What Begins in Despair Ends in Hope!

What Begins in Despair Ends in Hope

Grief is a peculiar thing. It doesn’t wait for a convenient moment or honor your strength. It crashes in, unexpected and overwhelming, sweeping through the corners of your life like a storm that refuses to pass quietly. When my mother died, the world shifted. The grief wasn't just about losing her, though that loss was profound—it was also about the unraveling that followed.

The relationships I thought would be a shelter became strained and distant. Words weren’t spoken, or when they were, they carried blame, silence, and coldness. Those I believed would stand beside me instead became strangers. I found myself walking through the valley of sorrow, and for a time, it felt like I was walking it alone.

Psalm 22 opens with the raw cry of abandonment: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" It is a Psalm soaked in anguish, confusion, and desperation. Reading it during my darkest nights gave language to the cries in my own soul. Not just the loss of my mother, but the severed connections with those who should have held my hand through it.

But if you read on, Psalm 22 doesn’t end in the valley.

It climbs.

It shifts.

“You who fear the Lord, praise him!... For he has not despised or scorned the suffering of the afflicted one; he has not hidden his face from him but has listened to his cry for help.”

These words met me like a whisper in the wind—assuring me that my cries were heard, that my brokenness was seen, and that God was still near, even when people were not.

What began in despair has quietly begun to transform. Not all is healed. Not all is restored. Some doors have gently closed with finality, and I’ve had to bless the goodbye. But in their place, new beginnings are taking root. Peace isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s just the quiet acceptance of what is and the tender hope of what could still be.

I’ve begun to rebuild—not just my business, not just my daily rhythms—but my heart. I’m learning to carry the love of my mother with me instead of the ache of her absence. I’m giving myself permission to move forward without waiting for others to understand or approve. And in the silence of estrangement, I’m discovering a deeper connection with God, who has never left me—who sits with me in the ashes and rises with me in the dawn.

If you are in a season where everything feels lost, I want you to know this:

Despair is not the end of the story.

There is a shift. There is a sunrise. There is a hope that quietly waits on the other side of your broken hallelujah.

What begins in despair can end in hope. And I’m walking proof that even when family fails, God does not.