As I look at our world today, I see brokenness, sin, and darkness increasing. And honestly, it’s hard to watch. It wears on the soul. Having said that, I shouldn’t be surprised. Didn’t Jesus say that at the end of the age, it would be like the days of Noah—when wickedness was widespread, and hearts were far from God?
Even knowing that, it’s easy to become unsettled by the things happening right before our eyes. Things right in front of us can feel so heavy that we can lose sight of eternity. We can begin to forget what is true and what is lasting. The chaos around us can become louder than the quiet voice of hope inside us.
Jesus never hid the hard truth from us. He did say, “In this world you will have trouble.” He was right, and when that trouble becomes personal—a job loss, a debilitating illness, children caught up in the desires of this world, a broken marriage—it can be hard to see
anything beyond the pain. It can be hard to think about anything other than surviving those moments, and it feels nearly impossible to think about eternity, let alone keep our eyes fixed on it.
So how do we rise above? How do we keep our eyes on Jesus and eternity despite our circumstances or the condition of our world?
Everything I had been taught about “keeping an eternal perspective” or “keeping my eyes on Jesus” felt impossible to live out when I was in the thick of it, and that is my raw honesty. I was in the middle of physical pain that was so intense it felt like my body and my mind was breaking under the weight of it-like every breath was consumed by a pain that went beyond a 10 on the pain scale doctors use. First blood tests, then a CAT scan, then wait for results, all the while the pain was excruciating.
Once the doctor (s) finally had results, I was told I needed a tube that would be put up through my nose, down my throat, and into my stomach. Seriously? How does that even work? I was naïve and willing to do ANYTHING to make the pain STOP, until I had one
nurse in front of me with the tube and a second nurse holding my head in a vise grip because they said I was going to jerk my head, it was a natural reaction. Once they started, it only took a minute, but the only thought I had was, Jesus, PLEASE take me home. It was beyond awful, and that’s all I’m going to say about that, just in case anyone reading this is faced with the same procedure one day.
I was completely helpless and at the mercy of those trying to help me. During this crisis, I could not begin to think of eternity—let alone focus on it. I was exhausted, overwhelmed, and unable to lift my eyes, let alone my thoughts, to anything beyond the moment I was stuck in.
I couldn’t cry out to God, and by then, I couldn’t even cry. Then the enemy started to creep in. “What kind of a Christian are you? You can’t even pray right now”. “Where is your faith now? How can you ever be a witness again? Look at you, you’re a mess.” On and on it went until very unexpectantly a peace filled my soul. I didn’t ask for it (I couldn’t), and I was pretty sure I didn’t deserve it. God just showed up.
The answer I found wasn’t about me or even in me—about what I could or couldn’t do on my own. It wasn’t a matter of finding the strength within myself, because in those moments, I simply didn’t have it. Instead, the answer came through the peace that flooded me like a quiet river, and at that moment, I know I met God. Not face to face, but heart to heart. His heart, His love, was reaching out to me in one of my darkest moments. I didn’t have to do anything; it was His immeasurable love that came to my rescue. My next thought was that someone has to be praying for me. And I was right. What I didn’t know then was that behind the scenes, my friends and family were storming heaven on my behalf. They were crying, interceding, and carrying me in prayer when I couldn’t carry myself.
In those moments when I felt so weak and alone, God was surrounding me with their love. They held me up when I was ready to fall apart, reminding me that I was not alone. Their prayers surrounded me like a shield, even when I couldn’t pray a single word. Their quiet faith gave me hope when my own was barely a flicker. Their love and prayers weren’t just kind words or empty gestures; it was a tangible, living presence that carried me when I couldn’t carry myself. And in their voices, their messages, their presence—I saw the face of Jesus. He met me through them. I felt held, even in the hardest moments, not just by people, but by Him working through them. I share all of this to say: who you surround yourself with matters, who you’re connected to matters.
We were created for relationships for a reason. Deep within the design of every human heart is the desire to know and be known, to love and be loved. This isn’t accidental—it’s intentional. From the very beginning, God did not design us to walk through life alone, but to thrive in connection.
First and most importantly, we were created to have a deep, abiding relationship with Jesus. He is not a distant deity or an abstract idea, but a living Savior who longs for intimate fellowship with us. Our souls were made to respond to His love, to rest in His presence, and to find our identity in who He says we are. In Him, we find peace that isn’t shaken by circumstance, love that doesn’t falter when we fail, and purpose that exceeds the chaos of this world. Life begins, and is sustained, by this connection with Christ—He is the source of our strength, our hope, our peace, and our joy.
But God also created us for a relationship with others. Not just casual acquaintances, but deep, meaningful friendships—relationships that reflect His love and truth. We need people in our lives who will stand beside us in the battle, who will remind us of who we are when we forget. Who will pray for us when we’re too weary to pray for ourselves. True friends don’t just offer company; they offer strength, accountability, and grace. They speak truth when we’re tempted to believe lies. They rejoice with us in victories and sit with us in silence during pain. And sometimes, they carry us when we can’t take another step.
Together—with Jesus and with one another—we walk the road of life not as isolated individuals, but as a community of faith, bound by love and purpose. We were never meant to go it alone. Relationship is the rhythm we were created to live in.
So today, if you’re weary—if you feel like you’re running on empty, barely holding it together—know this: you don’t have to do it alone. You were never meant to. Whatever you’re facing, whatever weight you’re carrying, Jesus is right there with you. He sees your exhaustion. He knows your pain. He knows your silent prayers, your unspoken struggles, and the moments when you feel like giving up. And He’s not asking you to be strong enough on your own—He’s inviting you to lean on Him and let others come alongside you too.
And if you happen to be in a stronger place today—if you’re feeling steady, hopeful, maybe even thriving—don’t just keep that strength to yourself. Look around. Ask God to show you someone who might be silently struggling, someone who needs encouragement, prayer, or just a reminder that they’re not forgotten. We all take turns being the weary one and the one who helps carry the load. That’s the beauty of
community.
Because the truth is, life was never meant to be lived apart from Jesus—or apart from His body, the Church. We need both. We need the presence of Jesus in every step we take, and we need each other to make it through the highs and lows. No one has to have it all together. And by the way, NO ONE has it ALL together ALL the time.
So no matter where you are right now, on a mountain or valley, we were created to walk together—with Jesus at the center, and with people who remind us of His love when we forget.
