You Deliver Me

There are moments when the weight of the world feels too much to carry — when the days are long, the nights feel hollow, and every breath comes with the ache of uncertainty. In those moments, I remember this truth:

Love doesn’t always shout.
Sometimes, it simply shows up.

Deep as the ocean, bright as rain,
this emotion — this force — lifts me beyond the noise of fear and into something softer, steadier. It has carried me over terrain I never thought I could cross, into places of healing I never dared to imagine.

It has been my shelter in the storm and my wings when I’ve forgotten how to fly.
It’s not always loud or obvious.
But it is always there — quiet as prayer, strong as tide.

Grace, unexpected and undeserved, found me in my breaking. It showed me that surrender is not the same as giving up, and that being carried is not weakness, but a kind of divine trust — the kind that says, even here, even now, I am not alone.

When the path twists into shadow,
When I say, “I can’t,”
You say, “You don’t have to.”

You deliver me.

Not always out of the valley, but through it —
Step by trembling step,
Breath by borrowed breath.

And somehow, despite the pain, there is beauty.
In the tears that teach, in the love that lifts, in the quiet knowing that we are held.

So when the road is long and the map runs out,
I close my eyes and remember:
You are the grace that finds me.
You are the light that guides me.
You are the love that delivers me.

Every time.