By Sharon (SD) Mac
Healing didn’t come to me in some big moment or revelation.
There was no dramatic sunrise, no sudden breakthrough, no instant peace washing over me.
That would’ve been easier.
Cleaner.
More poetic.
But the truth is…
God is still healing me the way He often heals His children:
in small mercies.
In quiet ways.
One breath at a time.
One inch at a time.
One day at a time.
If I’m honest, I didn’t even notice them at first.
I was too busy surviving, too exhausted from grieving, too numb from working nonstop to see anything beyond the next task, the next bill, the next responsibility.
But somewhere in all that chaos,
God slipped in His comfort so gently that I almost missed it.
It started with small things.
A moment of silence that didn’t hurt as much.
A morning when I woke up without crying.
A cup of coffee that I actually tasted instead of just drinking out of habit.
A Bible verse that didn’t feel like pages but like breath.
A memory of Steve that made me smile instead of collapse.
They were tiny things.
But they were holy things.
I remember the first time I laughed again.
It wasn’t loud or strong,
just a small, unexpected laugh that slipped out when the dogs acted goofy.
For a moment, I felt guilty.
As if happiness meant I was forgetting Steve…
as if laughter was betrayal…
as if moving forward meant leaving him behind.
But God corrected that lie quickly.
He reminded me:
Love doesn’t die…
It transforms…
And healing isn’t forgetting…
Healing is honoring…
Healing is survival…
Healing is obedience…
Another small mercy came unexpectedly…
a day when I caught myself humming,
a day when I cleaned the house without breaking down,
a day when the sunlight coming through the window felt warm instead of painful.
It was slow.
It was subtle.
It was soft.
But it was real.
God didn’t lift my grief.
He carried me through it.
He didn’t erase the pain.
He gave me grace to survive it.
He didn’t rush me into healing.
He guided me in the quiet moments…
the ones no one would ever notice except Him.
Looking back, I realize that the small mercies
were God’s way of knitting my heart back together one thin thread at a time.
Not because I was strong.
Not because I was ready.
Not because I deserved it.
But because He wasn’t done with me.
Because He still had purpose.
Because there was still a road I have to walk.
And because Steve’s story with me didn’t end…
it simply continued in a new chapter God was writing.
These were the first signs of healing,
the first hints of hope,
the first whispers of life after loss.
Small mercies.
But powerful ones.
Soli Deo Gloria!
To God Alone be the Glory!
“Thou therefore endure hardness, as a good soldier of Jesus Christ.” -2Timothy 2:3
“Resolved, never to give over, nor in the least to slacken, my fight with my corruptions, however unsuccessful I may be.” -Jonathan Edwards, Resolution, 56
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