When the Mist Settles: Grief, Faith, and the Quiet Trial of the Heart

There are some days when heaven feels quiet. Today was one of those days — not empty, just… still. But somehow in that stillness, a message settled softly into my heart.

I’ve been thinking about what it means to experience the trial of your faith. Not the little stumbles — but the moment. The one that changes you. The one that feels like a breaking and a becoming, all at once.

When my dad died, something inside me shattered. And then, when my mom passed, it felt like the last bit of covering was pulled away — like I was left in the wilderness, raw and exposed. There’s a kind of loneliness in losing both of your parents that words don’t quite reach. It’s the kind of ache that sits quietly in your bones.

I remember sitting in the thick of that grief, asking God, “How do I move forward when everything that held me feels gone?”

Today, I read about Lehi’s vision — the mist of darkness that made it impossible to see the path ahead. I realized something: that mist wasn’t a punishment. It was part of the journey. It taught the people to feel for the rod. Not see. Not plan. Just feel and hold on.

I think that’s where I am. I’m learning to feel for the iron rod when the way isn’t clear. I’m learning to listen for the still small voice when my own thoughts feel like a storm. I’m learning that faith sometimes looks like quiet obedience in the dark — not knowing how the story ends, but trusting that the Author is still writing.

I don’t know if I’ve faced the Abraham moment yet — the trial of my faith that changes everything. Maybe I’m walking through it now. Maybe the paradox is this: that in the losing, I’ve found something deeper. That in the absence, there is Presence. That when I feel most alone, heaven is actually closest.

And maybe, just maybe, this is what the refining looks like. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a quiet resolve to keep holding on — even when I can’t see, even when it hurts. Because I believe He is still leading me. I believe He will not leave me in the mist. And I believe that, in time, this journey will lead me to a place of peace I cannot yet imagine.

I am learning that the test is not about what God takes —

it’s about what I’m willing to give: my trust. My surrender. My heart.