The Storm's Silver Lining
For the past nine years, I have prayed what I believed were the boldest prayers a mother could pray. I asked God to heal my daughter — to break the chains of mental illness and addiction, to bring her home whole and restored. There were moments when I believed we were on the brink of breakthrough. But more often than not, the cycle would repeat: emergency rooms, psychiatric facilities, overdoses, and suicide attempts. A tiny beacon of progress and improvement would shine, only to be followed by relapse. Recovery attempts were met with sorrow and setbacks—again, and again, and again.
If you’ve ever watched someone you love spiral through darkness, you know the ache. It’s an ache that sits in your chest like a weight — the kind that prayers alone don’t seem to lift. I wanted healing. I wanted deliverance. I wanted life to plateau for just a little while.
Instead, I got … custody.
In one of the hardest seasons of my daughter’s battle, she gave birth to a baby girl. That tiny newborn, so innocent and full of promise, became mine to raise at only 19 days old. Not because I had it all together. Not because I felt equipped. But because someone had to stand in the gap.
And in that unexpected calling, God began to show me something I couldn’t have seen in the eye of the storm: the silver lining.
I used to think rescue meant my daughter would be instantly healed — that she’d walk away from addiction and never look back. That she would seek God again and realize her worth. But sometimes, God’s rescue plan looks different than we imagined.
In Psalm 34:18 (NIV), we are reminded that “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” I now believe that verse isn’t just for my daughter; it is for me as well. And perhaps it’s for you too.
Through the pain, God has drawn near in ways I never expected. When I feel overlooked, He reminds me I am seen. When I feel inadequate, He whispers that His grace is enough. And when I don’t know how to keep going, He shows me I don’t have to do it alone.
Becoming a full-time caregiver again in midlife wasn’t on my vision board. Let’s be honest—I had dreams of quiet mornings, travel plans, and even starting a new chapter as a published author. Instead, I now find myself rocking a baby at 3 a.m., washing bottles, and giving up my goals and aspirations in order to be everything for this little girl.
And yet, in the middle of all of it all, there is joy. The bond I’m forming with my granddaughter is a miracle in itself. She may not have arrived in the best circumstances, but she’s the best kind of light in my world right now. Her giggles, her snuggles, her wide-eyed wonder — they remind me that God is still writing beautiful stories, even when the pages are soaked with tears.
Raising her is giving me a brand new purpose, perspective, and a front-row seat to watching God’s redemption unfold in real time. I’m not just starting to see the healing journey in my daughter’s life; I’m seeing it in mine as well. There are days I feel overwhelmed. Exhausted. Like I’ve aged ten years overnight. And in those moments, I return to the only source of strength that never runs out.
Philippians 4:13 in The Voice translation says, “I can be content in any and every situation
through the Anointed One who is my power and strength.”
I’ve clung to those words more times than I can count. This journey isn’t easy. There’s no playbook for stepping in as a mother again when you thought you were done raising children. But God has been faithful in the small things — providing help when I didn’t ask, peace when I couldn’t find it, and hope when I was sure it had run out.
It is easy to focus on the pain of unanswered prayers. The rehab stays. The missed birthdays. The heartbreak of watching someone you love suffer. But today, I choose to focus on the silver lining.
My daughter is finally getting the help she needs.
My granddaughter is safe, thriving, and loved beyond measure.
I am learning that strength doesn’t always look like having it all together — sometimes it looks like just showing up even when you know you are a hot mess.
I still pray for healing. I still believe for miracles. But I’ve also learned that blessings sometimes arrive wrapped in swaddling blankets and sleepless nights. That purpose can bloom in the most unexpected places. And that God’s goodness isn’t always about rescue—sometimes it’s about redeeming the hard things into something beautiful. With God in the mix, ALL things can be redeemed!
If you’re in a storm right now — if your heart is weary and your prayers feel unanswered—I want you to know: the silver lining may be closer than you think.
It might be found in a new calling, a second chance, a baby’s laughter, or simply in the quiet strength God is building in you right now. Because even when the skies are dark, His light still breaks through. And oh, how beautiful the silver lining can be.
