The Beauty in What Falls: God's Restoration for Our Broken Places

“So I will restore to you the years that the swarming locust has eaten,

The crawling locust,

The consuming locust,

And the chewing locust,

My great army which I sent among you.

You shall eat in plenty and be satisfied,

And praise the name of the Lord your God,

Who has dealt wondrously with you;

And My people shall never be put to shame.

Then you shall know that I am in the midst of Israel:

I am the Lord your God

And there is no other.

My people shall never be put to shame.”

Joel 2:25-27

The Changing Season

The weather is changing. The leaves are becoming vibrant and falling. My closet is shifting to sweaters, and my meal prep is changing from grilled meats and smoothies to soups and casseroles. The groceries are a crockpot of Halloween candy, adorable pumpkins and winter squashes. It is fall—the season of pumpkin spice, holiday memories, and nostalgia. It’s a season often filled with both joy...and sorrow. It’s a mix of cozy cuddles on the couch and tear-stained cheeks from broken hearts and empty arms. Fall is often stated as a person’s favorite season, but it’s also the season of deepest reflection, heightened stress, and quiet longing for things to be different.

Growing up in Minnesota, I cherished the cozy joys of fall—steaming mugs of hot chocolate, hayrides through golden fields, crisp afternoons at apple orchards, and my grandma’s pumpkin bread still warm from the oven. Yet even as a young girl, I often wished things were different. I’d watch my friends and notice how their lives seemed somehow fuller—more laughter, more family, more ease spilling from their homes. Their fall looked much like mine on the surface, yet theirs seemed filled with bonfires, pumpkin patches, and memories that came naturally instead of feeling forced. I often felt weighed down by the sense that I wasn’t enough—tangled in fears I couldn’t name and wishing I could be someone easier to love. I longed for affection that didn’t have to be earned, for warmth that didn’t depend on perfection.

The enemy of my soul was quick to seize that longing, whispering lies into my tender heart. He told me the problem wasn’t the brokenness of the world but the brokenness of me—that I was the reason love felt distant, that I was somehow too much and never enough all at once.

It’s strange, isn’t it, how even as children we carry quiet regrets we don’t yet know how to name? We ache for the family dinners that never happened, the hugs that never came, the moments we didn’t know how to ask for. We grieve the love we longed for but never felt—and the version of ourselves we thought we had to become to finally deserve it.

Lost in the Maze of Wishing

Recently, I was talking with a client about what it means to get lost in the maze of wishing. She shared how easily she drifts from her present life, caught up in thoughts of how things should be or could have been. As we processed this pattern together, we realized that her struggle didn’t begin in adulthood—it began long ago, when she was a little girl.

She remembered watching her friends during the fall season—families gathered around bonfires, laughter spilling out of homes, warmth that seemed to flow so effortlessly. She found herself wishing for that kind of love, imagining what it would feel like to belong in a family that was whole instead of hollow. In her daydreams, she built a different life: one with siblings to laugh with, parents who delighted in her, and holidays filled with joy instead of tension.

As a child, those daydreams became her way of coping—a gentle escape from the ache of reality. But now, as an adult, she can see how that same coping mechanism has been twisted by the enemy into a trap. What once helped her survive has become a breeding ground for bitterness, resentment, and quiet discontent.

It’s in moments like these as a faith-based therapist that I feel my own heart stir with anger—not at my clients, but at the wickedness of the enemy. I watched my client’s face soften as she spoke, unaware of how innocent her wishing once was and how skillfully the enemy had turned it against her. That same daydreaming that once offered comfort had slowly become a snare, robbing her of presence and peace. I hate that. I hate that the enemy has gained so much ground in the lives of the people I get to sit with—in my own life, too. I hate that, as children, the enemy of our souls used our innocence to plant seeds of longing that would one day grow into discontent, comparison, and shame. I hate that he has stolen so much freedom from the hearts of those I counsel, do life with, and love.

God’s Work of Restoration

Even as I grieve what’s been stolen, I’m reminded that God is in the business of restoration. Just as fall trees release their leaves, God invites us to release the old ways of coping, the lies we’ve carried, and the hurts we’ve clutched so tightly—and to trust that He can bring beauty from what has fallen.

But how do we actually do this? How do we partner with God in His work of restoration?

When my heart feels heavy with grief, anger, or sorrow, I often turn to the Psalms. In these sacred songs, I witness our brothers and sisters of the faith wrestle with God, cry out, and fight for the restoration of their hearts amidst pain, confusion, and longing. Their words remind me that it’s okay, and actually even good to bring the mess of our hearts to God.

Finding Comfort and Strength in the Psalms: An Invitation to Be Brave

So, can I encourage you to do something brave?  This may seem outlandish, but please hear me out.  I think this will be a real gift if you try it.  Please grab a pen and a piece of paper—yes, the old-fashioned way—and, yes, let's take a shot at writing a psalm to God. Let your hand move freely, slow down in that fall season and speak to your Father. Let your words be honest and raw. Perhaps your hand will write without my guidance—and that’s perfectly fine!

But if, like me, you enjoy a little structure, here’s a guide to help you write your very own psalm to the Lord.

Step 1: Let Go of Judgment

No one is grading your psalm. It literally does not matter what you write here. Release the need to critique your words or worry about your writing ability. This is for your heart and it is simply you talking to your Father.

So, take a moment to pause. Maybe, as you’ve been reading, you feel a heaviness stirring—a memory, a longing, or a sadness you’ve carried for years. That’s okay. Don’t rush past it. Breathe. Notice what is coming up without judgment. Sit quietly before you begin. Turn off the noise—music, podcasts, TV, or distractions—and simply exist in the presence of your Father who loves you deeply.

Step 2: Begin Writing Your Psalm

A. Call Out to God 

Start by addressing God using a name or attribute that resonates with your situation (e.g., “O God of mercy,” “Creator of all,” “My Rock and Refuge”). Make it personal, reflecting your relationship with Him or the aspect of His nature you’re focusing on—comfort, justice, or love.

Example prompt: “Begin with ‘O Lord, my [attribute],’ and express why you’re turning to God today.”

Examples from Psalms:

• Psalm 23:1: “The Lord is my shepherd…”

B. Express Your Emotions 

Be honest and specific about what you are feeling—grief, fear, gratitude, awe. Use imagery or metaphor, as psalms often do, to paint a vivid picture.

• For laments: describe the pain or struggle (e.g., loneliness, doubt, loss).
• For praise: describe the blessings prompting your gratitude.

Examples from Psalms:

• Psalm 13:1-2 (lament): “How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?”

C. Declare Your Trust in God 

Affirm God’s faithfulness, character, or past provision. Reflect on a time He showed up in your life or declare His unchanging nature.

Examples from Psalms:

• Psalm 23:4: “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me.”

D. Make Your Request or Offer Thanks 

In a lament, ask God for help, guidance, or deliverance. In a psalm of thanksgiving, write your gratitude for His blessings.

Examples from Psalms:

• Psalm 51:1 (petition): “Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love…”

E. Close with Hope and Commitment 

End your psalm by committing to trust God, praise Him, or share His goodness, looking forward with hope.

Examples from Psalms:

• Psalm 13:6: “I will sing to the Lord, because he has dealt bountifully with me.”
• Psalm 27:14: “Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!”

Closing Reflection

So, Christian, as the leaves fall and the seasons change, remember that what has been lost or broken can become part of God’s beautiful story. The longings and regrets we carry can be released to Him, and He can transform them into something that nourishes our hearts and souls.

Take a moment today to release, to write, to pray, and to trust that God is restoring even what feels lost. His love is steadfast, His mercy is abundant, and His promise remains: “So I will restore to you the years that the swarming locust has eaten…” (Joel 2:25)

Let this fall be a season of both reflection and restoration—of letting go, of trusting God, and of finding beauty in what He is making new in your life.

If this blog stirred something in your heart—grief, longing, or a desire for deeper restoration—I would love to walk with you through it. Together, we can process the hurts of the past, discover God’s healing, and learn to live fully in the present. You don’t have to carry your struggles alone. You can contact me at Tessa Robert or call me directly at 331.267.5005.  (I work with people via telehealth in Illinois, and shortly, in Florida as well.)