Take Heart: He Has Overcome

Lately life feels like it is moving on without me. Friends are stepping into new chapters, making decisions that shape their futures, while I stand in a space that feels unchanged. Everything around me is shifting, yet the one thing that matters most to me—my future with my son—remains untouched, steady, and unspoken. In some ways, that should bring comfort. But if I am honest, it also makes me feel left out.

I scroll through updates from people I used to be close with, and their milestones shine across my screen. Weddings. Babies. New homes. Career leaps. It looks like everyone else has a place to belong, a rhythm to step into, a hand to hold as they walk forward. And then there is me, staring at the ceiling at night, wondering if I am missing something, or if life has quietly decided that my role is simply to keep standing still.

It is in those quiet, hollow-feeling moments that John 16:33 whispers back into my heart. “Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart, because I have overcome the world.”

I used to think that verse was meant to prepare me for tragedies or disasters. The big trials. The kind of sorrows that everyone notices. But lately I have realized it also speaks into the quiet ache of being overlooked. The invisible grief of feeling left behind. The sorrow of watching doors open for others while mine remain shut.

Jesus did not promise that my path would look like theirs. He did not guarantee that I would always feel included or chosen. What He did promise was Himself. His victory. His presence in the middle of my questions and my waiting.

And that is what makes all the difference. Because my worth is not measured by how quickly I move into the next chapter. My value is not diminished just because others are celebrated before me. Even when I feel forgotten, God has not forgotten me. Even when I feel overlooked, He sees me.

I think of the disciples hearing those words from Jesus for the first time. Their world was about to collapse. Everything they thought they knew was about to be torn away. Yet before the storm broke, Jesus spoke peace into them. He told them that He had already overcome the world. Not that He would someday, but that it was already done.

That means even now, in the hollow spaces of my life, His victory covers me. His love holds the weight I cannot. His grace steadies me when my mind spins in circles.

So maybe my story looks different. Maybe my timeline is not what I expected. Maybe for now my role is to stand in this in-between space, raising my son and waiting for God to unfold what comes next. That does not mean I am less. It does not mean I am forgotten. It just means my story is still being written.

The truth is, being left out by people does not mean being left out by God. His plans are not derailed by my delays. His love does not skip over me just because my life does not look like anyone else’s. And His promise remains—He has already overcome what weighs me down.

So tonight, as I close my eyes, I remind myself: my son’s future is still safe. My story is still safe. My heart, even when it feels bruised, is still safe. Because it is held by the One who has already overcome.

Take heart. Even here, even now.