In January 2026, I cried every day for 21 days straight.
I didn’t expect to. I knew I was carrying a heaviness and grief, but I thought I had a handle on my emotions. 21 Days of Prayer gave me a space where I had to slow down long enough to face the reality of how sad I actually was. I would come into the church every morning and feel nothing out of the ordinary. I was able to play and sing with the band, and I enjoyed every devotional that was shared. But as soon as the countdown started, the tears would begin welling up.
Thankfully I found a consistent rhythm that made me feel more comfortable with not running and hiding when the tears started. I would go to the same spot in the room every day and kneel facedown on the floor until I was done crying it out. And every day, through the heaving sobs, I prayed for one thing: God, I need my husband.
My husband, Lee, and I got married in September 2024 after long-distance dating since 2019. And when I say long distance, I really mean long distance. We’re 3,662.09 miles apart. Lee is British, and we’re on the tail end of a very long and expensive immigration journey. Earlier this year, we were waiting to hear whether or not our initial spousal visa application had been approved – one that had been submitted more than a year earlier but that no one had even looked at yet.
Up until that point I had always told myself it wasn’t fair of me to get too torn up over missing him because we were the ones who chose to start a relationship that would require a unique journey toward marriage in the first place. But the distance was beginning to break me down.
As soon as 21 Days of Prayer ended, we got our answer: our application was approved, and it was time to move on to the next phase of the immigration journey. This phase was supposed to be much quicker – four to seven months before he would be able to move here. My husband and I could realistically be living together by June!
But June has come and gone, and we’re almost exactly where we were at the beginning of the year. The final four-to-seven-month countdown hasn’t even started yet, and it’s now July. The summer I thought I would finally get to have him here has turned into an extended season of grief.
January had prepared me well to cry out to God again, but now I was struggling with feeling guilty over the intensity of my emotions. I had been here before, and He answered me. We had advanced to the next phase. Why wasn’t that answer good enough for me? Why couldn’t I be content?
I felt blessed to have a husband in the first place. Some people are navigating a more permanent grief where they can’t look forward to a reunion. I felt blessed that we had been so supported during this challenging season of waiting. Some people have to do hard things all alone. And I felt blessed to have a tangible end to my difficult season on the horizon.
But God, I just need my husband. I don’t know how much longer I can do this.
That’s still where I am. I have no nice bow to put on this grief. I can’t remember the last time I made it through a day without crying.
But God has been present with me in my grief, just like He was in January. He didn’t get annoyed or tell me I just had to pull myself together. He didn’t remind me that He had answered my last prayer, so I should be grateful. He didn’t tell me I should just be patient and wait on His timing.
I just cry, and He comforts me.
One day soon, my husband will move here. Our long-distance relationship of seven years will no longer be long distance, and we’ll get to build a life together in the same country. But for right now, for this one last summer, all I have to do is trust that He’s close to me.
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18
