For the Girl Who Needed a Hug Today
I think the hardest part is that nothing has to go terribly wrong for your heart to feel heavy.
Sometimes it’s not one big heartbreak.
It’s ten little things.
A conversation that lingers in your mind.
A prayer that still feels unanswered.
A door that didn’t open.
A text that never came.
A future that suddenly feels uncertain.
On their own, none of them seem big enough to make you cry.
But somehow they all find each other.
And by the time the evening comes, your heart is carrying the weight of all ten.
That’s the strange thing about heavy days.
It’s rarely just one thing.
It’s everything at once.
I think that’s why so many of us end up apologizing for our tears.
“I don’t even know why I’m crying.”
But maybe you do.
Maybe you’ve simply been carrying too much for too long.
Maybe you’ve been trying to stay hopeful for so long that nobody noticed how exhausted hope can sometimes become.
Because hope is beautiful.
But hope can also be heavy.
Especially when you’ve been holding it with both hands for months…
or years.
Sometimes I think people are too quick to give us answers.
They remind us that God has a plan.
That everything happens for a reason.
That one day we’ll understand.
And maybe all of that is true.
But sometimes…
before we need perspective,
we simply need presence.
Someone who sits down beside us without trying to fix us.
Someone who doesn’t rush our healing.
Someone who lets silence be enough.
I think that’s what my heart longs for on days like this.
Not a solution.
Not another explanation.
Just the quiet reassurance that I don’t have to carry today by myself.
Maybe that’s one of the reasons I love God so much.
Not because He immediately answers every question I have.
But because He never asks me to hide them.
I don’t have to pretend that waiting isn’t hard.
I don’t have to pretend that uncertainty doesn’t scare me.
I don’t have to pretend that I’m always strong.
I can simply come as I am.
Some days with gratitude.
Some days with joy.
And some days with nothing more than tired eyes and a heart that quietly whispers,
“Lord… today was just hard.”
I don’t think honest prayers have ever disappointed Him.
Maybe that’s what faith really looks like.
Not pretending we’re okay.
But trusting that God can handle the parts of us that aren’t.
And maybe that’s why I keep holding on.
Because even when I cannot see what He’s doing…
I know He is still writing.
He’s writing in the waiting.
He’s writing in the uncertainty.
He’s writing in the ordinary evenings that feel painfully quiet.
He’s writing in the chapters that seem as though nothing is happening.
One day, I’ll probably look back and realize that these weren’t empty pages after all.
They were simply the pages where God was writing the slowest.
And maybe…
the slowest chapters become the most beautiful ones.
Until then, I’ll keep bringing Him my tired heart.
Not because I always feel hopeful.
But because even on the days when hope feels fragile…
He has never stopped holding the pen.