Have you ever walked through something so painful, so overwhelming, that you wondered if you’d ever make it through? 

A season where the weight of grief, trauma or disappointment pressed down so hard that breathing felt like an accomplishment?

I have.

There was a time in my life when I was in such a dark place that it felt like all the light had gone out. I carried deep grief and trauma — losses that shook my world and wounds that seemed too deep to ever heal. Nights blurred into mornings, and mornings blurred into nights. Tears came without warning, sometimes in the middle of a grocery store aisle, sometimes in the quiet hours when the world was asleep. I felt broken in ways I didn’t know how to explain.

During that time, someone gave me an unusual challenge: Find a song. Not just any song, but one that would become my lifeline — a reminder of truth when my heart refused to believe it. A melody that could reach into the darkness when words failed me.

I found it. And once I did, I played it constantly — while I worked out, while I drove, while I cried, while I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, trying to will myself into sleep. It became the soundtrack to my pain, but also to my healing. It reminded me that I wasn’t walking alone, even when I couldn’t feel God’s presence.

One moment is forever etched in my memory: walking up a steep hill, exhausted, tears streaming down my face, the song echoing in my ears. My body felt as tired as my spirit. Every step felt impossible. But the music carried me forward, whispering that God was still there, that this wasn’t the end of my story.

I think that’s the hardest part of pain — believing there’s something beyond it. We tend to shrink our expectations of God when life hurts. We assume He’s limited by our circumstances. But the Bible paints a different picture. 

Ephesians 3:20-21 says: “Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory…throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen.”

Somewhere along the way, I had forgotten that. I let the pain of my past and the uncertainty of my future convince me that my story was over. But that song — and the truth behind it — reminded me that God wasn’t done with me yet.

Life hasn’t been without struggle since then. Grief still comes in waves. Trauma still leaves its scars. But I’ve learned that God’s strength often shows up in my weakness. And I’ve seen Him do things I never thought possible—not just in my life, but in the lives of others walking through pain.

The song that became my anthem says it this way:

“You’re not done with me yet

There’s so much more to the story

You’re not done with me yet.”

If you’re in a season of loss, heartbreak, or exhaustion, I hope you’ll hold onto this: your story isn’t over. The God who sees you is still writing it. He is more than able to carry you through, even when you can’t see the way forward.

And maybe, like me, you’ll find a song that becomes your lifeline. Play it on repeat. Let it remind you — step after step, day after day — that hope is still alive.

Because God is not done with you yet. 

Amanda Gilmore is a worship pastor at Monett Nazerene Church in Monett. She may be reached at worship@MoNazchurch.com.