Our Hope That Never Fades

This past December, my mom went home to be with the Lord after suffering a heart attack. Even writing that sentence doesn’t feel real. In a way, my heart still struggles to accept it. There are moments when I forget, moments when I refer to her as if she was still living, moments when the weight of it all hits me again like it’s brand new.

Losing my mom has changed me.

She was a woman who loved the Lord with her whole heart.
And without exaggeration, the greatest gift she ever gave me was making sure I knew Jesus.

Not just knew about Him, but knew Him personally. From as far back as I can remember, my mom’s faith was not passive or quiet. She was fierce. She was strong. She loved deeply and without apology. And she wanted her children to know Christ above all else.

Growing up, I watched her pray. I watched her trust God in hard seasons. I watched her love people sacrificially. She wasn’t perfect, but she was faithful. And her life preached long before I ever did.

Today, by God’s grace, I do know Jesus.

I have seen Him move mountains in my life, mountains I never thought would budge. I have seen Him work in my marriage, sustain us through uncertainty, and carry this ministry in ways we could never manufacture on our own. I have seen His hand again and again.

And yet, even with all of that being true, I am walking through one of the deepest valleys of my life.

I no longer have my mom.

That reality hurts more than words can express. I have cried a lot, more than I expected to, more than I feel prepared for. Grief doesn’t follow a schedule, and it doesn’t ask permission. Some days I feel strong. Other days, the smallest thing brings me to tears.

I miss her voice. I miss her prayers. I miss her presence in ways I didn’t even know I would.

Faith does not make grief disappear.
But faith does change how we grieve.

Scripture never denies the pain of death. Jesus Himself wept at the tomb of Lazarus. Loss is real. Death is cruel. And this side of heaven, it leaves wounds that don’t simply vanish. But as believers, we do not grieve as those without hope.

Death is not the end.

Death was defeated the moment a perfect Savior took a cross that belonged to me. Jesus lived the life I could not live, died the death I deserved to die, and rose again on the third day. The resurrection is not a comforting idea, it is a historical, eternal reality.

And because Christ lives, my mom lives. Because Christ rose, the grave does not get the final word.

This is not goodbye.
This is “I’ll see you again.”

That truth does not remove the pain of missing her, but it anchors my soul when the ache feels unbearable. My hope is not rooted in wishful thinking or sentiment, it is rooted in the finished work of Jesus Christ. The same Savior my mom loved, prayed to, and trusted with her life is the Savior who now holds her fully and forever.

Walking through this season has reminded me just how fragile life is. How quickly everything can change. How much we take for granted the people God has placed in our lives. Hug your loved ones. Say the words. Don’t wait. And above all, seek Christ while He may be found.

I cannot imagine facing death, my own or someone else’s, without the hope that Jesus offers. Without the resurrection, grief would be crushing beyond repair. But because of Christ, sorrow is not meaningless, and death is not victorious.

Our hope has a name.

It is not found in comfort, stability, or even family, as precious as those gifts are. Our hope is found in Christ alone: crucified, risen, and reigning.

He is our peace in sorrow, our anchor in suffering, and our assurance beyond the grave.

I encourage you, lost and weary soul, come to His feet today.

Mami, thank you for loving Jesus and for making sure I knew Him too. Your faith continues to bear fruit. Your prayers still echo in my life. And until the day we are reunited in the presence of our Savior, I will cling to the same hope you lived by, the hope that does not fade, does not fail, and does not die.

Te amo y estoy orgulloso de ser tu hijo.