bodies as living sacrifices. The thing about living sacrifices is they tend to crawl off the altar. Stay there. Stay surrendered. Stay open to the One who heals not by erasing the pain, but by walking with us through it.

Letting go may have felt like dying. But healing will teach you how to live again. You may feel broken, but you are being remade.