“The future is not yet ours perhaps it never will be if it comes it may come wholly different from what we have foreseen let us shut our eyes then to that which god hides from us and keeps in reserve in the treasures of his deep counsels let us worship without seeing let us be silent let us abide in peace.”
—Francois De Salignac De La Mothe Fenelon
💭 Drifting into the Unknown
Today’s reflection from Healing After Loss struck a deep chord in me. It began with this
“The future is not yet ours; perhaps it never will be.”
That’s a hard thing to accept—especially in grief.
I catch myself drifting into the past, holding tight to memories…
Then suddenly, I leap ahead, trying to predict a future that feels too empty, too unknown.
And I worry over what might still come.
I ache for what could’ve been.
🔄 Wasted Energy, Heavy Burdens
Reading further, I realized how much energy I’ve spent imagining the worst.
As if grief alone weren’t enough, I pile on fear of the future.
In my Flip video today, I shared something that’s helped me breathe more easily:
We cannot know the future—only heaven holds that map.
Trying to control it only deepens the ache.
Projecting today’s sorrow into tomorrow’s unknown adds a weight we were never meant to carry.
📖 A Grounding Truth
“Therefore, do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”
—Matthew 6:34
Not the next chapter.
Not the what-ifs.
Not the regrets.
This breath.
This heartbeat.
This verse gently returns us to now.
Just this moment.
✨ A Quiet Freedom
There is grief enough in this moment—
But there is also stillness here.
Even peace.
Even life.
I feel something quiet rising in me.
A sacred freedom.
And when I stop trying to rewrite the past or predict what hasn’t happened,
“I feel a wonderful freedom when I stop imagining my future sadness and live only in the present.”
🌱 Final Thoughts
You are not required to solve tomorrow.
You are only asked to live today.
And if you are hurting, you’re not alone.
Let today be enough.
I catch myself drifting into the past, holding tight to memories…
Then suddenly, I leap ahead, trying to predict a future that feels too empty, too unknown.
And I worry over what might still come.
Let the future stay in God’s hands.
Today’s reflection from Healing After Loss struck a deep chord in me. It began with this powerful truth:
“The future is not yet ours; perhaps it never will be.”
That’s a hard thing to accept—especially in grief.
I ache for what could’ve been.
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