The Glimmers: God in Our Suffering

The Gardener, 2026

I don’t have much to say, nor do I even really want to. This month has been a lesson on the stark polarity of life, and it’s leveled me a bit — quieted my assurances. As we await the birth of our fourth child, excited, filled with anticipation and hope for what’s to come — for coming life. An old friend learns that her husband has passed away. In my mind (although I don’t think at all accurate) she gets this news as her 3 and 5 year old climb all over her — as she nurses her almost 8 month old — sustaining life. And I get the news as I float in a seaside pool underneath a rainbow — basking in Gods promises.

The only hope I can wrap my head around, the only grace I’ve been able to sink my teeth into is the reality that God does care for us, even when the worst of the world unpacks itself at our doorstep, bringing with it every indication that it’s not going anywhere any time soon — God has already seen and already knows — and will not leave us by ourselves.

Two months ago as I made “The Garden” collection, the clearest image for a piece that I got was my “Gardener” piece. Blurred poppies. When I looked up the different flowers for each piece and what they typically symbolized — poppies did not fit — grief in loss, memorial of those we love, hope after death. This was not the vibe. I looked for a more upbeat red flower, and yet, the image and the clarity of what I knew I had to make would not go away. I made the piece. And as I made it I prayed. I knew, in my heart of hearts this piece was being made for someone specific — someone who would be hurting. It was honestly a hard piece to get through because I grieved as I made it, shed literal tears as I prayed for whoever would receive it.

I didn’t know it at the time but I was praying for my dear friend who would receive some of the worst, most unimaginable news there is to receive almost two months later.

As I marketed and promoted the collection, this piece remained unsold — as the entire collection sold out — I had to continue staring this piece in the face, hardly understanding the reality of its existence. I kept wishing someone who just really loved poppies would scoop it up, and I would’ve been wrong. But she stayed, and the longer she went unsold (despite over a dozen people telling me this was their all time favorite), the more I knew I’d be shipping this out to someone in pain.

And I did. And I wish I didn’t. I wish so bad that those prayers were unnecessary. A pregnancy hormone gone wrong.

But two months ago, I was praying for my friend, long before we knew what was to come. Two months ago, God knew, He saw, and He began caring for my friend (and I bet if we looked for it this caring began long before this painting and my prayers). Two months ago, God moved hearts and hands on behalf of my friend, before she ever considered needing it — His grace abounding.

None of this takes away an ounce of pain, I won’t claim that it does. But what it does is remind me that in our lowest lows, God has already thought up ways to care for us. It reminds me that even though we live in this world where bad things do happen, and occasionally darkness does prevail — God is considering us, loving us, and preparing us. It reminds me that when the pendulum swings to the darkest side of life — we are not alone — that even then there will be glimmers of light. No matter how small they may be.

And these glimmers hopefully grow, and the pendulum hopefully slowly starts to swing again to the brighter side of life. But if it never does — a life with God promises us that we will never be surrounded by all consuming darkness. That the glimmers will always exist.

Idk, maybe that’s not enough for most people. And I think in our brightest and best times, it seems like asking for glimmers here and there won’t be asking for enough. But as for me, as I consider the darkest of darks, as I grapple with the pain my friend walks through, a pain no one is immune to, a pain that when I really think about it can hit way too close to home — I take great comfort in knowing there’s a light that will never leave or forsake us. Even if it feels like just a speck of glitter — it is there. And I hope in the darkest moments for all of us, a speck will feel big enough to hold on to, big enough to hold us. I hope we fixate on the one speck we see, hopeful for the abundance of light to come.

Interested in more shimmery glimmers? More moments where Heaven touches Earth regardless of what unpacks itself at our doorstep? (For the month of July—this is 25% off with the code HEAVENLYLIGHTS25).

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Despite my use of emdashes—AI was not used in any capacity in the production of this post. You can tell, because it’s also riddled with punctuation and grammatical error. A human wrote and fully felt this. <3