Series: Still Unfinished – God’s Work on the Canvas of My Life

I never imagined that grief could arrive like a tidal wave—silent at first, then roaring with a force that takes the breath out of your lungs. The day David took his final breath, something inside me shattered. Forty-one years of marriage—a lifetime of partnership, sacrifice, dreams, and prayers—condensed into a moment I could not stop, rewind, or undo. I held his hands as strength left his body, and an ocean of tears flooded my soul. The world around me continued moving, but mine suddenly froze. I felt like I had stepped into a new reality where nothing looked familiar anymore.

But grief did not begin on that day. It had been forming through a lifetime of bruises, disappointments, and battles that forced me to cling to God with trembling hands. Losing loved ones, facing family fractures, standing against spiritual warfare, surviving seasons of lack and loneliness, crying into my pillow when no one saw—those were all storms that trained my faith. Even the immigrant journey, uprooted dreams, ministry challenges, and being misunderstood by those I trusted deeply—each left a scar. Many times I asked, “Why me, Lord?” in questions that shook the foundation of my beliefs.

Yet even through the valleys, God kept showing up.

David and I had seen miracles together—provision that arrived at the last minute, healing that defied medical expectation, breakthroughs that only the hand of God could have written. We had raised children through tears and triumphs, standing in faith even when the battle was fierce. I often watched David kneel in prayer, whispering names of our children, grandchildren, and nations. His quiet strength was a sermon lived—not preached. I never knew those prayers would later become the threads holding me together today.

When grief hit, it pulled every unhealed wound back to the surface. Pain from the past and pain from the present collided. I questioned everything—my calling, my purpose, my strength, even my identity. But as I sat in the silence after the funeral, the Holy Spirit spoke gently into the ruins of my heart:

“This is not the end of your story. I am still here.”

And in that moment, I realized something powerful:
Grief does not erase God’s goodness. It exposes it.
Faith is not proven on the mountaintop—it is forged in the fire.
Brokenness is not the enemy—it is the place where God rebuilds.

Today, I am learning to breathe again. Not the same breath I once had, but a deeper, slower, surrendered breath. My tears are turning into oil. My pain is becoming testimony. My story is still being written—and the Author has not stopped.

🕊 Reflection Questions

1. When have you felt like your life stopped while the world continued moving?
   
2. What wounds from the past surfaced during your present battles?
   
3. How has God carried you through seasons you thought would break you?
   
4. What painful part of your story is God asking you to surrender today?
   

🙏 Prayer

Lord, hold my heart when it trembles under the weight of grief. Help me see Your hand even when the night feels endless. Heal the wounds I cannot speak, and breathe hope into places that feel lifeless. Teach me to trust You again, step by step. Write purpose into every tear. I surrender my story into Your hands. Amen.

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