Sally Ho
In my previous reflection, One Set of Footprints in the Sand [Sunday Examiner, March 23], I shared how the Lord carried me through the darkest time of my life—the tragic loss of my younger brother and the trauma I endured. Many people resonated with the image of Christ carrying us when we can no longer walk on our own.
Today, I wish to share more deeply how the Lord’s footprints in my life often appeared in the form of people he sent to walk beside me. People who, knowingly or unknowingly, became his hands, his feet, and his heart for me.
After my brother’s death in 2010, my life was plunged into chaos and pain. My parents immediately flew to the UK and stayed for six long months in an unfamiliar land, grieving the loss of their son while caring for me. I will never forget their strength, their presence, and their sacrifice.
My cousin also came and became my confidante—the one person I could completely trust during a time when trust was fragile. Looking back, I see them as the first visible footprints of Jesus on my journey of grief and healing.
Over the years, friends like Cherry, Kathy, Mabel, and Mona continued to walk with me. They stood beside me, through years of darkness, with patience and love. Even my workplace managers, at different jobs, showed extraordinary understanding. Each of these individuals reflected the light of Christ at moments when I could barely see any light at all
The university staff, counsellors, and chaplains also stepped in to offer practical and emotional support. They arranged accommodation, provided counselling, and were simply present during the most harrowing days of my life.
My classmates and friends rallied around me, taking on responsibilities I couldn’t handle—helping with the funeral, court appearances, and even giving me a place to stay when it all became too overwhelming.
Friends from around the UK travelled to be at my brother’s funeral, their presence offering a silent yet powerful message: You are not alone.
The police officers assigned to my brother’s case discovered that he had dreamt of being a policeman himself. Moved by this, they arranged for him to be buried in a police uniform. It was a gesture that brought honour to his life and gave my family a small but precious sense of peace.
His rugby community also set up a memorial fund in his name, a testament to the lives he touched.
Over the years, friends like Cherry, Kathy, Mabel, and Mona continued to walk with me. They stood beside me, through years of darkness, with patience and love. Even my workplace managers, at different jobs, showed extraordinary understanding. Each of these individuals reflected the light of Christ at moments when I could barely see any light at all.
As St. James writes: “All good giving and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights…” [James 1:17]. These acts of kindness and love were not mere coincidences. They were gifts from God, tangible reminders that he was always there—even when I couldn’t perceive him.
Jesus was present in ways that were familiar and acceptable to me, and in those moments, his love was expressed through the hands and hearts of those around me.
Still, there were times I struggled to recognise this grace. I believed that gratitude meant I had to feel happy when I said “thank you,” and when I couldn’t, guilt crept in.
I condemned myself for not feeling grateful enough, thinking: “How can you not be grateful? You are such a bad person for not being happy when they are good and kind to you. You are so ungrateful…”
These lies weighed heavily on my heart. Worse, I sometimes believed that people’s kindness came only from pity, that had the tragedy not occurred, they wouldn’t have shown such love.
In these moments, I would recall the words from a beloved hymn: “Dear Lord and Father of mankind, forgive our foolish ways; Reclothe us in our rightful mind.” Singing or reading those lyrics would calm my spirit.
Still, there were times I struggled to recognise this grace. I believed that gratitude meant I had to feel happy when I said “thank you,” and when I couldn’t, guilt crept in
Later, when I learned about prayer in the Ignatian tradition, I realised that these moments were instances of the Holy Spirit praying within me. As St. Paul says: “The Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with sighs too deep for words” [Romans 8:26].
I came to understand that not knowing how to pray, or feeling unable to be grateful, or even struggling to trust in God during grief, is part of being human. It is okay to feel lost in the darkness. It is okay to not be ready to “resurrect” and smile again on demand.
We need time. We need companions—friends, counsellors, spiritual directors—who can walk with us patiently until we can take the next step.
I will share more in future columns about the inner healing and deliverance I received, but I can say this now with certainty: “With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible” [Matthew 19:26].
I came to understand that not knowing how to pray, or feeling unable to be grateful, or even struggling to trust in God during grief, is part of being human. It is okay to feel lost in the darkness. It is okay to not be ready to ‘resurrect’ and smile again on demand
My journey is living proof that Jesus’ mission “to bring good news to the poor, to proclaim release to the captives, to set free those who are oppressed” [Luke 4:18], is not just for others but for me, and for you as well.
I hope my story can become like the Samaritan woman’s testimony: “We no longer believe because of what you said; for we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this is truly the Saviour of the world” [John 4:42].
Please join me in prayer: “Heavenly Father, I praise you for your healing and deliverance from the darkness that once consumed me. Thank you for revealing yourself in the faces and hearts of those you sent to walk with me. Even when I couldn’t see your hand at work, You never left me. Your love pursued me patiently, waiting for me to trust again.
Lord, I lift up every reader who finds themselves in darkness, weighed down by grief, fear, or despair. Shower them with your peace and healing grace in every part of their lives. Send them companions to walk beside them until they can stand again. Thank you, Lord, for being faithful. Thank you for carrying us when we cannot walk. Amen.
