Looking forward to Heaven

My only goal at this point in my life is to join Jesus in heaven one day.

Lord, the older I get, the more clearly I see what matters. So many things that once felt urgent—the spotless house, the busy calendar, the expectations of others, even the dreams I once chased—have quietly lost their shine. What remains is You. After years of caring for family, praying over children and grandchildren, enduring losses, celebrating small mercies, and walking through both laughter and loneliness, my heart has grown simpler. My deepest desire now is this: to finish well and, one day, join Jesus in heaven.

There is a holy comfort in knowing I do not walk toward an unknown future. Jesus said, “I am going there to prepare a place for you” (John 14:2, NIV). What a tender promise for a heart that has spent a lifetime preparing places for others—setting tables, making beds, welcoming loved ones, and keeping faith alive in ordinary days. Now Christ Himself is preparing a place for me.

When the world feels noisy and temporary, steady my soul with Your truth: “But our citizenship is in heaven” (Philippians 3:20, NIV). This life matters, and I will keep loving, serving, forgiving, and encouraging while You give me breath. But I do not cling too tightly to what cannot last. My truest home is with You.

Teach me to live with heaven in view—not with fear, but with peace; not with regret, but with gratitude. Let my remaining years be marked by gentleness, wisdom, and a settled joy that points others to Christ. And when my race is complete, welcome me into the presence I have longed for all along.

Amen.

putting those I love in your hands

Lord, I place the people I love into Your hands again today. Teach me to trust You with what I cannot control.

There is a quiet weight that comes from loving someone deeply and longing for them to know You. It lingers in my thoughts, follows me through the day, and sits with me in the silence. I care about their hearts, their lives, their eternity. And sometimes, I don’t know what else to do but worry.

But You gently remind me, this is not mine to carry alone.

I can pray. I can love. I can speak truth with kindness. But I cannot change a heart. Only You can do that. Only You can reach the places I cannot see, heal what I cannot fix, and draw them closer in ways I don’t understand.

Even when it feels like nothing is happening, You are working. In quiet ways. In hidden moments. In the middle of their questions, their struggles, and their story.

Help me not to lose heart in the waiting. Help me trust that You love them even more than I do. That You are pursuing them with patience, mercy, and perfect timing.

So today, I release my fear and hold onto faith.

You are with them. You are working. And nothing I place in Your hands is ever wasted.

In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Nobody prays harder than parents with grown up kids.

Nobody prays harder than a parent with grown-up kids.

When children are small, parents protect with their hands. When children are grown, they protect with prayer. The worries change shape, but they do not disappear. A mother wonders if her daughter is safe. A father asks whether his son is walking in wisdom. Sleepless nights may lessen, yet silent prayers often deepen. Nobody prays harder than a parent with grown-up kids.

This kind of praying is holy love. It is love that has learned it cannot control outcomes, fix every mistake, or stand between a child and every storm. So it goes to God. Scripture says, “Cast all your anxiety on him” (1 Peter 5:7, NIV). Parents do exactly that, carrying names, burdens, and hopes into the presence of the Lord. There, fear becomes surrender, love becomes intercession, and weary hearts learn again that God is at work.

And God does not dismiss those prayers. He sees the trembling heart behind them. He hears the whispered pleas for protection, repentance, courage, healing, and peace. Even when answers seem delayed, parents can rest in his character, because “the Lord is faithful” (2 Thessalonians 3:3, NIV).

Today, if your grown child is far away, struggling, wandering, or simply making choices you would not choose, keep praying. Your prayers are not powerless; they are planted in the hands of a loving God. Release what you cannot carry. Trust the One who loves your child even more than you do. And remember: prayer is still parenting, shaped now by faith instead of nearness.

God is ever present

If you ever feel like nothing is shifting, read this slowly. There were chapters in my life that looked completely still. No visible progress. No immediate answers. Just routine, repetition, and quiet endurance. I almost believed those stretches were wasted.

They were not.

Every single day held evidence of His involvement, even when I could not recognize it.

He provided stamina when exhaustion tried to win.

He placed the right people in my path at the right moments.

He blocked outcomes that would have created deeper wounds.

He cultivated patience in me when I wanted instant change.

I thought the blessing would be a dramatic rescue. Instead, it was daily sustenance. I thought the miracle would be an overnight transformation. Instead, it was gradual refinement.

Through disappointments and delays, He remained consistent. The circumstances did not always shift quickly, but my perspective did. My character did. My dependence deepened.

That is provision too.

So I stand on this truth: There has never been a sunrise in my story that unfolded without His sustaining hand.

May tomorrow reveal once again that He is already ahead of you, preparing what you cannot yet see.