From Struggle to Surrender - A Journey of Grace
Here we are, ten years later. We know that neither love nor the grief of losing a loved one is a destination in itself. They are part of a larger journey—two deeply connected parts of the human experience that reflect the depth of our love. One thing about the journey still surprises me, though: how can ten years feel like yesterday and forever with equal clarity?
In the spring of 2016, on Easter Sunday, I prayed a prayer from the absolute depths of my soul: “Please, God, show me Your heart.” What followed was two months of wrestling with God, and then the morning we lost our eighteen-year-old daughter, Kristen. I have told that story here in thirteen parts — the storm of His answer, the surrender that brought perfect peace, and the freedom of finally bringing the unspoken into the light. If you haven’t read it, that is where everything begins.
But this post isn’t about 2016. It’s about the ten years since.
Here’s the first thing a decade teaches you: surrender isn’t a one-time event. That morning when I committed Kristen into the Father’s hands — that was the beginning, not the finish line. The storm itself rages and recedes. But grief is a course you learn to navigate in the midst of the storm — a journey into the intimacy of the Father, into that perfect balance between the struggle and His grace. And “relinquishing our illusion of control” turned out to be an ongoing practice, not a single decision. Ten years of sunrises. Ten years of choosing trust over understanding. Ten years of choosing faith over sight!
“For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” (2 Corinthians 4:17–18)
The second thing is this: “In Christ, nothing is wasted.” That line closes our story, and ten years has been its proving ground. The two months I spent wrestling alone with God — the struggle I confined to my journal, the pages I thought no one would ever read — became the testimony you’re reading now. This site exists because a father’s private struggle became a public witness. God’s grace multiplies the moment it is shared, and I have watched Him multiply it for a decade.
We have always referred to it as the “Fingerprints of God” and the “Fingerprints of Grace.” These interactions with God’s grace leave a permanent impression on our lives and create a ripple for years, even decades, to come. Like the woman at the well’s encounter with Jesus, our encounter with Him has the power to change lives. Not because of who we are, but because we are shining the light on God’s grace and truth in Christ.
And the third thing, the one that still stops my breath: Kristen’s question still stands. On Easter 2016, weeks before she died, she sent Jesus’ words from John 11 to her best friend: “I am the resurrection and the life… Do you believe this?” Ten years later — tested by everything grief and the world could throw at it — my answer is the same one I gave in the midst of the struggle in 2016: “Yes.” Not a naive yes. But a weathered, hard-fought, settled “Yes!”
I won’t pretend the road has been light and easy. There are still hard days — the anniversaries, the milestones she should have had, the empty chair that never quite stops feeling empty. If you’re reading this from inside your own first year of grief or struggle, I want you to know: the hard days don’t mean the hope failed. Hope was never the absence of pain. Hope is an anchor held firmly by faith and trust in Jesus.
“We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.” (Hebrews 6:19)
Ten years ago, I asked God to show me His heart. He answered with a storm, led me through surrender, and taught me freedom. A decade later, I can tell you a little more about what His heart looks like for me: it looks like a Father who wastes nothing — not the wrestling, not the tears, not the waiting, not even death itself.
What has your long road taught you? I’d be honored to hear.
Father, for the one reading this in year one of grief: meet them in the storm. Teach them what I have spent a lifetime learning — that surrender is daily, that nothing is wasted, and that hope holds because it is anchored in Jesus. And for those still waiting on answers: show them Your heart. In Jesus’ name, amen.
Here I am ten years later… still walking in the the truth of my daughter’s (and my answer) to Jesus’ question to Martha in John 11: “I am the resurrection and the life… Do you believe this?”
Read our family’s full story in Because She Believed – A Story of Faith and Hope.
