One of the greatest comforts we have as believers is knowing that God never wastes our pain. The hardships we endure are not meaningless. The betrayal, heartbreak, loss, disappointment, and suffering we have experienced can become testimonies of God’s grace and redemption.

The holiday season is often wrapped in twinkling lights, cheerful music, and endless reminders to be merry. But beneath the sparkle, many hearts carry something deeper—grief, disappointment, longing, or loneliness. While the world tells us to choose joy, I’ve learned that sometimes, the most honest place we can stand during the holiday season is holding both joy and sorrow in the same hands.

Patience is a sacred surrender. Fall and winter are my favorite seasons of the year… nature’s invitation to slow down. But for caregivers, this quiet can feel more like uncertainty than rest. So much of caregiving is waiting for answers, for healing, for next steps we cannot see.

When I stopped chasing “perfect” holidays and leaned into the relentless love of Jesus, everything shifted. I realized I didn’t need to manufacture magical moments—I simply needed to abide in the One who is the source of joy and peace.

“Just rest in the Lord,” my best friend mumbled into her coffee cup as she scooted out of her chair to leave the cafe. I had just confided in her about a situation at work that was worrying me. It felt good to vent to a trusted friend, and as I gathered my belongings to follow her out, I felt better cathartically, superficially, but did I really feel better?

Many of us even heard those pointed words growing up: “Shame on you,” accompanied by a wagging finger. Raised to be a good, obedient, nice girl, you re-double your efforts, especially with God, to silence the shame.

For so many years, I tried to manage a life of constant busyness. My pace was rush, rush, rush — day in and day out. It felt like all I did was shuffle my kids around, toting them to-and-from private school, a 25-minute commute each way. For several years, when they were on different schedules, I drove this path back-and-forth several times a day. Five years of this wore me down.

These in-between seasons can be difficult—the ones that fall between hope and heartbreak, between praying and receiving, between holding on and letting go. You’re no longer where you were, but not yet where you hoped to be. And your heart feels caught somewhere between striving and surrender. This is where I’ve been lately. Maybe you can relate.