Rejection
We’ve all felt it — that sting of being unwanted, unseen, or unchosen. Some forms are small and fleeting; others are so deep they bring us to our knees. It’s not until you find yourself face down, weeping uncontrollably, that you truly understand the depth of what rejection can do to the human heart.
I believe rejection is one of the most universal and terrifying experiences of being human. It starts early — not being picked for the team in PE, being left out of the popular girls’ lunch table, or watching your high school crush fall for your best friend instead (true story from my own teenage years!). Each moment teaches us to protect ourselves, to build quiet promises in our hearts that we’ll never let anyone hurt us like that again.
Until, of course, we are hurt again.
The problem with rejection isn’t just the event itself — it’s the flood of emotions that follow: the hurt, the shame, the sadness, the anger, the fear of not being good enough or of being rejected again. The fear of ever being that vulnerable again.
I’ve felt rejection many times in my life. But the deepest wound came when my husband rejected me after 23 years of marriage. That rejection cut to the very core of who I was and unearthed feelings I didn’t even know existed. Anger I didn’t know I was capable of. Shame that whispered, you weren’t enough. Embarrassment over what others might think. And the deep, hollow ache of abandonment — a feeling I had never known before, because no one I had ever loved had turned their back on me.
One day, as I wept before the Lord, pouring out my pain and confusion, I felt His gentle whisper reminding me:
“He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.” — Isaiah 53:3
In that moment, I realized that the Creator of the universe truly understood my pain. He had felt it Himself. And I saw that to be “in Christ” meant sharing not just in His blessings, but also in His sufferings. It was, somehow, a privilege to be rejected — because it meant I was walking a path He Himself had walked.
We often say, “I want to be like Christ.” But do we really mean it? Do we really want to endure the suffering He endured? The rejection, the betrayal, the heartbreak?
I remember praying, “Lord, I don’t want this to be part of my story. I don’t want to see a death to my marriage.” Yet again, His whisper came: The miracle of salvation came through death. And in that moment, I knew — there would still be a miracle to come, even in this death and rejection.
One of the hardest battles has been keeping my heart soft. It would be so easy to say, “I’m never letting anyone hurt me again.” But closing off your heart also closes off love. When I think of what Jesus endured for me — that through His rejection, I gained life — how could I ever withhold love from others?
Imagine if Jesus had said, “They’ve rejected Me. Forget it, I’m done.” Instead, He said, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” His love stayed open — and that love changed everything.
So even when the pain of rejection still stirs in me, I hold on to hope. I believe that one day, this pain will become a distant memory, but it will leave behind something beautiful — a deeper compassion, a greater empathy, and a heart that understands others’ pain in a way it never could before.
So let me ask you:
Have you ever experienced rejection?
Has it softened your heart toward others’ pain?
Could it be that rejection has been a form of protection in your life?
Do you truly want to be like Christ — even in His suffering and rejection?
Have you allowed rejection to make you better or bitter?
Key Takeaway: Rejection is guaranteed in this life — in jobs, friendships, family, marriage, even within the church. But what you do with that rejection is everything. Feel it. Grieve it. Let it break you open if it must — but don’t stay there. Lift your head, take a deep breath, and walk forward knowing that rejection is not a reflection of your worth. It’s a reflection of a broken world filled with hurting people — people who have also been rejected, and who also need love.
And that’s the beauty of redemption: that even through rejection, God is still writing a story of healing, compassion, and life.
