More Than I Ever Imagined
Throughout my time in high-school I felt secure. I felt the waves and echoes of prom dress drama, laughing until you can’t breathe, heartbreak and healing. My two best friends at the time had it all. Before you knew it, 4-years had past and we graduated hand and hand, promises to never leave each others side.
There was no fight. No harsh words. Just a quiet drift. The kind that sneaks up on you until you realize the closeness is gone.
And that kind of grief—the kind that comes without closure. It leaves you wondering if you did something wrong. If you held on too tightly. If maybe you loved it more than they did.
But then, somewhere in the middle of the ache—came my best friend Sam. One lonley day I showed up to bible study in search of community, and somehow I gained so much more.
Somehow, in just a short period of time, Sam became what I was longing for since primary school. Those moments I used to watch everybody else experince, expect myself. I don’t know if it was because we share the same name, but I do know just how well God moved in my life throughout this friendship.
Sam became the softest, steadiest presence I can ask for. She became the girl I told everything to, and she would be the first person to know what was on my mind.
Sam never asks me to shrink. She never makes me feel too emotional, or sensitive. And by the grace of the Lord, I show up everyday to become that presence for her as well.
Sam is the girl who screams loudest for me. Who sits with me in silence and still says all the right words.
She’s the girl who texts “I’m proud of you” after a hard day without even knowing why it was hard.
And the truth is—she didn’t fill the exact space others left behind. That space still exists. Grief doesn’t vanish just because joy arrives. But Sam brought light into places I thought would stay dark forever. She brought color back to days that had been stuck in gray.
And when she throws her head back laughing at one of my dumb jokes, or hypes me up like I just ran a marathon for simply getting out of bed—I realize, God didn’t overlook my ache. He answered it with her.
He saw what broke. And in His kindness, He gave me someone who reminds me what wholeness feels like.
John 15:2 says, “He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit He prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.”
That verse used to scare me. The idea of cutting, of losing. But now, I see it differently. The friendships that ended weren’t failures. They were pruning. They made space for growth, for sweetness, for a friend like Sam.
So if you’re still in the middle of that heartbreak—if your texts are going unanswered, if the people who once felt like home now feel like strangers—I want you to know this:
You’re not too much. You’re not unlovable. You’re not alone.
Your Sam is coming.
And one day—maybe sooner than you think—you’ll whisper to yourself in awe:
This is more than I ever imagined.
