The Deeper Blessing: A Testimony of Grief, Grace, and God’s Faithfulness

I don’t always feel “blessed” in the way people use that word.

Not when I’ve buried love I prayed would stay.

Not when I’ve held grief in one hand, responsibility in the other, trying to be whole for someone small who needs me.

But I do know what it is to be carried.

By a God who doesn’t look away from my pain.

By promises that didn’t break, even when I did.

By peace that came softly, faithfully.

I’ve felt favour not as ease, but as presence.

In silence. In provision I never planned for.

In joy that still dared to grow in broken soil.

I know that I know that I know:

He is true to His word.

He is near to the broken-hearted.

He is near to the widow.

He is Father to the motherless.

He is faithful to the end and beyond it.

So no, I won’t say I’m blessed.

But I am sustained.

I am loved.

I am carried.

I am seen.

When my husband died, I was five months pregnant.

I stood in the wreckage of what used to be normal, holding a future I hadn’t planned for, wondering how I would survive it.

There were moments I didn’t want to.

As selfish as it sounds, I didn’t want to live in a world he no longer existed in.

The weight of grief clouded my mind. I imagined ways I could disappear without it looking like I meant to.

He wasn’t just the person I loved, he had become part of who I was.

Without him, I didn’t know how to keep going.

But God.

He met me not in loud, dramatic ways but in quiet mercy.

In the ache. In the ordinary.

In a moment I’ll never forget: when I was at my lowest, and I felt her kick.

Eden.

It was the first time I felt her move.

It stopped me.

Reminded me I wasn’t alone.

Even if I didn’t want to live for me, I could live for her.

For the life we created.

For the life God had formed.

I broke down. I asked God to forgive me. I begged Him for strength.

And somehow, He carried me when I couldn’t carry myself.

When she was born, her name suddenly made perfect sense.

We’d talked through many names before my husband passed, but after prayer, Eden stayed.

Still, I wasn’t fully convinced… until I heard her cry.

Maybe it was the medication. Maybe it was grace.

But I knew her name was right.

The Lord gives and the Lord takes away.

He took Ivan. But He gave me Eden.

A glimpse of paradise in the midst of heartbreak.

His presence in the middle of our pain.

I still carry grief, but I also carry grace.

I’m learning to mother while mourning.

To hold space for sorrow and hope in the same breath.

Some days are still heavy. But I don’t carry them alone.

Healing didn’t come in a rush.

It came quietly.

A year and a bit later, I woke up one morning and realised I didn’t want to die anymore.

That was the shift.

That was the beginning of joy again.

Not the same joy as before.

But deeper.

Stronger.

Risen from broken soil.

And maybe that is the deeper blessing.

It reminds me of the words written in deep sorrow by the prophet Jeremiah:

“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; His mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness.” (Lamentations 3:22–23)

These words weren’t written from comfort, but from the ashes of devastation.

And yet even there God’s mercy still held.

That’s what I’ve known, too.

In my own season of grief and loss, His love never ran out.

His faithfulness never wavered.

His mercy found me again and again.

And that’s how I’ve made it here.

Still healing. Still held.