14. A.B. Taught Me That Uncertainty Is Its Own Storm. But Storms Pass!

Some pain doesn’t come from what happened. It comes from not knowing what’s next.

A.B. didn’t name a single tragedy. Didn’t list losses. Didn’t dramatize the moment.

He named something quieter: the stress of not knowing.

That limbo space. That waiting room of life. That place where your mind fills in worst-case scenarios because answers haven’t arrived yet.

And that kind of stress? It wears you down just as heavy. When it got overwhelming, he didn’t explode. He didn’t spiral outward. He went inward. Stayed to himself. Tried to breathe through it.

But what shifted things wasn’t advice. Wasn’t solutions. Wasn’t someone fixing the problem.

It was a friend. A regular phone call. Talking about everything else except what was wrong. Laughing. Listening. Existing.

And somehow, in that moment, A.B. realized how much good was still present, how much he’d been missing because stress had taken over the lens.

That’s when perspective came back.

What would he tell someone standing in that same uncertainty?

Keep going. Keep trying. God got you and He’ll always see you through.

Simple. Grounded. Steady. And his quote? Short. True. Necessary:

“It can’t rain forever.”

Because it doesn’t. Even when it feels like it might.

To A.B.:

Thank you for naming the invisible struggle. For reminding us that sometimes survival looks like perspective. Sometimes healing looks like a phone call. And sometimes faith is just believing the weather will change.