Isaiah 43:1–2 came to mind recently — a beautiful promise, yet one that comes wrapped in imagery few of us would ever choose: deep waters, raging rivers, and consuming fire. It is often seen as a comforting passage, but no one longs to be in the circumstances that make those words relevant. It’s not about avoiding the waters or fires — it’s about being preserved through them.

Twelve years ago, I walked through a valley I never wanted to know — the loss of my beloved husband. For me, it felt more like walking through the shadow of death than through fire or flood. And yet, God carried me.

Though this particular passage wasn’t the verse He gave me during that time, its truth still rings deeply today. I believe He brought it to mind now to remind me — and maybe to remind you too — that He was there. That His loving presence never left. That even in the darkest valleys or fiercest storms, His grace held us steady.

But more than that — I sense He’s also applauding us. Yes, applauding.

Not because we were perfect, but because we made it through. We grew. We healed. We kept walking, even when we didn’t feel like it. And God, in His tenderness, not only carried us but shaped us in the process.

To all who’ve walked through the fire or water: you are not alone. And you are not forgotten.

Your scars are not signs of weakness, but of survival. Your life is a testimony not just to pain — but to God’s sustaining love, and the quiet, unseen victory of pressing on.