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I’ve shared this before, but it’s a recurring feeling this time of year…

It’s football season, and though it may sound trivial, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit this time of year brings some sadness. My late husband, Michael, was an incredible athlete who loved football. He couldn’t wait for our son, Ty, to play one day. From the very beginning–his newborn photos even included a football in his hands–Michael imagined this season of life.

Ty’s interest in playing football didn’t take off until fourth grade when he joined a flag team. Then he moved on to 7-on-7, and that’s when he was all in! It was bittersweet to watch him play without his dad by his side. In sixth grade, Ty stepped into tackle football. Seeing him suited up in his pads and helmet, playing Michael’s old position and scoring touchdowns, brought a mix of emotions. Just last week, he began his eighth-grade season with his school team, another milestone Michael would have loved to witness.

This season can bring joy but also sadness that Michael isn’t here to see the moments he was so eager to be a part of.

While I’m grateful for our village … my dad practices with Ty often, my husband, Keith, (I remarried) throws the football with him, and he trains with a great coach, there are moments I still feel the weight of “filling the gap” Michael left behind. I’ve never played football (though my dad joked about me trying out for my high school team), but the responsibility of making sure Ty has what he needs, in sports and in life, can sometimes feel heavy.

“Filling the gap” feels like so much more than just making sure Ty has someone to throw a football or practice with. It’s the constant pull to make sure he doesn’t miss out on the things Michael would have taught him, experienced with him or celebrated alongside him.

As his mom, I naturally want to ensure he has everything he needs, and I want to be present for every single moment that matters. But that desire can quickly turn into overwhelming pressure, and that’s where I have to pause and remind myself: I cannot fill every gap.

Surrendering control is recognizing where my role ends and trusting God with what is beyond my reach. I need to be the mom God called me to be, trusting Him to cover the rest.

It’s hard to believe it has been more than 11 years since Michael made his way to heaven, but grief shows up like this even years later: in the missed moments, the what-ifs, the longing for someone who should be here.

When I start to feel the pressure to do and be it all, I remind myself of these truths:

The Lord is the one in control, not me. He is sovereign.

The Lord Almighty has sworn, “Surely, as I have planned, so it will be, and as I have purposed so it will happen.”
Isaiah 14:24 (NIV)

We are His children, and He cares for us.

Cast your cares on the Lord and he will sustain you; he will never let the righteous be shaken.
Psalm 55:22 (NIV)

He works purposefully through our pain, even when the path doesn’t look like one we would have chosen.

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.
Romans 8:28 (NIV)

Hebrews 11:1 tells us that faith means being certain of what we can’t see … even in the seasons of grief that are difficult and feel unfair, even when our lives aren’t what we envisioned. We have to release our grip over control and place our future and our children’s future into the Lord’s hands. He’s got us! I’ve had to learn that filling the gap isn’t about becoming both parents—it’s about trusting the Father to supply what we cannot.

Lord, as the seasons shift and change, teach us to rest in you and your unfailing love. Give us confidence in Your goodness, even when we feel the weight of grief. Remind us that You have a purpose and plan for our lives and the lives of our children. Fill our hearts with peace as we surrender our plans to Yours. Help us walk in faith, knowing that every season is held in Your care. In Jesus’ name, Amen.