“Just 'cause I'm leavin'
It don't mean that I won't be right by your side
When you need me
And you can't see me in the middle of the night
Just close your eyes and say a prayer
It's okay, I know you're scared when I'm not here
But I'll always be right there
Even though I'm leavin', I ain't goin' nowhere”
Luke Combs
EZRA 1-2
JOHN 19:23-42
JOURNAL
There’s something quietly beautiful and deeply human in the way Jesus, in his final moments, looks down from the cross—not with bitterness or fear—but with love and provision. As the weight of the world bore down on him, he entrusted the care of his mother to his beloved disciple. Even in agony, he ensured she would not be left alone. That image lingers with me. In the eyes of those gathered at the foot of the cross...his mother, Mary Magdalene, and the disciple he loved...everything must have seemed lost. Dreams crushed, promises shattered, the silence of failure louder than any voice.
And yet, what they could not see in that moment was that this was not the end. It was the beginning of everything. What looked like defeat would become the greatest victory. Hope didn’t die on that hill—it was born there.
I’ve come to realize that one of my deepest fears is being left behind, forgotten, or alone. It’s ancient, almost primal. Maybe that’s why the moment in John’s gospel hits me so hard. Jesus doesn’t just defeat sin and death; he answers that fear. In his most desolate moment, he makes sure no one else is left alone. And because of that, I never truly am.
That same heart shows up again and again in scripture. When the exiles returned to rebuild the temple in Ezra, they gave what they could, not from compulsion, but from devotion. According to their ability, they offered gold, silver, garments...whatever they had, to reestablish the place where God would dwell among his people. It wasn’t just about bricks and gold; it was about hope, about restoring presence. They believed that God had not abandoned them, and their offerings were evidence of faith in the unseen.
That is what I need to hold on to today. That even in disappointment, even in silence or heartbreak, I am not alone. Jesus' presence is not a past event, it’s a present reality. And just like the people who returned to Jerusalem with only a sliver of what once was, I can bring whatever I have...my little faith, my broken hopes, my willingness and trust that God is able.
Paul reminds the church in Corinth that God is able to bless abundantly, providing all that we need at all times, so that we will abound in every good work. That means even when I feel inadequate or uncertain, grace is still at work. I am not working for love, I’m working from it. I am not living to earn hope, I’m living because I already have it.
So maybe Luke Combs had it right in that song. Just because it feels like something or someone is leaving, doesn’t mean we’re abandoned. It doesn’t mean the presence is gone. Jesus may have left the earth in body, but his spirit remains. When I can’t see him, I can still trust him. When the night feels long, I can still say a prayer and know he’s near.
Even though he's gone, he’s never going anywhere. And neither am I.
2 CORINTHIANS 9:8
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