When we are pressed hard but not crushed in despair
A devotional by Patti Schultz, Ed.D.
"We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed."
—2 Corinthians 4:8-9 (NIV)
Can I sit with you for a minute?
I know summer has arrived. I can see it. The evenings are longer, the neighbors out on their lawns, the kids with their popsicles and their noise. Maybe you are watching all of it from somewhere that still feels very far away. Maybe you are doing the thing where you smile at the right moments and show up where you're supposed to, and nobody quite knows how much you are carrying just to get through an ordinary day.
I see you.
There is something about the brightness of it, the way the world just keeps going, relentlessly cheerful. Like everyone else received an invitation to feel alive this season, and yours got lost somewhere. Like joy is happening just on the other side of a window you cannot quite open. You are not behind. You are just in it. And it landed here, in June, uninvited and unimpressed by the weather.
There is a passage I keep returning to in seasons like this. Not because it ties anything up neatly, but because it doesn't try to. The Bible says we are hard pressed, but not crushed. Perplexed, but not in despair. Struck down, but not destroyed. Two words keep catching me every time I read this verse: but not.
Not, “it's okay now.” Not, “the hard part is over.” Just “you are still here.” And that is not nothing. That is, in fact, everything. And so is God. Still here. Not in a hurry with you. Not watching the calendar. He hasn't forgotten a single thing about what this has cost you.
I wonder if somewhere in this summer, hope might find its way to you in the quiet ways it tends to. Not announced. Not dramatic. Just a moment that catches you off guard, where something still feels like something. A conversation that goes longer than you expected. An evening that is just soft enough. A small, unremarkable thing that reminds you that you are still capable of being reached.
I think of the years I spent grieving children I never got to hold. The ones lost before I could meet them, and the one who was promised to me and then taken away. I remember sitting in a nursery I had barely begun that I had to quietly dismantle, certain that grief like that simply does not get redeemed, that some losses just sit there forever, unanswered. In a way, they still do. I did not get the ending I prayed for. But somewhere in the unraveling, I found that I had not actually been let go of. God did not rush in with an explanation or a replacement. He just stayed. He stayed through the waiting rooms, the empty rooms, the rooms I could not walk into for a while. That is the part I did not expect: not that the ache would disappear, but that I would slowly become someone who could carry it without being consumed by it. Hard pressed, yes. Still not crushed. I say this not as someone watching from a distance, but as someone who has waited through summers like this one.
I do not think hope means the pain is gone. Maybe it just means you are still reachable. Maybe that is enough to carry into today. Not healing. Not answers. Just the quiet possibility that you are held—even now, even here, even in the middle of a summer that arrived before you were ready.
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Let’s Pray:
God, I'm tired in a way that's hard to explain to people. Summer showed up and I'm still here. Still in this. I'm not asking You to rush it or fix it into something pretty. I just need to know You're close. That You see what this actually looks like from the inside. Hold what I can't. And when something like hope starts to come, help me recognize it. Even if it's small. Even if it's quiet. I'm still here. And I know that matters to You.
In Jesus’ name, I pray.
Amen.
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Song of Reflection #1: “It Is Well” (Acoustic version) by Kristene DiMarco. Listen to it here.
Song of Reflection #2: “Come As You Are” by Crowder (Cover by Vanessa Magnon in ASL). Listen to it here.
Song of Reflection #3: “Steady My Heart” by Kari Jobe (cover in SASL Translation by St. Vincent School for the Deaf). Listen to it here.
Song of Reflection #4: “Just Be Held” by Casting Crowns. Listen to it here.
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Author Bio:
Dr. Patti Schultz’s inspiring journey weaves a tapestry of compassion, resilience, and divine hope.
Song of Reflection #3: “Steady My Heart” by Kari Jobe (cover in SASL Translation by St. Vincent School for the Deaf). Listen to it here.
Song of Reflection #4: “Just Be Held” by Casting Crowns. Listen to it here.
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Author Bio:
Dr. Patti Schultz’s inspiring journey weaves a tapestry of compassion, resilience, and divine hope.
Formerly a public school principal, professor, teacher, and interpreter for the deaf, she now dedicates her life to a heartfelt ministry rooted in her personal experiences.
As a mother to three miracle boys here on Earth and a member of a heavenly soccer team, Patti’s story is one of unwavering faith and profound love. Her decade-long battle with infertility and recurrent loss fuels her deep compassion for grieving mothers, guiding them toward healing through the comforting embrace of Jesus Christ’s garment.
Patti’s gentle wisdom offers a safe haven for women navigating pain, reminding them they are never alone. Through her ministry, she seeks to envelop grieving mothers in divine comfort, encouraging hope, renewal, and the reassurance that God's love is always near, wrapping them in His compassionate hem as they walk the path to healing.
Living in northern Michigan, she cherishes precious moments with family and community, drawing strength from faith and connection.
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Connect with Patti:
Website: pattischultz.com
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/dr.pattischultz/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Dr.Patti.Schultz
Email: dr.patti.schultz@gmail.com
