Because of the Lord’s great love ... for his compassions never fail.

Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. (Lamentations 3:22-23)





Because I like to maintain an account of our family’s daily life, I keep a One Line a Day journal. With each dated page providing five spots in which to jot down a few lines about that day in each of five years, there’s just enough room to record the happenings and highlights or, if more appropriate, the lack of happenings and lowlights—if a lowlight is even a thing.

One day in April 2020 (in the midst of the COVID-19 quarantine), before I wrote whatever it was I planned to write, I noticed the entry from the year before on that day: Elyse’s MRI was normal. This would be good news—if she could walk and was getting better. She’s being referred . . .

I looked at the next day’s entry: Today felt very heavy. I made 6 appointments with 4 practitioners for 3 ailments for 2 girls.



A year ago, our family was walking into dark, unfamiliar, difficult, and unwelcome terrain. Our trail had taken a sharp, steep turn into the mysterious landscape of chronic illness. Our older daughter developed Chronic Regional Pain Syndrome after slipping on the ice. That same month, our younger daughter was diagnosed with hidradenitis suppurativa, followed by the sudden onset of irritable bowel syndrome; additionally, her immune system seemed unable to stand up even to the common cold.

Our days felt heavy because they were heavy. Is there hope for heavy days?

Every single evening when our family sat down and joined hands to pray before dinner, I dropped my arm onto the table and my head heavily onto my arm, exhausted by the rigors of the day—learning to live a new life and speak a new vocabulary, keeping the appointments and making the decisions, experiencing (vicariously) unrelenting loss and pain, managing my own grief.

When I realized that the dinner-prayer-head-resting ritual was a nightly occurrence, I added worry to my weariness. I wasn’t just worried about my girls. I was worried that I was doing this whole thing wrong — as in, maybe I wasn’t navigating it by faith, maybe I was carrying it all in my own strength rather than relying on God.



Following pertinent phrases of Scripture in search of the answer to whether my weariness was a result of trying to walk this road on my own, I came to understand that the presence of fatigue didn’t mean I was doing it wrong. It meant that the terrain was tough and the daily dousing from the metaphoric fire hose of Too Much Information for All The Decisions had taken a toll on my mind, heart, soul, and strength.

The days were long and by night I was spent — but, every morning, I started fresh with new mercies, enough to last until evening. I was given enough strength for each one of my days (Lamentations 3:22- 23 and Deuteronomy 33:25). Eventually, the exhaustion abated, even as the intensity of our circumstances (as well as the number of appointments and adaptations) increased.

A year ago, each day was a step into the unknown. Life, like our girls’ pain, felt out of control. Our perspective about the future was bleak.

Maybe that sounds familiar — but there is hope for heavy days.



A year ago, I couldn’t imagine that life would ever be any different, that simple things like the touch of clothing or a gentle breeze would no longer bring my girls pain, that their symptoms could be brought under control, that diagnosis, more good days than bad, or even remission might ever be possible.

Today I can picture a different future.

When I saw those lines in my journal, I read them to my daughters and we laughed. We laughed because so much has changed, changed in ways we could not have envisioned a year (or even a few months) ago. We laughed because we were sequestered in our home, amid another heretofore unimagined situation, walking dark, unfamiliar, difficult, unwanted terrain—together. We laughed because, regardless of the current situation or our perspective on it, navigating tough terrain in 2019 had shown us pretty clearly: a lot can change in a year — and that gives us hope for heavy days.

Natalie Ogbourne

Natalie Ogbourne

A Voice of Chronic Joy® & Writer

Natalie is a wife, a mom, and a reluctant hiker who has learned that finding her way in the woods helps her walk by faith in everyday life. She writes and speaks to encourage others to navigate the landscape of life by faith rather than on autopilot.

Called to Hope

Called to Hope

Jesus is the enduring, timeless, and everlasting hope who came to seek, serve, call, forgive, rescue, redeem, and save.

Where do I discover hope?

If you’re feeling overwhelmed and need encouragement, these verses will give you courage and confidence. Why not meditate on them throughout your day and share them with your friends?

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