It had been a hard year. The hardest of my life.
Deep, irrecoverable losses.
Grief so raw it hollowed out my days.
Tears that could have filled an ocean.
And then, somehow, it was Thanksgiving week.
I remember standing in my kitchen, staring blankly at the calendar, stunned that the world had the nerve to keep spinning. That people were making pies. Watching parades. Posting their highlight reels.
And I… I didn’t want to give thanks.
I wanted to take a nap. And cry.
Have you been there?
That place where the ache outpaces the energy.
When your arms feel too tired to raise in praise.
When the question you’re quietly asking is, Where are you, God?
That’s where Jacob was, too.
Genesis 28 doesn’t find him at a spiritual high point.
He was fleeing for his life, running from the fallout of his own broken choices, carrying family pain and uncertainty on his back.
Exhausted and alone, he collapsed in the wilderness with nothing but a rock for a pillow.
And that’s where God met him.
Not in a temple.
Not at a feast with sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie.
Not in the glow of spiritual triumph.
God met Jacob in the wild, in the middle of nowhere. In the middle of everything falling apart.
That’s where Jacob saw heaven open and heard God’s voice speak blessing and promise.
And when he woke up, he whispered, "Surely the Lord is in this place, and I wasn’t even aware of it!" (Genesis 28:16, NLT)
That’s the invitation this week for those who are weary and wondering.
To be where we are, and to know that somehow, in ways we don’t understand, whether we see it or not, God is also here.
We don’t have to push ourselves to feel chipper or pretend to be grateful for all the things we still grieve.
But thankfully, in this hard place, we can begin to notice that God is already here.
This kind of noticing doesn’t require more energy. It simply begins by being where we are. And for this moment, allowing that this place too can be sacred.
A place where a loving Savior will meet with us, sit with us, grieve with us, and let us lean on him.
Like two lifelong friends whose connection no longer needs constant conversation, this may be a time to quietly sit together with God.
In the stillness.
The silence.
The emptiness and weariness that this season brings.
It may look like:
• Lighting a candle and sitting quietly for five minutes
• Pausing before a meal to breathe, rather than talk
• Letting yourself cry without rushing past the pain
• Asking, “God, is there something you’re trying to show me in this very moment?”
It’s not about being super spiritual or making anything happen.
It’s about being simply available for God to do what only he can.
Because once we start noticing, even in our emptiness, we may just sense a flicker of warmth. A glimmer of presence. A God who shows up even when we don’t feel ready to welcome him.
Let this be your starting place this week.
Not with answers, but with quiet awareness.
Not with forced gratitude, but with open eyes.
Not with strength, but with honesty.
Because even here, God is already near.
Reflection Question
Where might God be gently present in your life right now, unnoticed but not absent?
Prayer
God, I’m not here to pretend. I’m here to be present. To breathe. To let you come find me again in the places I didn’t expect. Thank you that you don’t need me to perform, just to notice. Open my eyes today. Even in the quiet, help me remember you are with me. Amen.
