A SMILE I WAS GLAD TO SEE SUNDAY
My sister and I have lived with similar struggles of the mind for as long as I can remember. Long before there were search engines, forums, podcasts, or language for what we were experiencing—long before people knew how to name these things, let alone treat them well. If you have never walked this road, fall to your knees and thank God. If you have, no explanation is needed.
It has been rough—at times unspeakably so. Depths of despair that feel bottomless; moments when the soul seems to fold inward on itself. Some of those valleys were carved by my own hands; others arrived uninvited, unannounced, and merciless. But the truth remains: God brought me back. Again and again. Not because I was strong, but because He is faithful (Lamentations 3:22-23).
And my sister—my big sister, though she is older than me only by years—has borne her share of that weight too. Our illnesses have made us sick of things at times; sick of ourselves, sick of consequences, sick of apologizing for wounds we never intended to inflict. That is no excuse—but it is an explanation.
If this were merely rebellion, merely stubbornness, merely moral rot, we would not both stumble in such similar ways. Unless one believes we are uniquely and deliberately evil—people who simply want to do wrong—it must be admitted that something deeper has been at work, something beyond our control.
I am not asking for sympathy. I am explaining.
I have seen my sister cry far too much over her mistakes. Tears born not of defiance, but of grief—grief over what might have been, grief over words she wishes she could pull back, grief over being misunderstood. She has paid her dues in sorrow. She has carried regret like a second skin. Enough, I say, because grace says enough (2 Corinthians 12:9).
And then came Sunday.
I saw something I had not seen in a while—something quiet, almost fragile, yet unmistakable. A smile. Not forced. Not defensive. A real one. The kind that comes when the soul is being held, not judged; steadied, not scolded. She is being held, just as I have been held. By the same God. By the same mercy. By the same patient love that does not crush bruised reeds or extinguish smoldering wicks (Isaiah 42:3).
I saw her smile.
And in that moment, the past loosened its grip just a little. Life moved forward—as it must. Redemption rarely announces itself with thunder; more often, it arrives quietly, disguised as an ordinary smile on an ordinary Sunday.
It was good to see my sister. Good to see big sister. Good to be reminded that we are not the sum of our worst moments, nor are we defined by illnesses we never asked for. We are defined by the God who refuses to abandon us in them (Psalm 34:19).
Grace does not erase the past—but it redeems it. And sometimes, redemption looks like nothing more than a smile you were glad to see.
____________
Merciful God, thank You for holding us when we cannot hold ourselves; for grace that explains without excusing, and heals without humiliating. Guard my sister, strengthen her, and teach us both to walk forward in hope. Amen.
BDD
