Remembering: A Stone of God’s Faithfulness

Not long ago we observed Remembrance Day here in Canada, and a few days later I experienced a different kind of remembering.

It began like any ordinary morning: I was wrapped in a cozy blanket in my living room recliner with a cup of coffee in hand and my red iPad on my lap. Half-asleep, I scrolled through social media and slipped over to one of my favorite blogs.

As I read a post from a longtime blogging friend, I found myself unexpectedly wiping away tears that wouldn’t stop. Karianne had finally written the post I’d been anticipating. In her gentle, descriptive way she prepared her many readers for leaving the Kentucky home she’d lovingly created—and moving to Texas.

Her last walk through that familiar house was written with such vivid detail that I felt like I was walking beside her. The writing pulled up memories of my own farewell to a house I’d poured my heart into.

That goodbye was more than leaving painted walls and open kitchen shelves. It marked one of the most difficult seasons of my life—a time of confusion, uncertainty, and fear. My world had been flipped upside down and panic attacks became an almost weekly, sometimes daily, companion. Nights were long and sleepless as my husband patiently walked me through racing heartbeats, numb arms, shallow breathing, and irrational thoughts.

I was beyond scared. I was terrified.

Many readers who have reached out shared similar experiences; a few brave friends told me their stories. I couldn’t imagine what life would be like beyond the familiar boundaries where we’d lived for two decades.

Still, the day I walked out of that old house for the last time, saying goodbye felt like a relief. It was, in every sense, a miracle. We were stepping into a large, unknown world, but I felt ready to take that step.

Fast forward to a few nights ago: our weekly Bible study group discussed passages from Joshua where the Israelites crossed the Jordan and entered the promised land. We imagined the priests standing on the dry riverbank, tired from holding up the heavy ark, and then we came to the stones of remembrance.

God told Joshua to have men collect stones from the riverbed and set up a monument so future generations could look at those stones and remember what God had done.

Remember. It’s a word that appears often in Scripture for good reason. Remembering matters.

For me, remembering still brings a sharp ache—yet alongside that pain comes the comforting memory of God’s faithfulness during the darkest days. I remember the few faithful friends who prayed, called, visited, and gave sacrificially to make me feel loved. Not everyone will walk with you through the valley; I’m grateful for those who did.

I remember sitting on a bench overlooking the ocean on my birthday and struggling with a thought of ending my own life. In that bleak moment, God nudged my heart and cleared my confused mind. He reminded me that I was not alone. I remember that, too.

I learned ways to calm the foggy, panicked brain. Simplicity helped most: I repeated two truths learned as a child—“Jesus loves me” and “He is with me.” Those truths comforted and steadied me.

Mostly, I remember feeling deeply loved and cherished by God. His presence never failed; He kept whispering, “I’ve got this,” and He truly did. As we took each day one small step at a time, He cleared the fog and showed us the way forward. He provided jobs. He gave us a restful “in-between” rental house where we could regroup. And in time, He provided a sweet little townhouse for our family to call home.

He wiped away tears I thought would never stop. While sitting in a friend’s comfortable living room the other night, I suddenly remembered something I hadn’t thought about in a while: my very own stone of remembrance.

The stone sits outside our front door, and I pass it every time I go in or out. It was a gift from a kind woman who probably didn’t know the full depth of my pain when she gave it, but she knew our life was changing and she cared. I don’t remember her exact words, only the spirit of encouragement: that God had a special plan for me, and something beautiful lay ahead. And now we see that there truly was something beautiful ahead.

God has guided our steps and provided for us—just as He did for the Israelites who crossed the dry riverbed. They lived a miracle that day and set up stones to remember it. He is still in the business of miracles, and I remember.

Remembering strengthens me for the todays and tomorrows of life. Recalling God’s faithfulness in the darkest times gives me courage to step forward with Him, confident that He will provide what I need to do what He asks.

As I photographed our living and dining room Christmas décor, these memories and reflections simmered in my mind. It felt natural to stitch them together because Christmas is the time we celebrate Jesus coming to be with us. May you experience His comforting presence—not only at Christmas but throughout the year.

To anyone walking through their own darkest season: you are loved, and you are not alone. Hold on to Him.