He didnt raise mine- but He raised me

PS. This ISN’T a religious message or push or spread... this is simply my experience.

When I lost my grandpa, I was filled with a giant void. If you’ve read my letters, you’d see how lost I was—how much sadness I was living in. I honestly can’t bring myself to go back and read them...

Ever look at an old picture or reread something you wrote and FEEL exactly what you felt back then?

I can’t go back and read them. I’m afraid I’ll feel that pain again—or even drag myself back into that darkness.It was comfortable… the darkness.

It gave me more excuses. More reasons to stay in bed. More reasons to be angry. More reasons to not believe in a God.

It was my crutch.

I’m not sure what pulled me out of it.

Actually—I do know.But I don’t know how it happened, or why.

Let me take you back for a moment.

DECEMBER 2024–2025:

I went on my third mission trip to Kenya (I know, I really need to update my travel section).

The past two times I’d gone on this trip, they were magical. I could feel the Godly presence. I loved being in church, doing my quiet time. It built my relationship with God.

But this third trip?

This one was different. It came after the loss of my Gido (I know, right—another excuse).

I don’t know why I went…

Maybe I hoped I’d feel God again.

Maybe I thought I’d hear Him.

Maybe I was convinced He’d hear me—after all my crying and pleading.

He raised several people from the dead—why not my person?

(Unrealistic, I know.)

As I forced myself to read the quiet time of the day, I found myself tearing up.

HOW?? HOW?? HOW DOES A LOVING GOD HURT HIS KIDS THE WAY HE HURT ME??

How can my God be this great, this loving, this merciful and compassionate—How could my loving Father ignore my prayers to keep my grandpa healthy? How could He bring me such great pain from his passing, if He could see the future and knew I’d be like this?

Why would He wish this upon me?

As my questions and tears built, I got up and went to the priest who was on the trip with us.

As we talked, the tears rolled down my face… and into my hot Kenyan tea.

His words… oh, his words.

Words I’d heard before—countless times.

Words people have been telling me since I lost my Gido.

Words I’d been trying to convince myself of for months.

But somehow this time, those words landed differently.

They changed my life.

They filled me.

They comforted me.

They dried my tears.

They calmed the storm inside me.

They eased my pain and anger.

But his words alone didn’t get me to where I am now.

After Kenya, the spiritual struggle continued.

But for the first time in literally forever, God became my best friend—the one I talk to in my every thought.

He filled me with a great amount of peace.

So much peace. So much love.

Nothing can bother me, because I know He’s got me.

It gave me a happiness I didn’t know was possible—A happiness I didn’t want, if I couldn’t share it with my Gido.

But He gave me a new relationship with my Gido.One where my Gido is with me always.

My God is an amazing God.

A loving God.

The void that was once inside me is gone.

I don’t feel pain or emptiness.

I feel joy. I feel hope. I feel peace.

I don’t know how to describe my current state. All I know is that I want this to last forever.

I want this comfort around me always.

Thank you, Jesus.

A song we sing:

My God, My God

Can I tell you what I know?

You have given me your spirit.

I love you so.

I love you so.