Grace in Wilderness

Scripture tells us that God brings beauty from ashes, but living inside the ashes is something else entirely. This space exists to speak honestly about grief, faith, and the slow work of restoration. I hope you will join me here as we begin this journey together. ❤️

“and provide for those who grieve in Zion—to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.” | Isaiah 61:3

It has been three months since my husband, Lee, went to be with Jesus. Most days, that reality still doesn’t seem like mine. Three months is shorter than a college semester, but longer than the time it takes to form a habit. In these past twelve weeks, I have lived what feels like a hundred lifetimes.

I have carried the hollow ache of life without him, walked through quiet rooms filled with echoes of his laughter and returned to memories that once seemed ordinary, but now hold deep significance.

I have felt the weight of his absence in small, everyday moments—the empty chair at the table, a silent phone that once held his voice—moments that are full of reminders of the love we shared.

One thing they don’t tell you about grief is that it is a constant companion. It creeps into every thought, invading every breath and winding through every part of your being like kudzu, reminding you that nothing will ever be the same. I can feel it shaping me, teaching me to honor the ordinary and to cling to hope even when its weight feels almost too much to bear.

In this season of grief, I am learning what it means to rediscover myself. I know Whose I am, but I don’t yet know what I am. Resting in the Lord’s presence is already shaping a new version of me.

I cling to Heaven’s eternal promise while sitting in the darkness just before dawn, waiting for the sun to rise, where sorrow and joy intermingle, where tears water the soil of hope. If I could tell my younger self what this heartbreak feels like, I would still urge her to love fully and without abandon.

For love, even in its deepest ache, transforms empty hands into a place of healing. Holy hands lifted high in praise.

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