Today, I realized just how much my perspective has changed over the years. Age, time, distance, and spiritual growth have shaped me, and in doing so, have reshaped the way I see the world. What once made me angry or caused me to hold a grudge no longer feels significant, certainly not worth a fight.

As I write this, I’m right in the middle of all the “five years since…” moments. I’m rereading my journals, as I do every year — not to relive the pain, but to gain perspective. Each year, my Heavenly Father reveals new places and new ways He shows up in the details of our journey. Each year, I can feel the pain, fear, hope, and faith I poured into those pages. And each year, I’m reminded that He still walks with us as we continue to grieve what we lost while also living, growing, and thriving.

Perspective shifts based on what you see, hear, read, smell, and feel. I can easily remember the moments from five years ago, the way we clung to hope and faith to keep fear from overtaking us. Looking back now, it doesn’t seem as daunting as it felt then. But that doesn’t discredit the feelings I had, or the ones I still experience as part of grief. I think this is one of the most common misconceptions people have when observing someone else’s grief from the outside: they assume the person should “be over it” or “move on” after a certain amount of time.

A grieving person may move forward and function in ways that hide their pain, but they will never be “over it.” Grief marks time. It divides life into “before” and “after.” It shifts your perspective. It makes you acutely aware of how temporary this earthly life is and how important it is to live on mission and in our God-given purpose while we are here.

Recently, I read something that resonated deeply with me:

“Your body will remember the room forever. The lighting, the sounds, the weight of the air. It will live in you long after the moment has passed, not to haunt you, but to mark what mattered. You will visit it again and again.”

It’s true. I remember those seven weeks in 2021, especially the final days and moments in the hospital. If you’re close to me, you’ve probably heard me share some of those details. There is something sacred about those days, hours, and moments that belong to me alone. Everyone who was in that room on his final day has their own version, just as I’m sure you do in your own story. Some days those memories comfort me; some days they hurt even after almost five years. Why? Because we loved, and we shared a beautiful life.

So how do I navigate this shift in perspective that often accompanies the pain and longing for what once was? It is a daily choice, a choice to be grateful for the time I had with him and for the blessings my Heavenly Father continues to give. It is a daily choice to lean into joy, even through the pain. Some days, those are just words on a page; other days, the choice comes easily. That is grief. Some days it looks like turning up worship music louder than the thoughts in my mind; other days it’s playing the playlist I shared with him, until somewhere along the way my perspective shifts from pain to praise.

In the beginning, gratitude felt impossible. It felt silly and trivial to speak thankfulness out loud. But I quickly realized it helped shift my focus from death to eternal life. It forced me into a mindset not of this world. Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians remind us of the fleeting nature of this life compared to what truly matters, “an eternal weight of glory.”   

“Therefore, we do not become discouraged [spiritless, disappointed, or afraid]. Though our outer self is [progressively] wasting away, yet our inner self is being [progressively] renewed day by day. For our momentary, light distress [this passing trouble] is producing for us an eternal weight of glory [a fullness] beyond all measure [surpassing all comparisons, a transcendent splendor and an endless blessedness]! So we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are unseen; for the things which are visible are temporal [just brief and fleeting], but the things which are invisible are everlasting and imperishable.” 2 Corinthians 4:16–18 (AMP)

Friend, I pray that as you choose gratitude, your perspective shifts. I pray that as you walk through your own grief journey, you worship and you hand your hardest days over to your Heavenly Father. Most of all, I pray that as you choose to shift your perspective, you see just how faithfully He is working in your life — and that it helps you get through today. I’m praying for you and your journey.