Every evening, Ruth sat on her old wooden porch swing, the creak of the chains keeping rhythm with the breeze. Her hands, worn from years of gardening and raising children, rested gently in her lap. She didn’t need much—just the quiet, the stars, and the memories.
Her grandson, Micah, once asked, “Grandma, how do you stay so happy? Life hasn’t always been easy.”
Ruth smiled, her eyes twinkling. “Because I remember.”
She remembered the winter the crops failed, and neighbors gathered to share what little they had. She remembered the car accident that should’ve taken her husband—but didn’t. She remembered the nights she cried alone, and the mornings she woke with peace she couldn’t explain.
“I’ve seen storms,” she said. “But I’ve also seen shelter. I’ve felt fear—but I’ve felt grace stronger than fear.”
Micah sat beside her, quiet.
“You know that porch light?” she said, pointing to the warm glow above the door. “It’s been there for forty years. Through power outages, through storms, through every homecoming. That light reminds me: God never left. Not once.”
Micah looked up at the light, then at his grandmother. “So happiness is remembering?”
Ruth nodded. “It’s remembering who held you when no one else could. It’s knowing you were never walking alone.”
Joy isn’t just found in the present—it’s stitched into every moment God carried us through. And when we look back with gratitude, we see the fingerprints of protection all over our story.