Where Memory and Mercy Meet

Tonight, I was caught in the quiet pull of old photographs, each one a window to a world that felt softer, lighter. I lingered in the hush of memory—bare feet on sun-warmed pavement, sticky fingers clutching melting popsicles, laughter rising like fireflies into a dusk that never hurried. The days before my family knew the heavy grief of suffering through the progression of a fatal illness.

Grief has a way of sharpening our memories. It turns the past into a soft-lit place where pain had not yet knocked at the door. And tonight, I felt that ache—the ache of before.

But as I sat there, surrounded by memories frozen in time, the Lord gently reminded me: He was with us then, and He is with us now.

Hebrews 13:8 says, “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” While everything around me has changed, He has not. The God who gave us the joy of long summer days and laughter echoing down the hallway is the same God holding us steady in the storm of uncertainty. He does not abandon us in our sorrow; He walks with us through it.

And so, while my heart longs for what once was, I’m learning to give thanks for the beauty that still is. Even in the midst of heartache, there are glimpses of grace—quiet moments of strength I know I didn’t conjure on my own. There’s peace that surpasses understanding, not because life is easy, but because Jesus is near.

These old pictures remind me not just of the sweetness of the past but also of God’s faithfulness throughout the years. I don’t know what tomorrow holds, but I know the One who holds tomorrow—and He is good.

So I’ll hold onto that. I’ll grieve, I’ll remember, and I’ll trust. Because our story isn’t just framed in photographs—it’s being written by a God who redeems, restores, and never lets go.