For much of my life, I’ve heard the question — spoken or implied — What’s wrong with you?
Why are you so sensitive? Why can’t you let it go? Why do you keep messing up?

It’s a question that shames before it seeks to understand.
It assumes flaw, not story. Brokenness, not battle.

But there’s a better question. A more faithful one.
A question that reflects the posture of Jesus.

What happened to you?

This question doesn’t excuse harm or sidestep responsibility.
But it does create space for understanding.
It honors the truth that behavior is often a symptom of deeper wounds — that anger may mask fear, that withdrawal may be a shield, that perfectionism may be the last thread someone’s holding to stay upright.

Jesus never started with, What’s wrong with you?
He touched the leper, spoke with the Samaritan woman, wept at Lazarus’ tomb.
He saw through the mess and straight into the ache.
He knew what had happened.
And He responded with compassion, not condemnation.

Isaiah 42:3 reminds us:

“A bruised reed He will not break, and a smoldering wick He will not snuff out.”

Jesus sees the bruise. He sees the wick struggling to stay lit.
And instead of scolding the fragility, He nurtures it.
He comes close. He listens. He heals.

When we adopt the question What happened to you?
—we begin to see as He sees.
We move from judgment to curiosity.
From quick labels to holy listening.
From shame to story.

And maybe, just maybe, we begin to offer to others what we ourselves most need:
The assurance that we are not broken beyond repair.
That our pain is not too much.
That we are not problems to fix, but people to love.

If you’ve been asked what’s wrong with you?
Or asked it of yourself…
May you hear another voice rising stronger:
Tell Me your story. I want to know what happened. I will not turn away.

Jesus does not flinch at the truth of our pain.
He enters in. He stays.
And from that place, healing begins.