Somewhere between heaven and earth, a barren, broken tree limb clings to the life surrounding it. Suspended high above my sweet Jimmy’s grave, it remains, month after month—unmoved—impervious to storms, winds, and seasons of change.
With each visit to this sacred place where peace holds hands with sorrow, a simple glance skyward comforts me, highlighting the parallels between what I see and what I am living.
The branch is held. And so am I.
Broken but still worthy, this rescued remnant has become for me an enduring testament to the grace that arises when storms buffet. For a year now it has kept vigil—a living parable tenderly testifying to the power and keeping of the One who has yet to let me fall. In seasons both bitter and sweet, I have been cradled, tended to, and supported.
On Monday, as I sat through another treatment, I was mindful of the myriad ways God continues to teach. I thought of how pain carves deep into our lives, leaving wounds that ache and scars that mark. Yet, even when our pain is at a fever pitch, the promise comes through loud and clear from the One who feels our pain as if it were His own: “You are held.”
We are, indeed.
And class remains in session.
When I removed the bandage, Monday, following my treatment, I discovered that a small heart had formed, etched in blood. Love, fierce and unrelenting, emerged at once, insisting upon being noticed. Its conspicuous message was not lost on me. God, ever faithful and persistent, broke through with a vivid reminder that He dwells among His own—present in calamity, accompanying us along painful paths, steadying us when our lives feel at their most precarious.
Anyone who has grieved long understands that sorrow, while powerful, can only conceal for so long the blessings it produces. Redemption unveils—redemption reveals—the beauty hidden among the ashes as God heals what time, alone, cannot.
So, today as I mark yet another birthday of the only boy I ever loved, I hold close the lessons learned along the way, safe in the keeping of the One who holds me even closer. His love doesn’t necessarily erase the pain, but it does transform it, providing me with the courage needed to weather what lies ahead.
Cradled, as always, in the arms of grace, and in the shadows of what I would never have chosen, I offer thanks to the One who holds me in His grip, allowing me to see the beauty that abounds among the brokenness that obscures. Though my brokenness is real and undeniable, so is the strength that holds me fast.
I am held.
Still held.
Always held.
To God alone be glory forever and ever.
“Now unto Him who is able to keep you from falling, and to present you faultless before the presence of His glory with exceeding joy. To the only wise God our Saviour, be glory and majesty, dominion and power, both now and ever. Amen.”
~ 𝐉𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝟐𝟒,𝟐𝟓
“Knowing that even though we see only through a glass darkly, even though lots of things happen—joy is knowing, even for a moment, that underneath everything are the everlasting arms.”
~ 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐁𝐮𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫