You Are Wanted: Finding Your Seat at God’s Table in the Midst of Pain
If you are reading this, I want you to know—this moment matters.
You’re not doing something great or impressive, but because you’ve chosen to pause and let yourself be open to hope again.
And that’s no small thing.
You may be carrying pain you don’t even have words for.
You may feel exhausted from trying to hold yourself together.
You may feel like you’ve been surviving—not really living—for a long time.
And underneath it all, maybe you’ve been wondering:
Does God really see me?
Does He know what’s been done to me and feel my pain with me?
Can He still love me—as I am right now?
These are not weak questions.
They are the groanings of a soul that longs to be seen, heard, and healed.
God does not rebuke us for these cries—He welcomes them.
These are sacred questions—the kind God leans in to hear.
“You prepare a feast for me in the presence of my enemies.
You honour me by anointing my head with oil.
My cup overflows.”
—Psalm 23:5 (NLT)
This isn’t just poetry.
It’s a picture of what God wants you to know about your place in His heart.
Let’s take it one quiet line at a time.
You prepare a feast for me in the presence of my enemies.
Let that sink in.
God, the Creator of the universe, sets a table—for you.
Not just a plate.
A feast.
But here’s the part that catches my breath:
He prepares it in the presence of your enemies.
For someone who’s faced trauma, abandonment, or abuse, those enemies may not be physical, visible people anymore.
They may be memories that haunt you,
shame that sticks to your skin,
the sound of someone’s voice who denied what happened,
or even the inner fear that whispers, “You’ll never be whole.”
And still, God says,
“I see you. I’m not waiting for you to be free of the pain.
I’m not waiting until your enemies are gone or your heart is perfectly put back together.
I am setting the table right here, right now—in the middle of the battle.”
Why?
Because you are worth honoring.
Because He wants to be with you.
A feast means relationship.
It means laughter, eye contact, warmth, and belonging.
And God is not just sending you encouragement from a distance—
He sits with you, right in the middle of your pain, your fear, and your questions.
And He is telling you that:
“You don’t have to clean yourself up to sit with Me.
You’re not just a guest—I’ve saved your seat.
Come. Let Me nourish your soul. Let Me hold your story.”
In ancient times, to prepare a table in front of enemies was a public declaration of someone’s worth.
And God is making that declaration over you:
“This is My beloved. I have chosen her. I honor her.”
You honor me by anointing my head with oil.
This may feel strange at first, but it’s so personal and sacred.
In biblical times, oil was used to heal wounds, to refresh the weary, and to mark someone as chosen and beloved.
So picture this, just for a moment:
God—not someone distant or cold—but your tender Father…
kneeling beside you,
gently placing His hand on your head,
pouring out healing oil with gentleness and love.
You may feel dirty or invisible or discarded because of what life has done to you.
But He says:
“You are not ruined. You are not dirty. You are Mine.
I will bring honour where shame tried to live.
Where you’ve been ignored—I call you by name.
Where you’ve been wounded—I begin to heal.”
This is not a ceremony—it’s an intimate act of care.
It’s the anointing of someone deeply loved.
The One who knows your full story anoints you not in judgment but in tenderness.
Not in shame—but in sacred love.
My cup overflows.
This is the Host’s final gesture—and it’s breathtaking.
In ancient hospitality, how a host filled your cup sent a message.
If they filled it halfway, it meant, “You’re welcome… for now.”
If they filled it to the top, it meant, “You can stay.”
But if they kept pouring until it spilled over the rim, it meant:
“I want you here. You are cherished. You are not a burden.
I have made room for you. Please stay as long as you like. You belong.”
Friend, this is what God does for you.
He doesn’t just tolerate you.
He doesn’t glance your way and move on.
He overflows your cup.
Not just with water, but with what your heart longs for:
Love that never runs out
Grace that doesn’t give up
Peace that makes no sense but holds you anyway
Joy that begins to rise again, even after the longest night
And He does it because you are loved, not because you’ve earned it.
Right now, even if you’re weary. Even if your hands are shaking.
Even if all you can say is, “God, I want to believe You still want me.”
He whispers back:
“I do. I always have.
Come. Rest.
Your seat is waiting. And I’ve been saving it for you.”
If You’re Struggling to Believe This
You’re not alone.
This kind of love can feel hard to receive when life has taught you to expect rejection, or silence, or disappointment.
But hear this clearly:
You are not a guest on trial.
You are a daughter at the table.
You are safe.
You are chosen.
And your healing doesn’t begin with having all the answers—
It begins with letting yourself be loved.
You don’t have to come to God with certainty.
You just have to come.
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted;
He rescues those whose spirits are crushed.”
—Psalm 34:18 (NLT)
God draws near to those the world has cast aside.
He doesn’t ask you to come with strength.
He simply invites you to come.
Not as a stranger. Not as an afterthought.
But as a beloved guest—someone with a nameplate at His table and a cup with no limit.
Even if your faith feels small or fragile today, that’s okay.
God isn’t asking for perfection.
He’s asking for your heart—just as it is.
He has saved your seat.
He’s not rushing you.
He’s waiting—with love, tenderness, and a cup that overflows.
He’ll be patient.
He’ll be gentle.
And He won’t stop pouring until your heart begins to receive again.
You don’t have to strive. You don’t have to prove anything.
You only need to let yourself be loved.
A Question for Your Heart
What would it look like to come to the table—not when you’re fixed, but just as you are?
Can you imagine letting God anoint your head with His love, and pour your cup until it overflows?
Even if all you can say is,
“God, if You’re really like this, help me believe.”
You are not forgotten.
You are not too far gone.
You are not unloved.
You are welcome.
You are safe.
You are wanted.
A Scripture to Hold Close
“Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this:
The faithful love of the Lord never ends!
His mercies never cease.
Great is His faithfulness;
His mercies begin afresh each morning.”
—Lamentations 3:21–23 (NLT)
Even now, you can dare to hope again.
A Prayer for You
God,
I don’t always know how to trust.
There are parts of my story that still ache, still confuse me, still stir fear.
But right now, I bring my heart to You—just as it is.
I long to believe that I belong.
I want to rest at Your table.
I want to feel Your love—not just know it in my head, but feel it deep in my soul.
Please meet me here.
Heal the places that still hurt.
Pour out Your grace where shame has lived too long.
And fill my cup—not just enough to survive, but until I can breathe again.
Amen.
You’re Invited
If something in this message has stirred your heart—if you're longing for healing, for hope, or simply to know you're not alone—I warmly invite you to visit the course page "Finding Light in the Darkness Course". There, you’ll find a safe and sacred space created just for you, filled with encouragement, biblical truth, and gentle guidance for your healing journey. You are welcome here.
Your seat is waiting.
