Still Walking

AI generated image

I have walked through many seasons,

bare hands carrying bread and burdens,

a single flame in the dark,

a mother’s voice steady against storms.

I have known the silence of rooms

where laughter once lived,

and the ache of asking favors

that never find their way to lips.

Sometimes it feels as though

I am asked to walk until the end,

my footsteps fading into dust,

my heart still beating for those

who no longer need my arms

but whose futures I cradle in prayer.

I am not as strong as I was,

yet strength still lingers—

in the way I rise each morning,

in the way I hold my children’s names

like hymns upon my tongue.

Savings folded away,

memories stitched into years of labor,

I pause now,

freelance hours scattered like leaves,

wondering if the worth of staying

is measured in the love I give,

or in the quiet endurance

of a soul that refuses to let go.

God, I ask You—

let me remain,

let me see their paths unfold,

let me guard them a little longer.

I do not seek riches,

only time,

only the grace to stand beside them

until their roots are deep enough

to hold against the winds.

There are nights when headaches

press against my temples,

and tears blur the pages of my prayers.

Yet even in sorrow,

I whisper gratitude—

for the years already given,

for the chance to love,

for the strength to walk,

even when the road feels endless.

I am still here.

Not finished, not forgotten.

Still walking,

still praying,

still holding the future

like a fragile flame in my hands.