Scribed In Light

There’s an ache I carry…one I’ve never fully known how to explain.

It’s the ache of loving this world too deeply to ever feel okay with its pain. It’s the anguish of seeing devastation, sorrow, and injustice all around – from the earthquakes that shatter nations …to the children trafficked in silence…to the blind, the sick, the grieving, the lost – and feeling utterly powerless to stop it.

It’s an ache that comes from holding too much compassion…and not enough control.

A yearning to touch pain and make it disappear, but instead, standing beside it with hands that feel heartbreakingly empty.

My soul doesn’t want to watch people suffer. I want to step in. I want to Heal. I want a love that channels into a Rescue. I want to rewrite their story.

But more often than not, I’m left with only love – heavy, aching, desperate love- and the question: Is it enough?

I have prayed. Oh, how I have prayed – for children in my own family…for strangers I’ll never meet. I have begged God to intervene, to make miracles, to stop the bleeding. Sometimes miracles do come. But other times, the pain continues, and I am left holding the weight of a love that longs to heal – but can only kneel.

There have been miracles. There have been grace-filled moments. Their have been divine shifts I can’t explain. Yet, other times, prayer did not change the circumstances. It changed those involved…it changed me. It allowed presence over power…peace over reversal…and strength to stand within suffering – when I only wanted to lift it away.

If I’m going to be honest – that doesn’t always feel like enough. Maybe because healing is not always about the curing. Maybe it’s about showing up, and staying when the rest of the world walks away. Maybe its about being a sanctuary, when you cannot be a savior. Maybe it’s about writing light into someone else’s darkness, even when you still carry your own. Perhaps in this – we are not as powerless as we often feel. Maybe we are just healing in ways that cannot always be seen.

Somehow, this profound love still matters. Because while I cannot reverse blindness, I can be the sight for those who cannot see. While I cannot stop seizures, I can sit through the storm with those who suffer them. While I cannot rewrite the sorrow of a shattered city, I can weep with them – and somehow, in that weeping, they are no longer alone.

This is what I’m learning:

Love doesn’t always heal the body. It mends the spirit.

It doesn’t always fix the broken. It says, “You matter. I see you. I’m here.”

That, too, is holy…

When we love deeply, we become light-bearers… not miracle-makers. We become candles in the ruins. Flames of comfort, echoes of heaven – proof that not all is lost.

So tonight, to anyone carrying the weight of the world in the chest:

You are not powerless.

Your compassion is making a difference.

Your love is enough – even when it doesn’t feel like it.

I pray this truth finds you the way it’s finding me:

We may not stop every tragedy. But we can be the ones who never let love die in the middle of it – and that…that is a miracle in itself.

Perhaps we were never meant to fix everything. Perhaps we were meant to feel it anyway – to be moved, broken, and remade by love that refuses to numb itself. To walk into heartache, not with answers – but with arms wide open. Living proof that light doesn’t need to be loud to be lasting.

If your love ache’s tonight, take heart: it means you’re still alive to grace. In this hurting world, that matters more than we’ll ever know.

Princess Diana once shared, “I don’t go by the rule book…I lead from the heart, not the head.” That’s what this kind of ache really is, isn’t it? One that doesn’t always make sense. One that doesn’t always offer solutions… But always offers itself.

When the pain feels too big…When our love feels too small… We can remember the quiet wisdom of Mother Teresa: “Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love.”

So if all you can do is cry with someone, hold space, pray with trembling hands, or simply not look away – and remain present with them throughout their demise…

That is enough.

That is holy.

That is love…doing what it was always meant to do.

Tonight, I light a candle for every aching soul – for those who love with no power to fix, and for those suffering unseen. May our love be the balm. May our presence be the miracle.

Light, love, and grace,

Tina