Anchored

Lately, I’ve found myself wrestling with an overwhelming sense of disappointment. What’s been particularly difficult is not always understanding why these things happen, and knowing I may never fully grasp the reasons on this side of heaven. The disappointments haven’t just been mine—they’ve touched the lives of people I hold close to my heart, piling up one after another this year. Watching those I love struggle with their own hardships has made it all feel even heavier. So heavy that they start to feel like my own disappointments. Sometimes, the weight of it all leaves me questioning my own resilience—wondering how much more my heart can carry. I find myself searching for answers or some kind of meaning in the midst of the uncertainty, grasping for hope on the days when it feels far away.

The Holy Spirit revealed to me that the hopelessness I sometimes feel in the face of a problem is often more paralyzing than the problem itself. It’s easy to become consumed by fear and discouragement when obstacles seem insurmountable.  What I am learning is not to let my feelings become the defining truth of my life. Disappointments may swirl around me, sometimes making it hard to see beyond the immediate pain, but I remind myself that these feelings are not the sum total of my reality. Even as setbacks and heartache surround me, I choose to believe that hope is still alive. God, who is the God of hope, holds my future and the futures of those I love securely in His hands. When I remember this, even my heaviest days feel a little lighter, and I can look forward with quiet confidence, trusting that better days are still ahead.

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. 

~Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV)

I took Jeremiah 29:11 and made it more personal, weaving it into my prayers and quiet moments of reflection. Instead of reading it as a general promise, I replaced the “you” with the name of the person I have been contending for, speaking the verse aloud with intention and hope. Each time I declared this promise—sometimes through tears, sometimes with trembling faith—it brought a fresh wave of reassurance. In the midst of disappointment and grief, repeating these words reminded me that God’s plans are not derailed by our pain. He is still working, still preparing a future filled with hope, even when the present feels uncertain. Holding onto this truth transforms the verse from distant scripture into a living, breathing promise that anchors my heart and steadies my spirit.

As I continue navigating this season of disappointment and uncertainty, I’m reminded that faith is not the absence of struggle, but the choice to trust in the midst of it. There will always be moments when the answers elude me and when the weight of what I carry feels almost too much to bear. But through it all, I hold onto the assurance that God is present—working quietly behind the scenes, weaving hope into every dark corner of my circumstances. Even when my heart aches, I know I can find a new opportunity to find light and to believe that restoration and joy are possible. With this hope, I move forward, trusting that my story—and the stories of those I love—are still unfolding, guided by hands far more capable than my own.

If you have disappointments and heartache like me, don’t let them have the final say. Each step forward—however uncertain—is an act of faith that keeps us anchored to hope. While we may never fully understand the reasons behind every trial, we must remember that God’s faithfulness runs deeper than our questions and is stronger than our fears. So let's choose to trust that His goodness will write the next chapter—one filled with promise, restoration, and unexpected joy.