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Hello friends,

Happy New Year. I know we are already one month in, but sometimes the year starts out slow, and that is okay. I'm learning that life isn't always about being productive or setting new goals; sometimes it's about resting and enjoying the changing weather as it turns colder and the days shorten. Sometimes it's about cuddling up on the couch, reading a good book, and instead of feeling guilty for moments like this, I'm learning to embrace them. I'm allowing myself to rest, because even in the resting we bring glory to God.

But this morning, as I stood in the kitchen washing dishes, staring at how the light coming in from the window illuminates the dust on my hardwood floors. My mind wanders to how I need to clean my floors and to the fact that two things can be true at the same time. We often talk about how grief and joy can co-exist, but we don't often talk about how:

God is faithful. And life can still hurt.

We find this tension even in Scripture. The psalmist writes, "I will remember the deeds of the Lord...yet my soul is downcast within me" (Psalm 77:11, 42:5)

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I know God has been good to me. I can name moments of provision, rescue, grace, and even His sweet Presence caring me through grief and trauma from the house fire. Like the Israelites who stacked stones of remembrance, I could build an altar of all that God has done.

And still some days feel heavy and overwhelming.

There are days that the road feels longer than I thought it would. There are even days when I rub my head, asking God, "I thought we've already been around this mountain and conquered it, but here we are again." Scripture reminds us that faith doesn't mean ease. In fact, Paul writes, "We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed" (2 Corinthians 4:8). Pressed but still standing.

Just like gratitude doesn't cancel grief, faith doesn't erase fatigue. Trust doesn't mean we stop feeling the ache of what's unfinished. Even Jesus understood this; in John 11, knowing resurrection was moments away, Jesus wept. He didn't rush past sorrow to get to the miracle. He entered it.

In the garden, He prayed, "Not my will, but yours be done" (Luke 22:42). Faith was present even in the pain.

Maybe faith looks less like forced positivity and more like honesty before God. Scripture tells us, "Pour out your hearts before Him, for God is our refuge" (Psalm 62:8). Not polished prayers. Not minimizing your hurts. Pour out.

So maybe we can remember what God has done and still ask, "How long, Lord?" Maybe we can say, "I trust, You," and still admit, "This hurts." Maybe standing at the kitchen sink, exhausted and unsure, is still holy ground.

If today finds you discouraged, worn down, or quietly wondering why the journey has been so hard, hear this truth: "The Lord is near to the brokenhearted." (Ps 34:18) Near. Not disappointed. Not demanding more strength. Near the brokenhearted.

God is right there in the middle of your pain, meeting you at the kitchen sink. Pause for a minute today, right where you are, and whisper both your gratitude and your grief to God.

If this resonated, hit reply and tell me where life hurts and what's the hardest part right now? I read and respond to every message.

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