There are some blog posts that are easy to write.
This is not one of them.
As I sit down to write these words, my heart is heavy. Two weeks ago, my 33-year-old niece entered the hospital once again. She had been fighting Pulmonary Arterial Hypertension (PAH) since 2024, and over the past two years she had endured more than most people experience in a lifetime. Hospital stays became familiar. Medications multiplied. Oxygen became necessary. At one point doctors implanted a device to help keep her alive.
Yet she kept fighting.
Recently her condition worsened. Doctors exhausted every treatment available. A PIC line was placed to monitor and control her blood pressure. Her kidneys began to fail, requiring dialysis. Despite every effort, her body continued to shut down.
Today, with clarity and courage, she made the difficult decision to stop dialysis and allow the natural process of dying to begin.
As a pastor, I have listened and prayed with families during moments like these. As a family member, however, this feels different. This is personal. This is someone I have known, loved, prayed for, and watched struggle through circumstances she never asked for.
And like many of you who have faced similar moments, I find myself asking questions.
Why would God allow someone so young to suffer?
Why would He permit a difficult life to end this way?
Why do some prayers seem to receive answers we celebrate while others receive answers that break our hearts?
The truth is, I do not have all those answers.
But I do know this: God has never asked us to understand everything. He has asked us to trust Him.
Isaiah 55:8-9 reminds us:
“For My thoughts are not your thoughts, Nor are your ways My ways,” says the Lord. “For as the heavens are higher than the earth, So are My ways higher than your ways, And My thoughts than your thoughts.” (NKJV)
There are moments when faith means standing confidently because we see exactly what God is doing.
Then there are moments when faith means standing because we cannot see what God is doing.
This is one of those moments.
We often speak of God’s sovereignty when life is going well. We celebrate His blessings, His provision, and His guidance. Yet His sovereignty is no less real in the hospital room than it is in the sanctuary.
Psalm 115:3 says:
“But our God is in heaven; He does whatever He pleases.”
That verse can sound unsettling until we remember who God is. The One who rules over all things is not cruel. He is not indifferent. He is not distant.
He is the God who loved us enough to send His Son to die for us.
He is the God who collects our tears.
He is the God who draws near to the brokenhearted.
Psalm 34:18 says:
“The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart And saves such as have a contrite spirit.”
Today, our family is experiencing that truth firsthand.
One of the greatest comforts in all of this is knowing that my niece knows Jesus Christ as her Savior.
That does not remove the pain.
It does not stop the tears.
It does not make saying goodbye easy.
But it changes everything about what comes next.
The Apostle Paul wrote:
“For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain.” (Philippians 1:21)
The world hears that and struggles to understand it.
How can death be gain?
Because for the believer, death is not the end of the story.
It is the beginning of something far greater.
No more hospital rooms.
No more oxygen.
No more medications.
No more dialysis.
No more monitors beeping through the night.
No more pain.
No more fear.
No more struggling for another breath.
Instead, there is the presence of Christ.
Revelation 21:4 gives us a glimpse of that future:
“And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.”
I have thought about that verse many times over the last several days.
For those of us who remain, we grieve.
For her, the struggle is ending.
For her, faith is becoming sight.
For her, the promises she trusted throughout her life are about to become reality.
That truth does not erase our sorrow, but it anchors it.
Paul wrote in 1 Thessalonians 4:13 that believers do not grieve “as others who have no hope.”
Notice he did not say believers do not grieve.
We do.
Jesus Himself wept at the tomb of Lazarus.
Christian grief is real grief.
But it is grief accompanied by hope.
Hope that death does not win.
Hope that Christ has conquered the grave.
Hope that one day there will be a reunion for all who belong to Him.
As I think about my niece today, I am reminded that some of God’s greatest works are accomplished in ways we would never choose for ourselves.
I would have chosen healing.
I would have chosen many more years.
I would have chosen a different ending.
Yet God’s wisdom exceeds mine, and His purposes extend far beyond what I can see today.
So we trust Him.
Not because we understand everything.
Not because we like everything.
Not because our hearts are not hurting.
We trust Him because He has proven Himself faithful.
We trust Him because His character never changes.
We trust Him because the same God who walks with us through the valley is the God waiting at the other side.
If you are reading this while walking through your own season of loss, uncertainty, or unanswered questions, let me encourage you with this simple truth:
God has not abandoned you.
He is still present.
He is still good.
He is still sovereign.
And He is still worthy of your trust.
Today my family says goodbye to a beloved young woman whose journey has been far too difficult and far too short from our perspective.
But heaven sees things differently.
For those who know Christ, goodbye is never forever.
It is simply “until we meet again.”
And because of Jesus, we have every reason to believe that day is coming.
Stay rooted,
Pastor David
“As you therefore have received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in Him, rooted and built up in Him and established in the faith…” — Colossians 2:6-7