Revelation 21:4 promises us, "He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away." Since losing my daughter, I've clung to this verse, even as I often feel like I'm in a perpetual holding pattern—circling life but never quite able to land. I've always been better at doing than waiting, so this season has been unexpected. I was prepared for the tears, the longing, and the ache of grief, but I wasn't ready for the weight of this lifetime of waiting. This waiting feels like I'm caught between two worlds—the present and the promise of heaven. Each day, I'm reminded to honor both: I must live fully here while holding space for what's to come. But some days, the waiting feels so heavy it's hard to move. I long to do something that matters, yet the one thing I yearn to do—bring my daughter back—is beyond my reach.
In those moments, I am comforted by the words of Paul in Romans, where he writes about the "painful tension" we feel while waiting for the redemption that will come in heaven. "It is plain to anyone with eyes to see that, at present, all created life groans in a sort of universal travail," he writes, capturing the ache I carry. This passage speaks to me and my waiting. It has become a foundation for a ministry I created for moms like me called Grief Unashamed.
Grief Unashamed began as a small step in faith, a place to gather other bereaved moms living in this same tension. It's a Christ-centered community where grieving moms can share their stories, express their pain, and find understanding with others who've walked a similar path. On our Facebook page, we connect and encourage one another, reminding each other that "hope always means waiting for something we haven't yet gotten." 
This community has been a lifeline as I navigate my own journey of grief. I'm learning to live and wait simultaneously—persevere, rest, and work. I'm learning to bear the heaviness of sorrow and deferred hope while walking confidently in God's path. And when I'm worn down by the waiting, when the prospect of a lifetime of longing feels overwhelming, I find strength in the love and support of those who share this journey. They remind me of God's faithfulness, even in this wilderness of grief. In our waiting, we learn that we are not alone, that our hope is secure, and that God's promises stay, even in our pain.
