Be Still and Know... (Written on Sept 1st, 2026)

This day, four years ago, we buried you.

We buried the body, but not the soul.

We buried the “old man” in his physical form, but not the spiritual one.

That one still lives on.

We buried the fear, the doubts, and the obstacles you faced.

We buried what the eyes could see, but not what the heart felt.

That continues to be felt today.

Somewhere during the burial, something in me was born—

the acknowledgement that I am oh so small.

I learned that sometimes things have to die in order for others to grow,

and sometimes things have to die to make room for others to be born.

When we laid you down, I learned that my love for you was greater than I ever realized.

I learned that God gave you to me for a season.

There, in a moment of stillness, you could not move, and I could not move.

We both stood still—

me literally,

you figuratively.

I learned that despite my pain,

despite the hurt,

despite the hollowness I felt,

God is—and will always be—greater.

I am but a tiny speck of dust,

yet God chose to give me life through you.

You and I were—and are—tiny.

Small in comparison to Him,

but never insignificant.

You matter.

I matter.

We both matter to Him.

In a world where being selfish is sometimes applauded,

sometimes even encouraged,

today I choose to understand that what matters is not me.

It is not you.

It is God.

God molded us for this season,

for His reason,

not our own.

I will lean into the hand that created us both—

not because you wished it,

not because I did,

but because He willed it.

Therefore, I choose to trust Him.

Where I was once hurt by Him,

then angry,

then resentful,

then confused—

today, what lies between you and me is trust.

Trust that despite all of our circumstances,

God knows better.

He knows more.

He knows best.

Today, I celebrate your life.

I celebrate the joy you gave.

I celebrate the love we shared.

Today, I sit still and know:

He was,

He is,

and He will always be God.

Today, I let go of the pain.

Today, I let go of the hurt.

Today, I let go of the unanswered questions.

And I will lean into trust.

Trust in the God who created the heavens and the earth.

The God who gave you life.

The God who gave me to you.

The God who holds us both.

He holds us all.

Today, He is my God and my refuge,

forevermore—

until that day when we meet again.