LOOKING BACK — LETTING GO
Some seasons aren’t about building — they’re about becoming.
A quiet place beside the water.
A line of red Adirondack chairs facing the horizon.
Empty.
Waiting.
The kind of place that invites a man to sit down long enough to look back.
Dedication
To the friends who have recently taken the time to sit, call, ask, and listen — you know who you are. Those conversations have moved me more than you realize.
To my wife, whose ears are always open to my soul. Her love, her steadiness, and her trust in our Heavenly Father remind me daily of what matters most — our love and our Lord Jesus Christ.
And to the lessons of this life, which continue to teach me how to let go with gratitude rather than fear.
“Even to your old age, I am He;
And even to gray hairs I will carry you;
I have made, and I will bear;
Even I will carry, and will deliver you.” — Isaiah 46:4 (NKJV)
The Hook
Sit down with me for a moment.
This one is not loud.
It’s settled.
The Story
On September 8, 2020, I was officially deemed disabled.
Not loosely.
Not debatably.
Officially.
I later learned I could have qualified years earlier.
I chose not to file.
I still believed grit could outrun pain.
The road since then has been longer — and harder — than most people know.
My wife knows.
And Jesus knows.
And yet, somehow, that road led me here.
Writing almost every day.
Finding shape in memory.
Meaning in pain.
Purpose in quieter hours.
The Moment (BAM)
I refuse to give pain authority over me.
But I will let it teach me.
I have had to grieve the physical strength I once carried so easily.
For most of my life, strength wasn’t something I worked toward — it was simply there.
Endurance.
Stamina.
The ability to push through long days and longer seasons.
I trusted it.
I built around it.
And losing it meant grieving two things at once:
What I can no longer do.
And who I felt like when I could.
The Turn
Years before the disability ruling, I survived what most did not.
One of three out of eight hundred thirty-seven in the early West Nile strain — back when the experts were still learning what they were facing.
The CDC has tracked my case since 2006.
That illness reshaped my body long before I was ready to admit it.
I did not outrun it.
I endured it.
And enduring something like that changes how you measure strength.
My body is not what it was.
But my mind is stronger.
Clearer.
Quieter.
More discerning.
Everything — the work, the pain, the responsibility, the losses — has led to this point.
Not a decline.
Not a summit.
The narrow point in an hourglass where one season passes into the next.
The Reflection
When you work steel against stone, a small burr rolls to one side.
You turn it over.
You work the other side.
Eventually the burr breaks away.
What remains is edge.
Not louder.
Sharper.
Defined.
This season feels like that.
Not muscle — refinement.
Not striving — alignment.
My friends are growing older with me.
Some were taken in ways that still don’t fully make sense.
I have buried dogs who breathed puppy breath into my face and exhaled their last breath in my hands.
Raising an animal from first breath to final one teaches you something sacred:
Nothing is promised except the time we are given.
WALKAWAY LINE — No change needed.
Some seasons are not for expansion.
They are for refinement.
This is clean and strong. Leave it exactly as written.
Something to Think About
The questions change at this stage.
Not rebellious ones.
Refining ones.
If this season is not for building —
what is it refining in you?
My Prayer
My Heavenly Father,
For the one who feels tired in ways rest has not fixed — quiet their striving.
For the one grieving loss — hold what still aches.
For the one standing at an unexpected crossroads — teach them that release is not failure.
Help us recognize what no longer belongs to this season and give us courage to set it down without guilt.
Carry us, as You promised.
And teach us how to rest in the becoming.
In Jesus’ name,
Amen.
About G~
G~ writes from lived experience — exploring identity, authority, and time through the lens of faith, trial, leadership, and surrender.
His reflections are not meant to condemn or hype, but to steady.
Rooted in covenant, forged through adversity, and anchored under the authority of Jesus Christ, his work invites readers to examine who governs their lives — and to live intentionally under truth.
If what you’ve read resonates with your journey, feel free to reach out.
G~