13/07/2025
Hey Mama,
"When Forever Wasn't."
Just three words, but they hold the weight of shattered dreams, don't they? I've sat across from hurting women whose "forever" became "never was.” Or, what started seemingly so permanent was, in reality, temporal. It was the “happily ever after” balloon that popped - like a nuclear bomb. And my heart breaks with theirs.
Maybe you're reading this and your chest tightens because you know exactly what I mean. Possibly it was the marriage you thought would last till death do us part, but “death" came early in the form of papers served and custody battles. Perhaps it was the baby you prayed for, waited for, hoped for through years of empty arms, only to hold that precious life too few times before death came too soon. Just like that…gone. Maybe it was the home you and your husband built with your own hands, room by room, dream by dream, until the bank took the keys and your children had to pack their childhood into cardboard boxes.
Or, it was something else entirely. The child who grew up in your home, under your careful guidance, learning at your kitchen table, only to walk away from everything you taught them the moment they turned eighteen. The shock of it because you thought that ridiculous, hilarious, joy-filled relationship was impenetrable. But here you are…and they are not.
The ministry you poured your life into. Oh, the nights you stayed up, just ministering. Or the deep friendships you thought would weather any storm. Betrayal from within; this should not even be a thing. Or the health you took for granted until the doctor used words like "terminal" and "months.”
These "permanent" blessings, often taken for granted, are bestowed, then seized. A silent predator in the darkness, stealing what you held most sacred. Heart sick. Mind reeling. Soul seemingly gutted. But what did you expect?
This life was never meant to be your forever home. All of this - the whole elaborate stage, the props, and the subsequent dances - it's all temporary! This entire life? A wisp. A v***r. For the Christian, sanctification is taking place, and there will be trials. Oh, Mama, you know the trials intimately. You know them well. He gives and takes away. And the "forever-gifts" crumble to ash after all. That’s right; they were never permanent.
The brutal truth crystallizes in the hollow silence:
This world is not your home.
Here's the anchor that sits heavy in my chest as I type this: We build our lives around things we call permanent, but they're not. They're not permanent at all. They're borrowed. They're gifts. They're here for a season, and we don't get to choose how long that season lasts.
"For all flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass. The grass withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away: But the word of the Lord endureth for ever" (1 Peter 1:24-25).
Everything we can touch, everything we can see, everything we hold dear - it's grass. Beautiful, yes. Soft to the touch! Meaningful, absolutely. But temporary. Desperately, heartbreakingly temporary.
But here's what I want you to hear through your tears, Mama: There is One that never wasn't. One Constant that cannot be taken, cannot fail, cannot disappoint. Sear the following reality into your very heart, mind, and soul:
"Jesus Christ the same yesterday, and to day, and for ever" (Hebrews 13:8). When your forever crumbles, He remains. When your permanent proves temporary, He endures.
This doesn't make the pain less real. Grief is not lack of faith - it's love with nowhere to go. But it does mean that when everything you thought was solid turns to sand, there's still bedrock beneath your feet, but only because of the One who makes you stand.
"And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose" (Romans 8:28). Even this. Even the loss that feels like it might kill you. Even the forever that wasn't. He is weaving it into something beautiful, even when you can't see the pattern through your tears.
God is sovereign, Mama. He is the Path-Creator, and sometimes the path leads through valleys so dark you can't see your own hand in front of your face. But He goes before you, and He has never once lost His way. Not once, and you know this.
So, what do we do with this knowledge? Do we love less because we might lose more? Do we hold our gifts with loose hands because they might slip away?
No. We love harder. We hold tighter. We look at what we have right now - right this very minute - with new eyes.
That husband sitting across from you? Stop. Slow down. Really look at him. See the man God gave you, the one He's been shaping and sanctifying all these years. Look at his hands - the ones that have worked to provide, that have held you when you cried, that have blessed your children. Look at his face and remember who he was when you first fell in love, and marvel at who God has made him today. This man, and for me, that is Paul Suarez, love of my life, with all his quirks and flaws and beautiful imperfections. Your man is not promised to you beyond this moment. Treasure him. Thank God for him. Right now, today.
And those children around your home? Oh, Mama, slow down. When the little ones climb into your lap, don't think about the list of to-dos waiting or the beans that have been soaking for too long. Stop rushing through bedtime stories and truly hear their little voices. Feel their warm weight against you when they snuggle close. Know - really know - that this moment will never come again. Those chubby hands and gap-toothed grins? They're already fading. These endless questions and silly songs and sticky kisses - they're fading even as you live them.
And those teenagers who still plop themselves down on your laundry basket in your bedroom to talk? Treasure those unexpected moments when they sprawl across your bed to tell you about their day. Those gangly limbs and deeper voices? They're changing too. These late-night conversations and shared jokes - they won't last forever either.
Soak it in. Breathe them in. Don't miss them because you're too busy to notice.
Look into their eyes tomorrow morning and whisper in your heart, "This is not promised, but oh, what a gift for today." That ministry opportunity? That friendship? That home you're making together? None of it is guaranteed beyond this breath you're taking, but that's precisely what makes it sacred. What makes every single moment matter.
And these children you're teaching, Mama - whether they're your own or others you've welcomed into your heart - each one is so incredibly special. Nothing about their presence in your life is promised. Tomorrow is not guaranteed. But today? Today they're yours to love, to guide, to disciple. Today, you get to be the voice they'll hear in their heads when they're grown. Today, you get to plant seeds that will bloom long after you're gone.
Look into their eyes and see what I see: not just children, but gifts. Not just friends, but faithful rewards. Not just a husband, but this dark world's greatest sanctuary.
Temporary gifts, yes, but gifts nonetheless. And what will you do with these children God has loaned you? How will you steward these souls that have been placed in your arms for however long the Lord allows?
Love them fiercely. Relate to them faithfully. Point them always to the One who never changes, never fails, never wasn't. Because when their own "forever" moments prove temporary, they'll need to know about the God who is permanent.
Your heart may be broken, dear one. Your dreams may be scattered like ashes. But you are not forgotten, not abandoned, not alone. He sees every tear, knows every loss, holds every shattered piece of your heart.
"Now no chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous: nevertheless afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them which are exercised thereby" (Hebrews 12:11).
This trial, this loss, this “forever" that, in reality, wasn't - it feels grievous now, doesn't it? But he is fashioning something in you through this pain, something beautiful and righteous that couldn't grow any other way.
And somehow, in ways we won't understand until we see Him face to face, He's making what’s broken beautiful from all of it.
One day, we'll cross the threshold into home, our real home, and everything we've carried will shift. No more seasons of loss threading through gain. No more enduring. No more "He gives and takes away."
Just this: "He gives."
Hallelujah to the King of Kings and Lord of Lords! Our Great God and Savior, Jesus Christ: He gives! He lives! We are His!
The whole story gets a new name then: When Forever Is.
Until then, Mama, you love the Lord. His hand is on your head. Always. Because He loves you. -gena ❤
