by Joy Emmanuelle Ravoahangy
We’re blessed to have another post from Joy Emmanuelle as she reflects on her year 2025 and how God has helped her deal with grief and disappointment, helping her trust in God’s perfect sovereignty. We pray this will also bring comfort to you if you are dealing with sorrows currently. May the Lord bring you healing and hope for 2026.
There are moments in life when you don’t realize how heavy your heart has become until you take a small moment to stop and breathe. Moments when you keep moving, keep smiling, and keep going even though inside, something feels broken. This year was one of those seasons for me. It carried both deep disappointment and deep grief, a pain that revealed itself quietly in my heart.
There were moments that shook me, moments that felt deeply unfair, and moments that left me questioning why things had to happen the way they did. I learned very quickly that no matter how strong I try to be, no matter how much I convince myself that I can handle everything on my own, I am still human. I feel loss. I feel heartbreak. I feel disappointment, and sometimes all of it at once.
Yet through every tear, every unanswered question, and every attempt to mask my pain, I began to see something greater unfolding. I discovered that even when my heart felt too heavy to carry, God was already carrying it for me. His timing did not rush, His comfort did not fail, and His grace met me right where I was. And through it all, I learned that no matter how deep the pain runs, God’s timing, His comfort, and His grace are always greater.
In March, I received news that had felt like it would shape the whole year. I was accepted into an Oxford summer camp, and not only that, I was offered a scholarship. I couldn’t believe it. I thought all the hard work, late nights, expectations, and dreams had finally aligned. I was elated and excited.
But then reality hit. Even with the scholarship, the program was still too expensive. Between the visa, the plane ticket, and expenses once I got there, it just wasn’t possible. I had to make a choice, even though it gutted me, and I wrote a letter of refusal.
I remember sitting in my room with my computer on my lap, writing words I didn’t want to write. I felt hollow. I felt confused. I felt disappointment deeper than I had expected. I kept myself busy after that either by working, studying, or doing anything to distract myself from the hurt. It was easier than facing the emptiness the refusal left inside me.
I measured my worth by achievements. And suddenly I felt like I had failed. But God had something unexpected waiting for me.
Not long ago, my mom walked into my room saying I received a letter. From the UK. From Oxford. It said they were offering me a spot in their program again, this time for 2026, and it came with options to choose a course.
At first, I didn’t let myself hope. I had already prepared my heart for disappointment. But something in me still yearned for the answer I’ve wanted since the start of the year. So when I spoke to my dad, I was almost certain the answer would be no for the same reasons as before: the costs, the logistics, the reality of everything. So I hardened my heart in advance, convincing myself that it was safer not to expect anything at all. I told myself I had already made peace with letting it go.
But then we talked. And talked. And I silently prayed to myself through it all. We considered everything carefully, financially and spiritually. And when my dad finally said yes, it felt like something inside me cracked open. All the emotions I had been holding back rushed in at once. I cried. I cried not just because I was happy, but because I realized how much pain I had been carrying quietly. I cried because God had seen the disappointment I tried to ignore. I cried because after preparing myself for another “no,” God surprised me with a “yes.” And in that moment, I understood that this opportunity wasn’t coming because I had earned it, but it was coming because God had chosen the timing Himself.
I cried, not because I finally got what I wanted, but because I saw God’s goodness in a way I hadn’t before. I realized that He sees the pain we try to bury, the disappointments we silence, and the hopes we’re afraid to hold onto again. He hadn’t forgotten me, even in the moments when I thought I had to move on alone.
At that moment, a verse came to mind: “When the time is right, I, the Lord, will make it happen” (Isaiah 60:22). And I understood that this wasn’t just about Oxford or an opportunity; it was about trusting in Him. It was about learning that God’s plans unfold in His timing, not ours, and that even the “no’s” we don’t understand are often preparing us for something greater.
But disappointment wasn’t the only thing that tested my faith this year. I also faced a pain I wasn’t prepared for. I experienced grief that was sudden and deeply personal.
I lost my dog without warning, and it hurt more deeply than I ever imagined it could. I still remember the emptiness that settled in my chest the moment I heard the news from my mom, right after I finished my violin exam. One moment, I was relieved and proud that the exam had gone well; the next, my world felt like it had collapsed. The shock of how suddenly it happened left me unable to breathe without pain, and I couldn’t stop crying. But even in the middle of that heartbreak, the day didn’t pause for my grief. I still had to sit down at the piano and continue my exam. My hands trembled, tears falling as I played, but somehow the music carried everything I couldn’t say. I played through the pain, through the loss, and through the love I still held for my dog, and in that moment, my grief became something everyone in the room could feel.
The drive home felt unbearably long. Sorrow filled the car, heavy and silent, and none of us spoke. When we finally arrived and I saw his body lying on the porch, something inside me completely broke. The reality of losing him was no longer distant, for it was right in front of me. I fell apart even more when I had to kneel down and remove his collar, my hands shaking as I touched his lifeless body for the last time. The collar that once hung around his neck now felt unbearably heavy in my hands. I couldn’t bring myself to look for long; I had to turn my head away from the brutality of how he died. In that moment, the grief became overwhelming, and all I could feel was the unbearable loss of someone who had been part of my life and my heart.
After that day, every time I saw his bowl untouched and his favorite spots in the house empty, it made my heart feel heavy every time I saw them. And watching my other dogs carry the ache too made my heart just break all over again.
At first, I was angry. I was bitter, and I cried so much. Just staying in my room hurt because I knew I’d see the things that reminded me of him. His collar sits on my shelf beside my bed, and sometimes that’s a comfort, and sometimes it’s another reminder of how much I miss him.
For a while, I wasn’t okay. I became withdrawn. I questioned everything. I didn’t want to smile, and I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened.
But one day during my devotions, I read Psalm 86, and especially verses 5–8 shifted inside me. As I read the words slowly, they felt personal, as if they were written for that exact moment in my grief.
Each line struck my heart like a quiet whisper from God saying,
“I know. I see you, and I’m with you.”
After days of carrying pain that felt too heavy to explain, I finally felt understood. The tears came again, but this time they were different. They weren’t only tears of sorrow, but of release, and of knowing that even in my brokenness, I wasn’t alone, and that God was present with me in my grief.
That same evening, we read Romans 12, and the verse that hit me most was verse 19: “Vengeance is mine, says the Lord; I will repay.” I realized then that my anger didn’t have to stay inside me. God was bigger than my hurt. God was near me in my pain. God wasn’t distant; He was right there beside me.
Yes, we can grieve. We can be human. We can feel hurt. But those feelings don’t have to stay in control. Because even in grief, God is in control. Even in disappointment, He is shaping what comes next. Even when our hearts feel broken, He heals us with grace, in His timing.
Maybe whoever’s reading this has faced something similar, either if it’s a dream that felt just within reach, only to slip away. Maybe you lost something or someone you love. Maybe you wonder if God still sees you, if He still cares, if He still listens.
Here’s what I want you to know:
1. God sees your pain. He sees the tears you hide. He hears the prayers you whisper at night. He understands what you’re carrying, even the feelings you don’t have words for.
And one scripture that brings me peace and might help you too is: “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him.” (Romans 8:28)
So even when it hurts, even when it feels unfair, God is working. Grief and disappointment are real, and they hurt. But they are not the end of your story. God is writing your story with grace and purpose. He sees your tears. He hears your heart. He walks with you through every painful moment, and He brings you into new joy again.
So if you’re hurting know this: God hasn’t forgotten you. He is with you. And His timing is always perfect.
Emmanuelle Ravoahangy is a 15-year old writer who loves music, writing, and reading. Here are her contacts if you care to ask her questions or discuss her perspective as a third-culture Christian teenager in Madagascar, in this day and age.
Email: eravoahangy@gmail.com / Instagram: @em.rav_
[Pictures generated with AI]
Madagascar 3M 