Finding Hope Beyond the Three Hardest ‘F’ Words in Divorce

I never imagined I would walk through the valley of divorce. My grandfather and grandmother spent the last decades of their lives separated (essentially divorced), my dad and mom divorced, and I swore I’d never end up like that. But I did. Two years later, I am still navigating the wreckage, learning to breathe again, remarried, and slowly finding my footing in a place that no longer feels familiar. (I wrote about the devastation of my divorce here.) Finding hope beyond a divorce is challenging for many.

I’ve published eight books so far, and now I’m writing a book about divorce. (Of course, I am.) Not because I need to explain my actions. Not because I’m looking for sympathy. Not because I want to put a positive spin on my sinful choices. But because I’ve discovered something that grieves me nearly as much as the divorce itself: how the church sometimes treats the broken. Especially the divorced.

You see, we say we believe in grace. We preach about mercy and quote Jesus like we’ve got Him on speed dial. But when someone walks through the hell of a failed marriage, we suddenly forget how to be like Him. We can become quiet, awkward, or even judgmental. Jesus consistently embraced the hurting and the sinful; He didn’t exile them. (That last line is worth a second read and a lot more consideration.)

Three words have haunted me through this mess.

I’m not here to sugarcoat it or make you feel sorry for me. I just want you to know what divorce feels like when it punches a hole through the life you thought you’d never lose.

1. Family

Divorce doesn’t just split a couple. It tears at the seams of family. Holidays shift. Relationships strain. Kids, grown or small, carry invisible weights. There’s a hole at the table, and even when you’re invited to something with the family that hasn’t rejected you, you feel like an outsider.

The family you fought for, prayed for, and sacrificed for is not the same. And when reconciliation seems impossible, your soul aches for the wholeness that once was.

For me, one of the most painful parts has been the impact on my grandkids. They’re beautiful, innocent, and full of life. But I can see it in their eyes. They’re confused. Unsure. They grew up with “Grandpa and Grandma’s house” as a constant. A safe place. A unit. And now, they don’t know what to call it anymore.

They know their grandma is hurting, and kids carry that knowledge in their bodies. They’re more careful with their words. More reserved. It’s like a shadow in the room, a quiet grief none of us know how to name.

I want to hold them and tell them everything is okay, but I know it’s not—not in the way it once was. So, I just sit with them, trying to be present and loving them well, even when my heart is aching, too.

Family was God’s idea. So, when it fractures, it’s not just emotional; it’s spiritual. It cuts deep. And that’s a grief that doesn’t have a timeline.

2. Friends

To find out who your real friends are, go through a divorce.

Some will stand beside you, brokenhearted with you. They won’t try to fix you or figure you out. They just show up.

But others, people you once laughed with, served with, maybe even discipled—disappear. The silence is deafening. Their distance, confusing. And their absence? It stings more than you’ll admit.

One of my deepest wounds is from one of my oldest and dearest friends. We’d walked through decades of life together. We shared ministry, pain, celebration, and failure. I stood by him during a season of deep personal brokenness—a time when he fell hard—and I didn’t hesitate to do so. I walked with him through it, offering nothing but grace and unconditional love. No lectures. No judgment. Just presence.

When my world began to unravel, I assumed, maybe naively, that he would do the same for me. But he ghosted me. Completely. No explanation. No confrontation. Just silence. I’ve replayed it in my head a hundred times. Wondered what I did or didn’t do. Hoped for a text, a call, a sign of life. But none came.

I know divorce makes people uncomfortable. They don’t know what to say so they say nothing. But their nothingness speaks volumes. And in that void, the pain is sharp. It’s not just the loss of a friend; it’s the loss of shared history and the belief that grace would go both ways.

3. Faith

I know that word might make some bristle. But hear me out.

When you go through a divorce, your faith doesn’t vanish, but it does get tested and shaken. You start to wonder: What does God think of me now? Does He still love me? Do I still belong? Do I still have a purpose?

You try to worship, but the words catch in your throat. You try to pray, but the silence feels like an echo chamber.

And maybe the most challenging part? The feeling that you’ve fallen out of favor. Not with God, mind you, but with God’s people. There’s this subtle (or sometimes not-so-subtle) suggestion that you’ve committed the unpardonable sin, and you’re now less-than. Some treat you like a failure stamped with a scarlet letter, shoved to the sidelines of faith because your marriage didn’t survive.

That’s why I’m writing a book about my experiences and the lessons I’ve learned. Because divorce is hard enough without the shame we pile on top of it in the name of religion.

Trust me; I know there are consequences for our choices. I know that we can’t just wave some magic, religious wand and expect everything to be good. I know that we worry about “cheap grace.” But I also know that mercy is not always getting what we do deserve, and grace is experiencing God’s favor that we haven’t earned.

Why are some Christians so quick to demand pain for their offenders? Why do some, in the name of biblical truth and “tough love,” shoot the wounded? Why do some refuse to accept (and celebrate) that God can turn someone’s mess into a miracle?

Jesus didn’t come to shame the shattered. He came to heal them.

If we, the church, can’t figure out how to sit with the broken without throwing stones, then maybe we’ve forgotten who He truly is.

I agree with Adrian Warnock, who wrote, “Somehow we have to find a way to reduce the stigma of divorce and to help those who are going through its pain.”

To those walking through the devastation of divorce, I want you to know that you’re not alone, and you’re not a second-class Christian. As I’ve written and said a thousand times, God’s not mad at you; he’s mad about you! Nothing, absolutely nothing, can separate you from His unfathomable love.

Yes, healing will take some time. Yes, you need to own (i.e., confess) your failures. Yes, many things and relationships might change in your life.

But you can know and experience God’s forgiveness, which leads to full redemption, renewal, and restoration. You don’t have to live believing you are forever disqualified from anything of value or meaning.

There’s grace for you. There’s still a future. And even if everything has changed, God hasn’t.

He’s still good. Still with you. Still for you.

Even here.

Even now.

Even divorced.

Please leave a comment below, and let’s engage in a conversation.

You can find out more about Kurt Bubna and his writing on Twitter and Facebook. You can read more about his views and insights, both in his books and on his website.