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Hard Seasons

I am so thankful He walks with us through the hard seasons.

Widowhood is already a life of carrying more than one person was ever meant to carry. Solo parenting, making every decision, paying every bill, handling every repair, and being the one everyone depends on. There isn’t anyone to tag in when you’re tired, and life doesn’t slow down because you’re running on empty. Over the last almost 5 years, I’ve learned how to carry a lot, but these past couple of months have felt especially heavy.

Recently, my mother-in-law suffered a heart attack, had two stents placed, and just a couple of weeks later ended up back in the hospital with another blockage that required an angiogram, followed by rehab. Norm was an only child, so there aren’t siblings to help share the responsibility. It has been a privilege to be there for her because I love her deeply, but it has also been exhausting. The weight of making decisions that would have been Norm’s to make while I supported him are instead all on me.

And at the same time, life has continued moving at full speed. I’m trying to sell a house and a business, all while stepping into a brand-new career at 51 years old. And still trying to be present for the people God has placed in my life, and somewhere in the middle of all of that, trying to remember to take care of myself too.

The truth is, I’m tired. Not the kind of tired that a good night’s sleep or a weekend away can fix, but the kind that settles deep into your soul. The kind where you sit in the driveway for a few extra minutes before going inside because you know there are still ten more things waiting for you. The kind where you wonder if you have anything left to give and yet give you must.

I’ve also noticed something about seasons like this. They have a way of stirring up grief again.

Triggers.

People sometimes think that after enough time has passed, grief stays neatly tucked away somewhere in the background. But that’s not really how it works. Certain circumstances have a way of bringing it right back to the surface. Hospitals. Doctors. Medical emergencies. Making difficult decisions alone. Watching someone you love suffer. Those moments have a way of reminding your heart of another season when everything changed.

Sometimes it’s not even your own circumstances that stir up grief.

Recently, a friend passed away, and while my heart grieved for the loss of her, it immediately went to her husband. I found myself thinking about what the next few days, weeks, and months would look like for him. The funeral arrangements. The paperwork. The people filling the house, followed by the silence after everyone leaves. The first morning, he woke up to a completely different life. The first night, he sleeps alone, surrounded by the quiet and the heaviness.

When you’ve walked this road yourself, you can’t help but see it through the eyes of the spouse who has been left behind. You don’t just grieve the person who died; you grieve for the husband or wife who is about to begin a journey they never wanted to take. In doing so, it has a way of touching your own grief too. Grief leaves fingerprints on your heart. There are things that will always remind us, and I think that’s simply part of loving someone deeply.

Sometimes life takes us back through places that feel painfully familiar. That’s one of the reasons Psalm 23 has become so meaningful to me.

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me.”
Psalm 23:4 (ESV)

David never said we would or could avoid the valley. He said, “Even though….” He knew that the valley was inevitable, but he also knew with certainty Who would walk with us in the valley.

That word walk has become so important to me. Because there are days when life feels like it has led me right back into the valley. A hospital room. Another funeral. Another reminder of everything that changed on October 7, 2021. For a little while, it can feel as though I’m standing there all over again.

But I’m not. I am walking through it. And that is an important distinction because God never intended for us to camp in the valley. We aren’t meant to unpack our lives there or believe that’s where our story ends. Valleys are places we travel through, not places we stay. The Shepherd doesn’t abandon us there; He walks with us every step of the way. And if we take a moment to breathe, we can also see the beauty that is in the valley.

Lately, with everything that is going on, I feel like I’m barely hanging on. But God continues to remind me when I feel like I’m barely hanging on, what matters most is Who I’m hanging on to.

He is my sufficiency and my source of strength.

“I lift up my eyes to the hills, From where does my help come? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth”
Psalm 121:1-2

And I’ve watched Him prove Himself faithful too many times to question whether He’ll be faithful again. He has carried me through every impossible day before this one. He has met me in every valley. And He has always provided exactly what I needed when I needed it—not always ahead of time, but always on time.

So yes, I’m exhausted. I’m overwhelmed. There are moments when I wonder how I’m going to keep doing everything that is in front of me, and I know I am not alone in this feeling.

But I also know this, and I hope you do too….the Shepherd who faithfully walked with me through the darkest valley of my life is still walking beside me today. Exhaustion may slow my pace, and grief may occasionally lead me back through familiar valleys. But neither one gets to determine where I stay.

By God’s grace and with His help, I’ll keep walking.

And thankfully, I never have to walk alone, and neither do you.

Heavenly Father, thank You so much that You are with us in every season. You walk with us, You hold us, comfort us, and strengthen us. We are so grateful for Your presence and the peace that only You can give. In Jesus’ name, Amen