Mud & Mire

For the days when surviving is the bravest thing you've done.

There was a time in my life when I didn’t even realise I was sinking.

You know those dreams where you’re trying to run but can’t seem to move? You push with everything you have, but your legs feel heavy and nothing happens. Sometimes that’s exactly what life feels like too. You’re trying. You’re moving. You’re showing up. Yet somehow you feel stuck…

I wasn’t curled up in bed all day, and I wasn’t crying constantly. From the outside I probably looked much the same as I always had. I was still making dinners, still answering messages, still paying bills, still doing all the things life required of me.

But something inside me was changing.

Everything felt heavier than it should have. Getting out of bed felt heavier. Making decisions felt heavier. Even the things I used to enjoy seemed to require energy I no longer had.

It was as if life had become a mud pit.

Thick, slow, exhausting mud.

Every step forward took more effort than it should have, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to find solid ground.

Maybe you know exactly what I’m talking about. Maybe you’re living there right now.

Not in some outward way that everyone can see, not in a way that gets noticed, just secretly carrying more than your heart was ever meant to hold. You’re still functioning. You’re still showing up. You’re still smiling when someone asks how you are.

But underneath it all, you’re tired.

The kind of tired sleep doesn’t fix.

The kind that settles deep in your chest and follows you everywhere you go.

And what we’re not acknowledging enough is just how much we’re carrying these days.

We absorb more information than any generation before us. More bad news. More noise. More opinions. More pressure. More expectations. Oh my… We were never designed to carry the worries of thousands of people before breakfast, yet many of us wake up and do exactly that every single day.

Life has always carried hardship, but sometimes I wonder if we’ve forgotten just how much we’re carrying now.

Yet most of us just keep pushing.

We tell ourselves to work harder, try harder, be stronger, hold on a little longer. We stretch and stretch and stretch until something finally gives way. Then we wonder why we’re exhausted. Why we’re anxious. Why everything feels like walking through mud. Why our souls feel scraped raw. Why even the smallest tasks can feel like climbing a mountain. Why we keep pouring from cups that have been empty for far too long.

And beneath all that striving, all that carrying, all that relentless pushing forward, there is often a quiet ache. A longing for someone to reach into the middle of the mess and simply say, “You don’t have to do this alone.”

I think that’s why Psalm 40 has always spoken so deeply to me. Because the God of Psalm 40 doesn’t stand at the edge of the pit shouting instructions.

He comes close.

He hears.

He responds.

He lifts.

The verse doesn’t say He ignored the mud and mire. It doesn’t say He expected us to climb out on our own. It says He reached down into the middle of it and gave us a firm place to stand.

And truly, there were moments in my own life when survival was my faith.

Not because I was praying powerful prayers or having spiritual breakthroughs. Not because I felt strong or confident or full of hope.

Some days faith looked like getting out of bed. Some days it looked like taking one more breath. Some days it looked like whispering, “Help me, Lord,” and hoping that was enough. I was trusting Him without knowing how I would take the next step.

Looking back now, I realise it was enough. Because it was everything I could give at the time. Because sometimes faith doesn’t look like conquering mountains. Sometimes faith looks like surviving them.

If that’s where you find yourself today, I want you to know something…

You are not stuck because God has abandoned you. You are simply in the mud and mire.

And the beautiful thing about Psalm 40 is that the story doesn’t end there.

The mud is not the destination. The pit is not your home.

One day you’ll look back and realise God was carrying you through places you thought would break you. One day you’ll find yourself standing on firmer ground. One day you’ll be able to see what He was doing in the middle of the heaviness, even when you couldn’t see it at the time.

And maybe, you’ll become the person reaching down for someone else, saying, “Hold on. I’ve been there too.”

Because sometimes surviving is faith in motion.

Love, Sarah xx.

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“He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire, He set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.”-Psalm 40:2

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Reflection: What if the fact that you’re still here, still breathing, still reaching for God despite everything you’ve carried, isn’t a sign that you’re failing?

What if it’s evidence that faith has been quietly moving beneath the surface all along?

Prayer: Lord, Some days life feels heavy in ways I don’t even know how to explain. The responsibilities, the grief, the disappointments, the worries that follow me into the quiet moments, they can feel like mud around my feet, making every step harder than it should be.

And if I’m honest, there are times when I wonder how much longer I can keep carrying it all.

Thank You that You are not a distant God who watches from far away. Thank You that You come close. That You hear every whispered prayer, every exhausted sigh, every cry that never even makes it into words.

When I feel stuck, remind me that You are still working. When I feel forgotten, remind me that You see me. When I feel too tired to keep going, remind me that my strength was never meant to come from me alone.

Help me trust that the mud and mire is not where my story ends. Give me the courage to keep taking the next step, even when the ground beneath me feels uncertain.

And one day, Lord, when You bring me onto firmer ground, help me remember those still struggling. Make me gentle with their pain. Make me patient with their healing. Make me the kind of person who reaches back with compassion and says, “I’ve been there too.”

Amen.

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Week 4 of Letters I Wish Someone Wrote Me drops this week for my paid subscribers, and … this one is close to my heart. Sparrow Crew, if you haven’t read them yet, click here and download the printable that comes with each post. Print them and tuck them between your bible pages, like me or even in your journal!