A Christmas-season reflection on heaviness, love, faith, and being human.

There’s something about this time of year that feels heavier than others. Not necessarily in a dramatic way—but in a slow, quiet, deeply emotional way. It’s like the air shifts, time slows, and suddenly I’m more aware of the things I’ve walked through, the wounds I’ve carried, the love I’ve lost, and the strength I’ve somehow held onto. This season brings reflection whether I asked for it or not. Reflection on what’s changed. Reflection on who I’ve become. Reflection on the pieces of life I never imagined I’d be navigating. And honestly? It’s a lot.

I find myself holding gratitude and grief at the same time. Joy and exhaustion. Hope and heaviness. Confidence in God’s plan… and moments of desperately whispering, “How much longer?” Some days I’m okay. Some days I smile and genuinely feel peace. And then there are days where the weight of everything I’m carrying presses in all at once, and breathing feels harder than it should. Days where being “strong” feels exhausting. Days where it’s just… heavy.

Part of that heaviness comes from the world I’m living in and the people I love in it. I carry fear and pain for my friends, my school community, and my students. The reality that ICE could show up and change families forever, change my kids’ lives in an instant, change my world without warning—that’s a fear that lives quietly inside me. I’ve always known it existed, but when it touches your circle, when it affects the people you know and love, it becomes a completely different weight to carry. It’s heartbreaking. It’s terrifying. And it hurts in a way that words don’t fully capture.

And then there is the loneliness of this season without Will. As we get closer to Christmas, that ache grows louder. I stay strong for him on the phone. I stay busy so my mind doesn’t wander too far. But there are moments… moments when the sadness breaks through whatever strength I’ve tried to build. Moments where the tears come fast and uncontrollably. Moments where the weight of missing him is overwhelming. Love doesn’t pause because distance exists. Grief doesn’t soften just because time has passed. Loneliness doesn’t disappear simply because I want it to. Some days, the ache of not having him here is almost physical.

This month has challenged me in more ways than one. I do my best to remain positive. I do my best to keep smiling. I do my best to keep going. But as Christmas creeps closer, the emotions grow stronger. And while it hurts… I am trying to allow that to be okay. The heaviness doesn’t mean I’m losing faith. It doesn’t mean I’m not trusting God. It doesn’t mean I’m failing at healing. It simply means I’m human. And humans feel deeply… especially when they love deeply.

In the middle of it all, I hold tightly to this truth:

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted
and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
—Psalm 34:18

There is comfort in knowing that God doesn’t turn away from pain. He doesn’t rush it. He doesn’t shame it. He draws closer. Even in the heaviness, I am not abandoned. Even in the ache, I am not unseen. Even in the tears, I am still held. And so are you.

So I pray… for myself and for anyone else walking through a heavy season. God, for the hearts that feel tired, for the minds overwhelmed, for the souls carrying grief, fear, uncertainty, and loneliness—bring peace. Cover what hurts. Strengthen what feels weak. Calm what feels chaotic. Hold what feels fragile. Remind us that healing isn’t linear and strength doesn’t always look like smiling. Help us rest in Your nearness. Help us trust Your timing. Help us remember that even here, You are still good and still present.

And if this season is heavy for you too… if your heart aches while everyone else seems joyful… if you’re carrying fear for your loved ones… if you’re missing someone deeply… if you’re doing your best and still feeling overwhelmed… I want you to know you’re not alone. You are not weak for feeling deeply. You are not behind for still healing. You are not faithless for having fear. You are not invisible in your pain.

You are loved.
You are seen.
You are valued.
And your heart matters.

We may be walking through different versions of hard, but we are not walking alone. Even here, God is near. He has not forgotten. He has not abandoned your story. He is still working, still steady, still holding us… even when the season gets heavy. And so we keep breathing. We keep believing. We keep healing. One day, one prayer, one moment at a time.