Upendo Ministries

No one prepares you for the kind of silence that follows deep pain.
The kind where you kneel to pray and don’t even know what to say.
You just sit there… in the stillness… hoping God hears the tears that fall faster than the words ever could.

There’s a kind of worship that isn’t sung,
isn’t pretty,
isn’t even loud.
It’s the worship that comes from a hospital waiting room,
a graveside goodbye,
a bedroom floor at 2 a.m. where sleep won’t come and the questions won’t stop.

That’s where real worship is born.

When your hands are too tired to lift,
but your soul still reaches upward.
When your voice shakes with doubt,
but you whisper “God, I still believe.”
That kind of worship?
It breaks Heaven wide open.

Because it costs something.
It’s not built on blessings—it’s built on ashes.
Not on answered prayers—but on raw trust that maybe, just maybe,
God is still who He says He is
even when life isn’t what we hoped.

You might feel like a shattered vessel.
And maybe you are.
But don’t you know that oil pours best from broken jars?
Your worship, even in this state—especially in this state—is holy.

God never asked you to come healed.
He just asked you to come.

Maybe you’ve been hiding behind a smile that feels like a mask.
Maybe you’ve shown up to church with a heart so heavy it could barely beat.
And maybe no one else sees it…
but God does.

He sees the quiet fight to keep showing up.
He sees the tears you wipe away before anyone notices.
He sees the way you worship through gritted teeth and bruised hope.

And He calls it beautiful.

You are not less spiritual because you’re struggling.
You are not less faithful because your prayers are soaked in sorrow.
You are worshiping through the wounds—and Heaven stands still to listen.

So come as you are.
With the ache, with the anger, with the unanswered questions.
You don’t have to be okay to worship.
You just have to be willing to let Him hold the pieces.

Because He’s not looking for perfection.
He’s looking for hearts that still choose Him—even while bleeding.

And maybe that’s what faith really is.
Not a shout of certainty,
but a whispered song in the dark.

Wounded…
but worshiping.
And somehow, that is worship in its purest form.

-Vanessa