You Are Never Alone

When you walk through a storm
Keep your chin up high
And don’t be afraid of the dark.

At the end of the storm
Is a golden sky
And the sweet, silver song of a lark.

Walk on through the wind,
Walk on through the rain,
Though your dreams be tossed and blown.

Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart,
And you’ll never walk alone!
You’ll never walk alone.

“You'll Never Walk Alone” (Rodgers/Hammerstein II)

Walking through loss is like walking through fog. You move forward, but everything feels a little unreal, a little unsteady. You reach for something solid, but even the familiar feels different. When someone you love is slipping away physically, emotionally, or spiritually, it can feel like holding onto sand. The harder you try to grasp, the more it seems to slip through your fingers.

Grief isn’t just sadness. It is the weight of love with nowhere to go. These questions do not have easy answers. It is wondering if you said enough, did enough, loved enough. And it has this way of making time feel stretched and compressed at the same time. The past rushes in like a flood, while the future seems like an empty page you do not know how to write on.

Remember, God does not flinch at grief. The psalms are full of raw, honest cries.

“Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord! O Lord, hear my voice! Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my pleas for mercy!” (Psalm 130:1–2, ESV)

That is not neat and polished. That is not trying to tie everything up with a bow. That is just someone in pain, reaching out, hoping God is still listening.

And he is. He always is. Even when we do not feel it. Even when everything in us says he is far away. The shepherd does not leave his sheep in the valley. He does not wait on the other side of the river, expecting us to figure out how to swim. He wades in. He carries. He walks alongside.

“A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.” (Proverbs 17:17)

You do not have to do it alone if you are carrying something heavy right now. Sometimes, the best thing is not words but presence—the presence of a friend who does not rush to fix everything, the presence of God, who sits with us in the ashes before he brings beauty from them.

And if regret is gnawing at you, if your mind is playing a highlight reel of everything you wish you had done differently, grace is bigger than that. Love is not a balance sheet. God is not keeping score, waiting for you to prove you got it all right. He is near the brokenhearted and saves those crushed in spirit. Not those who have it all together. Not those who never fail. Just those who bring whatever they have, even if all they have is sorrow and a barely whispered prayer.

Jesus knew this ache firsthand. He stood at the tomb of his friend and wept, even though he knew resurrection was coming (John 11:35). The pain of the moment mattered. The loss mattered. The weight of love mattered. And in another moment, knowing his suffering was near, he told his disciples, “…In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.”” (John 16:33) Those words were not empty. They were spoken by the one who carried the weight of the world’s sorrow and walked out of the grave.

“We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed;” (2 Corinthians 4:8–9, ESV)

The weight of suffering is real, but it does not get the final say. The same God who walked with you in the past is already waiting for you in the future. And today, he is here. In the quiet. In the ache. In the hope that refuses to die, even when everything hurts.

If all you can do today is take one breath, say one prayer, and hold onto one memory of goodness, that is enough. You are not forgotten. You are loved. And you do not walk alone.

~PW 🌮🛶