Buds blossom with the promise of a fruitful harvest. Gnarled old trees—and now entire orchards—come alive. I need to remember that today. Before the blossoms came, the pain of pruning cut away fruitless branches of doubt, anger, resentment, and anxiety. In those moments, I cried out, “Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you disquieted within me? For I shall yet praise Him, who is the health of my countenance and my God” (Psalm 42:11).

But today, I see those blossoms bursting against a vast blue sky, and I rejoice in what is to come—His promised work in me, in us!

Yet even now, I sense there are still unproductive branches that must go.

I first grasped the meaning of “letting go” when we prepared to move from Kenai, Alaska, to Spokane, Washington. Leaving behind our home and ministry, watching garage sale shoppers carry off treasured possessions brought wistful tears. Then, a still, small voice whispered in my heart: “Let it go, dear one. Let it go.”

I knew that voice. His sheep hear His voice; He knows them, and they follow Him (John 10:27). That day, the loss of earthly things faded in the light of one beautiful reminder: I am dear to God.

Those words came again when my husband died. This time, the grief was deeper, the loss more profound. Years before, mentors from Barnabas International had taught us, “Change means loss, loss brings grief, and grief must be debriefed.”God, in His mercy, made a way for us to bring our grief to Him: “Cast all your cares on Him, because He cares for you”(1 Peter 5:7).

He also sent dear, caring people into my life. Twenty-five dear women in my Bible study group gave me renewed purpose. My children and grandchildren became a lifeline of love and joy. In my neediness as a widow, God surrounded me with fellowship.

Then, a year ago, out of the blue, a FaceTime call changed everything.

A former college friend in California, now also a widower, reached out. Don and I talked and FaceTimed for six months, and then we married in Spokane. I left my home, family, memories, and so many precious things behind. Once again, the Spirit whispered: “Let it go, dear one. Let it go.”

A second marriage later in life brings a different kind of letting go. Clinging too tightly to memories can keep our hands closed to present and future blessings. Before we married, God gave us a clear word:

“Forget about what’s happened; don’t keep going over old history. Be alert, be present. I’m about to do something brand new. It’s bursting out! Don’t you see it? There it is! I’m making a road through the desert, rivers in the badlands.” (Isaiah 43:18-19, MSG)

Thankfully, Don often reminds me, “We’re not going back.”

I found him on our patio swing today, soaking up the sunshine. After over a week of battling the flu, he felt weak and vulnerable. The illness had brought thoughts of better days—when we were young and strong. We talked about grief.

I could have taken his words personally, feeling hurt or devalued. But God’s grace opened our eyes to the true source of our sorrow. More than grieving our late spouses, we were mourning the loss of our youthful strength and vitality.

There’s nothing like two weeks of influenza to replace denial with a dose of reality.

As age continues its quiet march forward, Jesus whispers with even greater urgency: “Let it go, dear one. Let it go.”

God had to disillusion me from some of my illusions about a second marriage in this season of life. In doing so, He led me to fall in love with reality. It’s time to let go of the idyllic idea that we can maintain our youth’s strength, beauty, and health.

Those are tough ones to surrender.

But when we confess these losses, allow ourselves to grieve, and debrief them with God and trusted friends, we gain something far more significant: a renewed sense of purpose and direction.

The Apostle Paul reminds us:

“Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 3:13-14, NIV).

Our purpose does not expire with age. Until our final breath, God calls us to know Him and become more like Jesus (Romans 8:28-29).

Through every loss—whether of possessions, relationships, memories, youth, or health—one truth remains: we are dear to Him. If we love Him, He promises to redeem all our losses. He paid the highest price in the universe to give us unshakable significance, no matter how old or weak we become.

Resting in His everlasting arms, abiding in His unconditional love—these are the things that fill every void.

One day, every earthly chain will fall away, whether in the blessed hope of the Rapture or when we lay it all down in that final, gentle whisper:

“Let it go, dear one. Let it go.”

Yes, buds blossom with the promise of a fruitful harvest. Even gnarled old trees come alive. Though we endure the pain of pruning, we rejoice in the beautiful blossoms of His promises and the certainty of a bountiful harvest in the fullness of His time.