It’s December 30, 2025—the end of another year—and I’m finally sitting down to write again. The silence here on the blog has stretched longer than I intended. Grief has a way of doing that. When we lost Charlie—yes, Charlie Kirk, that fiery voice of conviction and faith who meant so much to so many of us—it hit like a thunderclap. His sudden passing shook me deeply. I needed time to process, to pray, to let the shock settle into sorrow and then, slowly, into gratitude for the light he carried. I’m still grieving, but I’m also ready to pick up the pen (or keyboard) again, because hope doesn’t pause for our pain.

In the wake of such loss, what sustains me are those fleeting but unmistakable glimpses of Heaven that touch our heart and confirm the Love of God. In a culture that often feels like it’s unraveling—division shouted from every screen, cynicism masquerading as wisdom—there are still these moments that stop you in your tracks and make you think, “Oh Lord, how great are Your works.”

I see it when a young person stands up boldly for truth, even when it costs them friends or followers—like Charlie himself did, time and time again. I see it in small acts too: the stranger who pays for the coffee of the person behind them in line, the family that quietly adopts a child no one else wanted, the neighbor who shovels an elderly widow’s driveway before she even wakes up. These aren’t just good works. They’re previews. Little foretastes of the day when every tear is wiped away, when justice rolls down like waters, and when love isn’t the exception but the air we breathe.

Charlie Kirk spent his life pointing toward that deeper reality—that freedom is a gift from God, that courage isn’t the absence of fear but the refusal to bow to it. And even now, in his absence, the hope he defended feels more vivid. Because hope isn’t rooted in any one person—it’s rooted in the One who conquered death itself.

Stepping into the New Year, I am choosing to lean into that hope. Not the flimsy, wishful kind, but the stubborn, eyes-wide-open kind that says: even here, even now, Heaven is nearer than we think. We get to participate in it every time we choose kindness over contempt, truth over convenience, forgiveness over resentment.

So tell me—what glimpse of Heaven have you caught lately? A moment of unexpected grace? A conversation that restored your faith in people? Share it below. Let’s remind each other that the light is still breaking through.

With a heart that’s healing and still fiercely hopeful,

Christine