Grace upon Grace

Today my tears are not of sorrow—

they are the overflow of a heart that knows what it means

to survive the storm

and still rise with oil in my hands.

Today is my husband’s birthday.

A day I wasn’t promised.

A day God preserved.

A day heaven circled long before the enemy tried to cut the timeline short.

I give God glory because I watched the valley try to swallow him.

I watched pain grip his body.

I watched fear whisper in the night.

I watched the enemy test our breath, our faith, our endurance—

But I also watched God respond with covering.

I watched God send angels into hospital rooms.

I watched God steady him when his body shook.

I watched God strengthen him when his strength ran out.

I watched God say, “Not so. His story is not finished.”

So today, my tears fall like oil.

Not broken tears—

anointed tears.

Testimony tears.

Victory tears.

Because the same God who carried him

is carrying me

as I stand three days away from my own birthday.

Fifty-five.

Grace upon grace.

Oil upon oil.

A life I tried to quit but God refused to let me bury.

A purpose I tried to silence but God kept resurrecting.

A voice that the world thought was too soft—

yet God kept filling with fire.

This year, I saw God do what only God can do.

He kept us.

He held us.

He covered our home.

He restored our joy.

He caught our tears.

He fought battles we didn’t tell anyone about.

He blocked death.

He annulled the weapon.

He overturned the verdict.

He whispered, “Live” over both of us.

And so I pour this letter out like the woman with the alabaster box—

not worried about who understands,

not concerned with who thinks it’s too much,

not ashamed of my worship,

not hiding my gratitude.

I break open everything in me today because God has earned this praise.

He walked us through fire

and we did not burn.

He walked us through waters

and we did not drown.

He walked us through loss

and we did not lose Him.

This letter is my oil.

My gratitude.

My offering.

My worship.

My testimony.

And as I pour it, I hear heaven whisper:

“Daughter, the blessing with your name on it

is already in motion.

The next chapter is not just survival—

it is glory.”

So on my husband’s birthday

and three days before my own,

I bow with love,

I lift my hands with thanks,

and I honor the God who stayed.

All glory belongs to You, Lord.

Every breath.

Every step.

Every year we get to see.

Every victory You already planned.

Every miracle You’ve already set in place.

This is my letter.

This is my oil.

This is my gratitude.

This is my praise.

Poured out in love,

Poured out in awe,

Poured out in worship—

From my alabaster jar to Yours.

Amen.