I fell in love with cruising in the middle of my grief, somewhere between the vastness of the ocean and the quiet reminders of God’s glory stretched across the sky. My first cruise was the Carnival Mardi Gras. It was something completely new for me, something I never expected to bring comfort.
At first, my honest thought was, what could possibly be fun about being stuck on a big boat? I worried I would feel trapped or worse, bored. I wondered how I would sit still with my thoughts, how I would fill the time, and whether I would even enjoy it at all. But oh boy, it was so much more than a big boat. It was the most beautiful ship I had ever seen up close. Grief already has a way of making everything feel heavy, and I didn’t know if a cruise would magnify that heaviness or somehow ease it.
But what I discovered was far from what I imagined.
Instead of boredom, there was life everywhere. There was endless entertainment, games like Deal or No Deal, bingo nights filled with laughter, live shows that pulled you out of your thoughts even if just for a moment, and music that filled the halls with energy. And then there was the food, truly unlimited, as if every meal was an invitation to experience joy in something simple again.
But what stayed with me most wasn’t just the activities. It was the permission to keep going, trusting that God was still with me, guiding my steps even in the middle of my grief, and gently reminding me that I was never walking alone even on the open sea.
Oh, how I loved standing there, staring at the ocean and thinking about our God, and how endlessly creative He is to have formed such a beautiful, expansive world. He truly is the ultimate artist, painting wonder across every wave and horizon.
Somewhere out on that vast water, I began to understand that I didn’t have to feel guilty for smiling. I didn’t have to feel guilty about moving forward or feel like I was leaving my loved one behind. Grief often whispers that joy is betrayal, but healing quietly assures us that joy is not betrayal; it is love still present, carried in every memory and every breath.
Our loved ones are in Heaven, which has often been described as the most beautiful place we could never fully imagine here on earth. As Christians, we hold onto the promise that one day we will see them again. That truth doesn’t erase the pain, but it gently anchors us in hope. So why not embrace the time we have been given while we are still here? Why not laugh, explore, and experience the beauty God continues to place in our path? Not as a replacement for our loved ones, but as a continuation of the love they helped shape within us.
Cruising taught me that healing doesn’t always look like sitting still in sorrow. Sometimes it looks like standing on a deck, feeling the ocean wind, looking at the horizon, and realizing that God is still writing your story even in grief, even in joy, even in the in between.
