The last seven days have been, I think, perhaps seven of the hardest consecutive days in my life. I imagine there will be harder days ahead, and I trust that there will be grace and energy for those days. But I cannot think about those days now. I think about women who walk through much worse than I have and much less than I have, and I have learned that comparison is a trap and a lie. We all walk with our own pain, and no one knows the depth of that pain except for Christ himself.

The short of our long week is that we were all very sick, and my husband was so sick that I honestly thought, at one point, that I might be losing him.

It has been hard. It has felt too hard. It would have been a hard week if sickness was the only thing we were walking through, but it has also been hard because this upheaval has come in the middle of everything else changing–the last week of my beloved job, our send-off at church, multiple house showings, and interviewing for new jobs in a new city. I have so many emotions bubbling and so many thoughts swirling just because we are moving away from home. But with the reality of life and death on the table, things have felt, just, too much.

And I have prayed and wept and stared at the darkness in the night. It has been too much. I am coming to find that all of life is too much for me. The weight of raising children in this difficult world? Too much. The stress of doing any job with meaning and purpose? Too much. The work of keeping a marriage vibrant and beautiful in trying seasons? Too much.

All of it. Too much.

I cannot carry any of it. At the end of the day–even at the beginning of it–I am weak. I am unable to do anything truly good on my own.

But my hope for this past week–my hope for any week, really–has been this:

For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly. For one will scarcely die for a righteous person—though perhaps for a good person one would dare even to die—but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. [Romans 5:6-8]

I never have to be strong for Christ to love me, to save me, to heal me and help me. The Truth whispers to my heart that God’s power is actually, surprisingly, drawn to weakness. He loves working through weakness. He loves being with me and meeting me in those places where I feel broken and unable to move forward. He is with me. He is enough.

I never have to be strong for Christ to love me, to save me, to heal me and help me. Share on X

He loves doing the same for you. If you feel tired and worn down and like life is too hard and too much, his love and presence is enough for you. He is with you. You are not alone. 

I have found such peace in Jesus in these hard days. Not because he is giving me answers or perfect circumstances, but because he is giving me more of himself. More of his presence. More of his hope. And I am experiencing, again, that He is enough. He makes what feels too hard a load that I can carry, because he shoulders it with me. He makes what feels like too much a lighter weight, because he carries it for me. 

He makes what feels too hard a load that I can carry, because he shoulders it with me. Share on X

I threw up my hands this week, in worship and in sorrow. Both are gifts to Jesus, because he knows the cost of my pain.

And he knows the cost of your pain; he knows what is too hard and too much for you. It doesn’t matter if what you’re going through is easier for others. He understands. It is hard. It is too much.

And yet, Jesus is greater. He is kinder. And He is enough.  Throw your hands up in your suffering and in your worship, and let Jesus meet you in that place with his Word and his presence and his love.

He is with you. You are not alone. He who has already died for us in our weakness–He is the same one who will also give us what we need to walk through another day, another week, another year. He will give us more of himself. And that is enough.

May you know his presence and his peace this week. May you know his love.