Finding Grace in the Ordinary: How Gratitude Heals a Hurting Heart
There was a season of my life when the noise of the world felt unbearable. The ache of loss had stripped away all the color, all the rhythm. I remember waking up and feeling the weight of another day — one I didn’t ask for, one I wasn’t sure how to live.
But somewhere between the chaos of grief and the quiet of surrender, I began to notice something sacred: the small, ordinary moments were saving me.
It wasn’t the big, sweeping miracles or grand revelations that carried me forward — it was the little things.
The way my daughter’s laughter broke through the heaviness.
The warmth of coffee on the porch swing in the early morning light.
The steady whisper of a prayer when words wouldn’t come.
Those moments were simple. Unremarkable, even. But in them, I could feel God’s gentle reminder: I’m still here. You’re still here. And that’s enough for today.
The Quiet Work of Gratitude
Gratitude didn’t come naturally in the beginning. It felt forced, even unfair — how could I give thanks when so much had been taken? But the more I practiced it, the more I realized gratitude isn’t about pretending everything’s okay. It’s about seeing God in the midst of what’s not.
When I started naming small blessings — the warmth of sunlight through the kitchen window, the sound of rain on the roof, the kindness of a friend who checked in — something inside me began to shift. Gratitude softened the edges of my grief. It didn’t erase the pain, but it made space for peace to live beside it.
Gratitude became my quiet rebellion against despair.
It said, “This hurts, but there is still beauty here.”
And that truth changed everything.
The Miracle in the Everyday
I think sometimes we wait for God to show up in thunderclaps and breakthroughs — but more often than not, He comes to us in whispers. In the steady hum of daily life.
He’s in the giggles over pancakes.
In the slow walks after dinner.
In the stillness of a porch swing and the rustle of Kansas wind through the trees.
The miracle isn’t always in the big moments — it’s in the ordinary. The breath. The sunrise. The heartbeat that reminds you: you’re still here, and there’s still more to live for.
Grace in the Right Now
If you’re in a season of heartache, I want to remind you — you don’t have to wait for everything to make sense before you start noticing the good again.
Grace is already woven into your every day.
It’s not waiting at the end of your healing; it’s right here, in the middle of it.
Let the ordinary remind you that God is still writing your story — quietly, faithfully, beautifully.
And maybe that’s what healing really looks like: learning to find grace right where you are.
