Stop tallying who didn’t show up

How many silent battles did I fight with saltwater in my lungs, smiles painted over suffocating gasps? How many times did I whisper, “I’m okay,” when my soul was thrashing just beneath the surface, praying someone would look close enough to see the desperation in my eyes?

But they didn’t.

And maybe they couldn’t.

Maybe it was never theirs to notice.

Because You did.

God, You did.

When I was sinking in the depths of grief that no words could reach,

when the betrayal cut so deep I forgot how to breathe,

when the prayers felt like echoes against hollow walls,

You were there — beneath me, around me, inside me.

You were the unseen hands that kept my head above water when I was sure I’d slip under for good.

You held me up in currents meant to sweep me away.

You anchored me when I was certain I’d drift forever.

You whispered life into these lungs when all I inhaled was sorrow.

I see it now, how Your mercy was the quiet current that carried me

even when I accused You of absence.

How Your faithfulness clothed me in invisible life jackets no one else could fasten around my weary chest.

How You kept me afloat when no one else even noticed I was drowning.

I am moved by this relentless love.

I am undone by the thought that while I was busy tallying who didn’t show up,

who didn’t call,

who didn’t see,

You were busy saving me.

So let this awaken something holy in me.

Let it stir a gratitude too deep for shallow praise.

Let it challenge me to trust You more fiercely than my fears.

To remember that though the waters rise,

and though people fail me,

and though I often stand unseen by human eyes —I am never out of Your sight.

Never beyond Your reach.

Never too heavy for Your arms to lift.

Never too far gone for Your breath to revive.

I let it heal me.

I let it change me.

I let it remind me —

I was never really drowning.

I was being held.