The holidays arrive with lights, music, and tables set for family, yet for many, they also arrive carrying absence. Tragedy does not check the calendar. I read recently about a young woman killed in a car crash just after Thanksgiving. Her husband had died four years earlier. Their daughter was three, and now left without a mother or father. Those stories land harder in December. They echo my own.

My brother was taken in a terrible crash in 1965, a loss that never fully loosens its grip. My father, whose birthday fell on Christmas Eve, died unexpectedly in early December of 1989. For many families, the season is pierced by memories of loved ones taken far too soon, and the joy comes braided with ache.

When grief hits, it rarely comes with tidy explanations. Questions fall like pouring rain. How could a good God allow this? Why now? Why them? Houses fill with tear-stained eyes, and even the kindest voices struggle to find words that help. In those moments, faith is not polished or public. It slips away, kneels alone, and breathes out honest pain.

That is where belief often lives, not as certainty, but as resolve. “I didn’t understand, but I still believed.” Belief sounds like falling to your knees and crying out, “God, how could this be?” It sounds like silence stretching long enough for a whisper to be heard, quiet but steady from the Lord’s lips to your heart, “You can still trust in Me.”

Loss also leaves so much unfinished. There is more love to give, more laughter that should have happened, more words that never found their way into the room. During holiday gatherings, we feel those gaps sharply. We hold pieces of what used to be and wonder how to keep going when the weight will not lift. Yet grief does not cancel love. It proves it. The ache is the evidence that something mattered deeply, that a life intersected ours in a way that changed us. In that sense, mourning is not a weakness. It is the cost of loving well, and the cost is high because the gift was real. Herein is the encouragement worth carrying into the season.

While their lives were not perfect, none of ours are. While our time with them was not perfect, love is. The love in your heart for them is complete, and nothing can take that from you. Their memory lives on through the gentler words you now choose, the truth you still stand for, and the grace you extend because of what you learned from them. Hope abides, even here.

One day, we will see them again. Until then, when your world goes dark and your heart struggles to breathe, fall to your knees if you must. Listen for the whisper in the silence. You may not understand, but you can still believe.

Psalm 34:18 says, “The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, and saves such as have a contrite spirit.”

Lean into that faith and carry the flame of the gift of eternal life from our Savior who brings this Joy and Goodness.

Posted in The Daily Jot

Vayeshev (And He Dwelt) – Genesis 37:1-40:23 – focuses on Joseph, the son whose life will set the stage for an entire nation. Joseph receives the famous tunic from his father, shares dreams that hint at a future rise, and sparks jealousy among his brothers. Their resentment leads them to sell him into slavery in Egypt while telling Jacob that his beloved son is dead. Jacob’s grief is bottomless.

Meanwhile, in Egypt, Joseph rises in Potiphar’s household, only to be thrown into prison after false accusations from Potiphar’s wife. Even there, Joseph is elevated, interpreting the dreams of Pharaoh’s baker and cupbearer, which come to pass, though he remains confined for a time.

When we read Torah narratives, we’re reminded that these stories look forward as much as backward. They’re not simply ancient history but prophetic markers for future generations.

Joseph’s life stands out as a master class in endurance and faith. He moves from favored son to slave overnight, with every reason to fold under bitterness. Instead, he works faithfully, earning trust in places where others would have given up. His journey shows that our circumstances don’t define who we are, but rather how we respond, especially when the bottom falls out. Joseph held fast to what he knew of God’s character, the stories of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and the dreams that hinted at something greater than the injustice in front of him.

Joseph’s inner strength raises a natural question. Where does someone find that kind of resilience after betrayal and loss? Most people would stew in anger or self-pity, and who could blame them? Joseph chose a different path. Scripture gives the reason. Genesis 39:23 says, “ADONAI was with him, and whatever he did prospered.”

Joseph’s bitachon (trusting faithfulness) anchored him. He truly felt his pain, but he simply refused to let it own him. He trusted that God’s goodness was steady even when his surroundings were not. He remembered the promises spoken to his fathers. He remembered his own dreams. And he submitted to God’s mysterious work, believing that his life had a purpose bigger than the dungeon he was sitting in. There’s a strong word and example in Joseph for all of us.

Joseph’s story points beyond himself. He stands as a remarkable foreshadow of Messiah. He shepherded his father’s flock as Yeshua shepherds His own. He was beloved, sent out, betrayed, conspired against, stripped, cast down, raised up, and eventually exalted over the nations. He revealed himself to his brothers, and, through God’s providence, became a savior to the world during famine.

These parallels paint a clear line to Yeshua, the Suffering Servant in His first coming and the reigning King in His return. Jewish tradition speaks of Mashiach ben Joseph and Mashiach ben David. Believers see these fulfilled in one Messiah across two advents. Both pathways run through suffering before glory. And one day soon, the whole picture will come into full view. Be inspired by the life of Joseph and the promise of the Messiah.

Posted in The Daily Jot