Grace In The Grief ~ revised.

Originally written and posted in March 2024.

February 12 still echoes in my bones. Three years ago, that date marked the end of a relationship I once thought would last forever. The first anniversary tasted bitter—like something sacred had been torn away. But the second year? It was then that I saw the grace in the grief.

That morning, I lay on my bedroom floor and was transported, not physically, but soul-deep, back to a dorm room in North Carolina. Back to that night.

My body remembered before my heart did.

The ache came first. Then the flood of memories. Then finally, the tears. Not from the 20-year-old woman I was, but from the not quite 18-year-old girl I used to be. The one who had been too strong, too quiet, for far too long.

I remembered the exact moment it happened. His voice. His words. My dreams collapsing in real-time.

“I’m not arguing with myself. I’m arguing with God. He says 'you have to end this'.”

“Us?!”

“Yes.”

Just like that. Everything we had built for three years—memories, promises, plans—burned away in an instant.

And I still tried to cling to it. I still tried to convince God to let me keep what I wanted. Even after that moment, I chased what had already crumbled. I manipulated. I said “I love you” not as a gift, but as a strategy. I got on my knees and begged—not for God’s will, but for mine.

When it ended for good, I let grief harden into bitterness. I ran to someone else, someone I shouldn’t have. That relationship broke me more deeply than the first. I was still trying to self-heal, to self-direct, to take control of what only God could redeem.

But the night it ended was the night I also called out to God with no pretense, no plans. Just wreckage. Just me, shattered and unsure, finally giving Him the pieces. I let Him hold me, and in that brief window of surrender, I was exactly where I needed to be.

I didn’t stay there. I got up the next morning and went right back to chasing my own way. It would take another heartbreak, a full year later, before I finally stopped running.

But looking back now, I see it clearly: He never stopped chasing me.

God's voice didn’t leave when I ignored it. His grace didn’t withdraw when I resisted it. He kept whispering. He kept waiting.

Now on February 12, I don't just remember the breakup. I remember the mercy. The way He knelt beside me in my dorm room. The way He stayed—even when I didn’t.

I begged Him to restore the relationship. His answer was no.

But hidden in that “no” was a much better yes. A yes to healing. A yes to growth. A yes to someone new, someone who knows and cherishes me, someone who walks beside me in faith and love, someone I never saw coming. But God saw him.

He always did. Because God's "no" meant that one day I could say "yes". And soon, "I do". 

Back then, while I was sobbing on a dorm room floor, my future husband was making choices hundreds of miles away—decisions that would one day lead him to me. I didn’t know it. But God did. And now I can say it with confidence: I wouldn’t change a thing. Not for the world. If I had to go through it all again to make it here, I would do it gladly. 

Maybe February 12 will always be a little bittersweet. But it’s not just a day of heartbreak anymore. It’s a marker of God’s faithfulness. A reminder that even when I let go of Him, He never let go of me.

While it's not the outcome I wanted back then, I will forever be grateful to my ex for walking away - he gave me the freedom to find God's will for me. To find the man I was supposed to marry. To find myself. I pray he has found where he is supposed to be in life, also. 

If you're in a season of loss, I hope you know this: In case anyone told you otherwise, it's okay to grieve. What's more, Jesus doesn’t leave. Even when everything and everyone else seems to. He’s still the first one to show up, and the last one standing. He will hold and heal and put your life back together when it feels broken beyond repair. It may not be the healing you wanted or asked for, but it's healing, regardless. Deep, full healing that goes far beyond what you think you want or need. 

Years later, I can say it now without hesitation:

Jesus was there. Always has been. Always will be. And by His grace, I’m okay.

No…I’m way more than okay.