This year, the Church invites us into the joy of the Jubilee—a sacred time of renewal, restoration, and rediscovery of hope. It’s a season to remember that Christ lifts us up, that grace abounds, and that healing is possible.
But what if this year hasn’t felt that way for you? What if, instead of feeling hopeful, you’ve been walking through a season of grief so heavy it feels hard to breathe?
If that’s where you find yourself, I want you to know you are not alone.
This reflection is for the one who’s holding sorrow and longing at the same time. For the one who’s trying to reclaim joy, even as her heart is still breaking. This Jubilee Year, I invite you to come as you are—and allow God to meet you there.
My Grief Journey
It began with five words I never imagined hearing: “I have ovarian cancer.” My mom’s diagnosis felt like a bad dream, something I wanted to pray away, something I believed God would heal if I just had enough faith.
So I prayed constantly. I held on to the hope that my mom would be healed. Hope does not disappoint, I reminded myself, holding tightly to the promise of Romans 5:5.
As the months passed and her health declined, I clung even more tightly to God. I prayed for her healing. I believed she would get better. And when I wasn’t praying, I was running, trying to escape the weight of emotion, trying to keep moving so I wouldn’t fall apart. I was on my college track team, but often skipped practice because the tears were too close and I couldn’t bear being seen.
Cancer didn’t just attack my mom’s body; it began to strip away her spirit. She lost her spark, her energy, and her desire to live. When she shared that she no longer wanted to go on, I flew home from college. I knew she needed to see that there was still something to hold on to, that even in the pain, there was still life, still love, still God.
When My Prayers Changed
Eventually, my prayers shifted. I stopped asking for healing on earth and began asking God to receive her into Heaven. To let her see His Face. To hold her when I could no longer do so.
And something incredible happened.
My mom began to find God again. She had drifted from her Catholic faith, but little by little, we found our way back—together. We prayed. We listened to Christian music. She began reading spiritual books again. She started smiling again. She let herself be loved, and she loved in return.
One moment stands out, one I’ll never forget. Our family was gathered outside. My mom was in a wheelchair. The air was still with the weight of goodbye. And then, her voice pierced through the silence with wonder and joy: “Look, a hummingbird! Right there! Look!”
There it was. A bright orange hummingbird, fluttering right in front of her. It danced in the air as if to say hello, then darted away. But in that small visit, I saw something sacred: joy amidst pain, beauty amidst heartbreak. A tiny miracle in flight.
Soon after, my mom would make her own flight, home to Heaven.
Finding Joy Again
Grief does not have a tidy ending. It carves a space in your heart that never really fills. There is no way to sugarcoat it; losing someone you love hurts deeply. But somehow, even in that pain, God meets us.
I came to understand Jesus more intimately through my grief. His suffering on the Cross made mine feel seen. But the ache remained. It felt impossible to move on, and yet, what else could I do but put one foot in front of the other?
Months passed. I wasn’t running competitively anymore. Grief had drained me. But one day, my coach asked me to compete at the final track meet of the season. I didn’t expect to race; I wasn’t ready. As I started warming up for the race, I saw it: a flash of motion, a flutter of color.
A hummingbird.
It hovered, glowing in the sunlight. Its wings beat as if in rhythm with my heart. I blinked; it felt unreal. But it stayed. And in that moment, I knew.
It was for me.
Tears welled up. My heart felt full, not because I was healed, but because I was seen. God was near. In His own way, He was reminding me that my mom was in His loving care in eternity. That tiny bird was a reminder of beauty, love, and the eternal life we hope for.
I didn’t win the race. I didn’t come close. But I found joy not in the outcome, but in the truth that God is still good. That He is with me. And that my mom is in His loving care too.
Hope for the Jubilee Year
As I look back, I see how the Holy Spirit filled my heart that day with love, with peace, with a hope I didn’t think I could feel again.
That’s what this Jubilee Year of Hope is about. It’s not about pretending everything is okay; it’s about letting God enter into the real with you. It’s about trusting that He is still writing your story, even if you’re in the middle of a painful chapter.
Do you have a hummingbird moment? Maybe it’s a song, a sunset, a memory. Something small that reminds you God is near. Hold on to it. Let it be your sign of hope this Jubilee Year.
Let us be a people who remember that God doesn’t forget our suffering. That He is intentional in redeeming it. And that in Christ, joy will always have the final word.
JJ Carlson is an author, avid runner, and wife based in Portola Valley, California. She finds joy in serving her local parish, spending time in nature, and sharing her story through her memoir, My Hummingbird. With a heart for those experiencing grief, she offers comfort and hope through her writing and testimony. Learn more at jjcarlson.net.
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