“From where does my help come?” — Psalm 121:1

Healing from trauma is rarely straightforward. It doesn’t move in a straight line, and it certainly doesn’t follow a timeline. There are setbacks and moments of progress, days of deep discouragement and glimpses of hope. And perhaps most surprising of all, the help we long for—when it does come—often doesn’t arrive in the form we imagined.

The chapter Helps from Just Before Dawn offers a profoundly honest and spiritually grounded look at what it means to receive help on the long road of healing. It gently explores both the inner cries of those who feel like they’re barely holding on and the often unseen ways God provides strength, support, and comfort along the way.

In Just Before Dawn, the chapter titled “The Process” offers a raw and reverent look at the journey of healing—especially for survivors of deep, complex trauma. Rather than presenting recovery as linear or tidy, the chapter reveals something far more accurate: healing is long, often painful, and profoundly sacred. It’s not something most choose to enter voluntarily. As the author notes, “Were it not for the intense internal pressure and desperation for relief, most would seek no help at all.”

And yet, even here—perhaps especially here—hope becomes the driving force.

“The point in entering into the process is all about hope—
finding it if you’ve lost it, discovering it if you never had it at all.”

Some stories in Scripture don’t just speak—they echo. The sub chapter Rebuilding My Jerusalem from Just Before Dawn draws a powerful parallel between Nehemiah rebuilding the walls of Jerusalem and the healing process after trauma.

For many survivors, life after abuse feels like standing in the ruins of what once was. The walls that should have protected were torn down. The foundation feels unstable. Safety and hope feel like distant dreams. But Scripture offers something survivors rarely hear: restoration is possible.

“They will rebuild and restore the places long devastated; they will renew the ruined cities that have been devastated for generations.”
—Isaiah 61:4

Some chapters don’t just tell stories. They stop you mid-sentence. They sit with you in the silence. “Letters” from Just Before Dawn is one of those chapters.

It’s not just a collection of letters. It’s a soft invitation to listen in on the words many trauma survivors have never said out loud—the quiet grief, the aching questions, the gratitude that doesn’t always have a place to land. These letters are deeply personal. Raw. Honest. And they read like pieces of all of us.

They are words from survivors to counselors, to doctors, to dentists, to parents, and even to God. Not because sending them would change the past, but because writing them made it possible to name what couldn’t be spoken.

There are books you read—and then there are books that read you. Just Before Dawn is the latter. Especially in the chapter titled “Kicking the Walls,” the author takes readers into a deeply honest look at what it means to live behind emotional barriers built in the aftermath of trauma.

This chapter doesn’t offer platitudes or surface-level comfort. Instead, it walks through the emotional walls so many trauma survivors construct to protect themselves: secrecy, denial, shame, self-protection, and self-contempt. Each is explored with clarity, compassion, and biblical insight.

“Through the silence, if we would but stop and listen, a voice, distant and small… Its tenor plaintive and hesitant, fearing detection or even acknowledgment, and yet praying for it all at the same time. But through the silence, God is speaking, as well, Longing, yearning to be heard, whispering softly and lovingly to His beloved ones, drawing them to Himself.”

All too often, we use silence like a protective barrier. It can feel like safety. But for many survivors of trauma, silence becomes a prison—one built from fear, shame, and the belief that speaking out will only bring more pain.

In this chapter of Just Before Dawn, the author explores the deep, isolating power of silence and the courage it takes to break free from its icy grasp.

For many, silence is a learned survival strategy. It is reinforced by abusers who threaten or manipulate, by families who “don’t talk about those things,” and by a world that often struggles to hold space for difficult truths. The book makes it clear: breaking the silence is terrifying—but necessary for healing.

Asking questions is essential to understanding and growth. Yet, for many, the fear of judgment or rejection holds them back. Some aren’t even sure what the right questions are, while others carry them silently, too afraid or ashamed to speak them aloud.

The comforting truth is that God invites us—time and time again throughout scripture—to come to Him with our deepest questions, concerns, fears, and doubts. There are no prerequisites, no judgments, and no questions that are too big or too small. God doesn’t turn away an earnest seeker. He understands our curiosity, our confusion, and even our hesitation to ask.

The chapter titled "Because" from Just Before Dawn is a raw and reflective exploration of how trauma shapes the way a person thinks, feels, and behaves. It gives language to the often-invisible reasons behind the fears, defense mechanisms, and internal battles survivors carry.

This isn’t about offering easy answers. It’s about understanding what so many survivors wish others could see: the "why" behind their silence, their struggles, their reactions. The chapter is filled with these "because" statements that reveal the logic behind what may seem like irrational fear or resistance.

"Because I’ve been hurt, I’m afraid of more pain. Because I’ve been betrayed, I’m afraid to trust people. Because I’ve been shamed, I’m afraid to be seen."

Each of these lines speaks volumes. They reflect the invisible scars that affect how trauma survivors see themselves, others, and even God.