The Seventh Year

The door felt like it was begging to be kicked down, but I knew what would happen if I gave in—the dam inside me would break, and the tears would pour until I had nothing left.
I never expected the seventh year to press this hard on my spirit.

The memory of you taking your last breath still lives quietly within me—
the moment God shifted my path and placed me in the role of widow and single parent.
And today, I feel the weight of walking a road you are no longer here to travel with me.

Some people don’t understand what I’m facing, and that’s alright.
But this journey can feel painfully lonely at times—especially today, when my heart feels like it’s walking through this valley alone.
Yet even here, I know God is near.

Just when I thought I was ready for something new, today arrived like a wrecking ball, breaking down the walls I built to hold myself together.
I didn’t realize how much grief I had tucked away—how quickly I tried to be strong for my girls instead of allowing God to carry me.
Now the pain I buried is rising to the surface, asking to be surrendered.

There are moments I want to give up, when the heaviness feels too much to bear.
But even then, I know the only way through is to let grief have its place and allow God meet me in it.

I can’t keep hiding behind these walls of strength when inside I am breaking and God is urging me to bring that brokenness to Him.
It’s time to embrace this season of grief—not as a setback, but as a holy invitation to heal, to breathe, to lean into the One who restores.

It’s time to let God guide me forward, one surrendered step at a time.