Weary Exiles Found Hope in God's Tireless Strength

I just returned from a cruise with friends. We went to Honduras, Belize, and the Bahamas. It was wonderfully relaxing and warm and sunny most days. But when people ask me what my favorite part of being on a cruise is, I always tell them my favorite days are the “at sea” days, when we’re not portside anywhere. With no excursions planned, it’s simply a day at sea. I love them because I don’t have to make any plans; I don’t have to be anywhere, make any decisions, or really “do” anything. I can relax completely. I do spend some time with my friends, but I also enjoy some alone time… reading my Kindle or simply sitting on a quiet deck and looking out at the water.

On one of these days on this past cruise, I found a deck where no one was—at the back of the ship. I just stood there staring at the setting sun and the peaceful water. And it was some of the best, most intentional time I had with God in a while. No distractions. Just me and God. Those moments are special and sacred, but they can also be moments when a big bright light shines on what I’m anxious about, fearful about, weary of carrying. As I brought all of this to God, it was overwhelming. I looked at the ocean and felt completely and utterly insignificant. Not in an “I don’t matter” kind of way, but more in a “big picture” way. For as far as I could see, there was ocean and sky. Suddenly, the things that make me sad or afraid felt small. God, the creator of all I could physically see in front of me, reminded me that I am not responsible for keeping the world spinning. I don’t have to keep trying to manage my fears and frustrations, and even my dreams.

But before I could feel that peace, the fears had to surface.

At this stage of life, I let fears creep in—fears I don’t always name out loud. How many more days will I get to spend with my mom who is getting older? At the end of each visit, my heart aches leaving her. I find myself calculating: how many more Christmases, how many more phone calls, how many more times will I hear her voice?

I worry about being alone more. The fears and anxieties about who will be there for me when I’m old—since I don’t have a spouse or children—it’s actually terrifying to think of what that might look like. I try not to think about it most days, but in quiet moments like that one on the ship, the questions crowd in: Who will check on me? Who will care?

I worry about family and friends who are battling health issues when there’s nothing I can do to make it better. I feel powerless. I worry about doing a good job at work, making sure my skills are relevant and useful, but also that I’m doing my absolute best—that I and what I do matters.

All of these thoughts and fears came crashing in like some of the waves I was watching, and it suddenly felt so heavy. Wave after wave of what-ifs and worst-case scenarios. It would have been easy to turn away from that deck, to go find my friends, to distract myself with something lighter. But I stayed. I let the fears come. I named them. And I brought them to God. And in that moment, as I looked at the place where the sky meets the ocean, my fears met God’s love and peace.

God reminded me that I am never alone. The things I fear and worry about—each one of them is beyond my control. I can’t control any of those any more than I can control the wind and the waves. And when I try… when I think I don’t need God and my ego and pride take over, that’s when fear has the most power over me. That’s when I’m carrying weight I was never meant to carry.

But here’s what God whispered to my heart in that moment: I don’t have to have all the answers. I don’t have to figure out how my story ends. I don’t have to manage the unmanageable. All those fears—about my mom, about aging alone, about being enough—they’re real. God doesn’t dismiss them but does take them from my hands.

I much prefer the peace over worry. This cruise turned out to be more than just some much-needed time away… it turned out that I needed that time to let God speak to my heart. To remind me that He loves me and that all I have to do to experience the peace and joy that I’m desperately chasing is to lay it all down at His feet. I don’t have to carry it all. I just have to trust that what He says is true. I have to believe that… I have to trust God.

I wish I could tell you that in that moment all my fears vanished. They didn’t. I still don’t know how many more days I’ll have with my mom. I still don’t have answers about what aging alone will look like. The uncertainty hasn’t disappeared. Here’s what changed: I’m not carrying those fears alone anymore. Trusting God doesn’t mean I suddenly have a roadmap for the future or that the hard things won’t be hard. It means that when I wake up at 2 a.m., worried about my mom, I can pray instead of letting the worry take root. It means that when the fear of being alone feels crushing, I can remember that God sees me—really sees me—and I matter to Him. It means I can do my work with excellence and then release the outcomes, knowing my worth isn’t tied to my productivity. Trust doesn’t eliminate the questions. It just means I don’t have to answer them all by myself.

Standing on that deck, I was struck by the sheer beauty of it all. The sun painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, the water stretching endlessly in every direction, the vastness of what God created. It was breathtaking. And I realized: all of this beauty, power, and vastness—God holds it all together. The ocean doesn’t worry about the waves. The sky doesn’t fear the sunset. They simply exist, moment by moment, held by their Creator. And if God can hold all of this—create something this beautiful and keep it all in motion—then surely He can hold me. He can hold my fears about my mom, my worries about the future, my questions about being alone. Surely, He can hold you too, with whatever you’re carrying.

May you find your own back deck moment this month—whatever that looks like for you. May you have the courage to let your fears surface instead of stuffing them down. May you bring them to God, even when they feel too heavy to speak out loud. And may you know, in the deepest part of your soul, that you are held by a God who sees your fears, knows your name, and whispers “I’ve got you” over every wave that threatens to overwhelm. You were never meant to carry it alone. His peace is greater than your fear. And you are so, so loved.