If Jesus Wept, Why Can’t I?
Why I Created “holy but human” and What It Means to Me
There’s something sacred about being human.
But if I’m honest, most of my life I’ve been taught to suppress that sacredness.
I’ve been told—directly and indirectly—that healing means hiding. That strength means pretending. That holiness means bypassing what I really feel, really think, or really carry.
But I’ve learned—sometimes the hard way—that healing only happens in truth.
And the truth is: I am holy, but I am still very much human.
But what do those words really mean?
To be holy means to be set apart—consecrated, devoted, distinct for God’s purpose. The Hebrew word for holy, qadosh, speaks of sacredness and separateness—not in a way that isolates us, but in a way that invites us into alignment with God’s will and presence.
God says, “Be holy, because I am holy” (1 Peter 1:16), but that holiness is not something we earn. It’s something we receive through Christ—and walk out through surrender.
To be human, on the other hand, is to be made from the dust—formed by God’s hands, filled with His breath (Genesis 2:7). The word adam in Hebrew literally comes from adamah, meaning “ground” or “earth.”
To be human is to be both fragile and divine in origin. It’s to wrestle with weakness while still being made in the image of God.
So when I say I am holy but human, I am naming the tension:
That I am set apart and still in process.
That I am filled with purpose and in need of grace.
That I am consecrated and complex.
What I’ve come to realize is that God has never been afraid of my humanity.
He doesn’t ignore it. He doesn’t punish me for it.
In fact, He came into this world wrapped in it.
Jesus—the Son of God—cried, wept, got tired, got frustrated, showed emotion, and embraced those who did the same.
If our Savior wasn’t too holy to weep, then why do we act like we are?
I created holy but human because I’m learning that my emotions are not a liability to my faith.
They’re not something I have to overcome to be close to God.
They’re something I get to bring to God—daily.
This space was born from that realization:
That the parts of me I’ve been taught to numb are actually the very parts God wants to hold.
That my humanity isn’t in conflict with my calling—it’s part of it.
God’s been showing me that even when the pain isn’t my fault, the healing is still my responsibility.
And healing doesn’t always look like shouting victory—it looks like being honest about what still hurts.
So here’s what I know for sure:
I haven’t grown by pretending to be okay.
I haven’t transformed by minimizing my wounds.
I haven’t matured in faith by avoiding the ache.
I’ve grown by bringing it all to Jesus.
The questions.
The anger.
The tears.
The numb days.
The shouting prayers.
The quiet breakdowns.
And God met me there. Every time.
holy but human is not just a newsletter—it’s a reminder.
That it’s okay to not feel okay.
That it’s okay to still be in process.
That it’s okay to need space for both grief and grace, sorrow and sanctification, worship and weariness.
So I hope this space gives language to what you’ve felt but didn’t know how to say.
I hope it feels like a deep breath.
Like honesty.
Like healing.
Like coming home to yourself—and back to God.
And if you need a place to begin, let it be here:
Stay holy.
Stay human.
— Miah Niycole 🤍