This past year has carried a weight I never expected. I have watched people I love slip from this world—some slowly through sickness, others swallowed by discouragement, and a few who simply lost the hope that once kept them going. I have seen young families shaken as illness strikes a mother or father, leaving everyone around them struggling for strength. Heartache does not knock. It walks straight in and settles where joy once lived. Every one of us carries pain from this year, some more than they can even speak out loud.
At the same time, the world around us feels unfamiliar and unsteady. Values that once shaped our nation seem to be fading. People of faith often feel pushed back by a culture growing louder in its opposition to the Word of God. Darkness feels bold. Fear feels near. And in moments like these, it can seem as if the ground beneath our feet is trembling.
In the middle of this heaviness, there is an ongoing debate about sorrow. Some say, “God will not give you more than you can endure,” while others insist that He does. Paul wrote, “We were burdened beyond our strength… so that we would rely not on ourselves but on God” (2 Cor. 1:8–9). The truth is deeper than either side of the argument. God never misjudges the human heart. He knows exactly where our strength ends and where His strength begins.
My own strength reaches its limit quickly. I am human and easily overwhelmed. But God is not. He lifts the weight I cannot lift. He steadies the heart I cannot steady. He carries what would crush me. Charles Spurgeon captured this beautifully when he said, “I have learned to kiss the wave that throws me against the Rock of Ages.” Even the waves that strike us can drive us closer to the God who never moves.
So what does this all mean? It means that no matter what we have faced—losing someone we love, watching someone suffer, or fearing what tomorrow might bring—God has not abandoned us. Scripture promises, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted” (Ps. 34:18). He does not stand far off. He sits with us in our grief. He walks with us through our fear. He holds us when we cannot hold ourselves together.
It also means that even though the world feels confusing today, God is absolutely in control. He sees every tear that falls in secret. He hears every prayer whispered in weakness. He knows every fear we carry. Nothing happening today is stronger than His power, and nothing is hidden from His sight. When we feel too weak to go on, He becomes our strength. When we feel too empty to hope again, He becomes our hope. When we cannot carry the weight of today, He carries us into tomorrow. As the Lord said to Paul, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Cor. 12:9).
This also means that tomorrow is not something we walk into alone. God steps into the future before we arrive. He prepares help we do not yet see and strength we do not yet feel. Corrie ten Boom once said, “Never be afraid to trust an unknown future to a known God.” That is where our courage comes from. That is where our peace comes from. That is where our hope comes from.
And what is that hope? It does not come from easier days or from our own strength or from the world getting better. Our hope comes from Jesus Christ—the One who conquered death, the One who holds our lives, the One who walks with us through every storm, and the One who will one day make all things new. Even when the night feels long, the dawn is coming. Even when the season hurts, God is working. Even when we feel empty, He remains enough.
So today, in the middle of whatever pain or confusion you are facing, remember this: God is closer than your fear, stronger than your sorrow, and faithful in every step you take. Your hope is not found in what you see. Your hope is found in the God who sees you.