If only we could see how the twists and turns of our present are quietly clearing the path for our deepest hopes and dreams, we’d stop blaming God for the prayers that feel unanswered. If we truly knew what it would cost to make some dreams real, maybe we’d never dare ask for them at all.
But God, in His goodness, always knows what we need and how to shape our longings into something beautiful, in His time. So hold on, dear soul — be still and trust the unfolding. His deliverance is nearer than you think. You’re closer than you know.
When my mom left to be with Jesus, something inside me drifted loose — like a string snapped and my life unraveled, thread by thread. I’d built my days on routine and plans that made sense… but what do you do when life tosses storms your way, unannounced? I’m still learning.
Some of my old habits linger — some cling like shadows, some drift away. You set out on this journey of growth, brimming with hope, whispering wishes into the universe… but sometimes the universe stays silent, or answers in ways you didn’t expect.
I think maybe that’s how God catches our attention — letting weariness wrap around our shoulders so we finally pause and look up. And once the lesson settles deep in your bones, you’re expected to rise, dust off your soul, and find your rhythm again.
But no one really tells you how. They don’t say that the things you once loved might not taste the same. That a book might sit unopened, that your running shoes gather dust. All those good, nourishing things that once fed your spirit — they can feel heavy when your heart isn’t home.
Sometimes, after heartbreak, all you want is to piece your life back together. So you do it on autopilot — you scrub the floors, fold the clothes, iron, cook, work, tick off your tasks. But your hands move while your spirit lingers elsewhere. And when your heart refuses to come back, your body starts to speak — in aches and whispers, in sickness, in exhaustion that no nap can cure. It’s your soul tapping you on the shoulder: Come back. Be here. And even when you heal, you’re never quite who you were before. Showing up feels like labor.
Maybe that’s the truth we miss — that being fully alive, present, breathing in this messy world, is work. Especially when grief clings like a ghost. Especially when the memories cut too deep, when you ache for the one you loved most, who now sits at the feet of God.
This, too, is holy ground. This is healing — slow, imperfect, a road we all must walk sooner or later.
Funny, isn’t it? When we’re young, we wonder why some people are so bitter, so closed off, so cold to the light. We don’t see the battles inside them — how their kindness went into hiding because life kept bruising it. There’s a tender soul inside every hardened shell. But pain, debt, heartbreak, betrayal — they carve people into shapes we don’t always recognize. Some find the strength to do the inner work, to patch up the cracks. Others can’t. Some don’t have the time or the money or the love they need to begin.
It makes sense now — why some mothers work themselves into the ground without a word of complaint, why they carry mountains of regret they never speak of. Every weary face hides a sea of tears and a mountain of stories left untold.
There’s a time for everything — for youth and laughter, for confusion and chaos, for unexpected blessings and unthinkable losses. Life never lets you stand still for long — good things come, bad things follow, and sometimes the best moments are tangled up with grief.
We can’t outsmart it. There are no shortcuts, no cheats to skip the ache. But thank God for the gifts hidden in this fragile existence — the belly laughter, the memories that warm you on cold nights, the courage to keep loving even when it hurts.
So let’s be gentle with each other. Let’s remember that beneath every age, every face, every stoic smile, a soul is fumbling through this maze, learning and unlearning, trying to find its way back home.
And don’t let grief twist your love into something selfish. Don’t hold anger in your chest for those who have gone before you, wishing they’d stayed longer, longing so hard you forget how to live. We have to grow into the truth: their time here was exactly as long as it needed to be. They gathered every lesson they were meant to learn, gathered every sunrise and tear and laugh that was written in their story.
Now they’re with the souls who once filled their hearts with joy — parents, grandparents, old friends whose laughter they’d missed for so long. They’ve crossed into that beautiful realm we cannot yet see, where the spirit roams free, where no goodbye ever comes too soon.
One day, when our own journey winds down, we’ll step into that same sacred place, when our moments here are done and our hearts are ready for the wonders God has prepared for us there. There’s a time and a place for all of it, even when now feels confusing and unfair. But even in the haze of grief, God is close. And so are they — our loved ones who’ve gone ahead, still cheering us on from eternity’s edge, urging us to live well, to grow, to rise into the best version of ourselves.
So let’s not cloud that gift with dark thoughts or tangled regrets. Let’s be grateful for every heartbeat we shared, every moment that stitched us together. They’re not really gone — they live inside us, woven into our laughter and our memories. And we carry them forward, always, like a light we hold in the quietest part of our hearts.
Katherine's Blog 