He Reigns

by Seneca Moraleda-Puguan

In recent months, I have found myself losing sleep, consumed by thoughts of the future and the uncertainty it holds.

Living in a beautiful and peaceful country, I should feel secure, but as a temporary resident, I am constantly reminded of how tenuous my place here is.

My feet feel unsteady as if they cannot fully plant on the ground beneath me.

Yet, while I am caught in this spiral of worry about the unknown, I am repeatedly confronted by far more immediate realities—the tragedies and disasters that flood the news: wars, hurricanes, human suffering.

This stark contrast struck me deeply.

Here I am, lying comfortably in my bed, sheltered by a roof and warmed by a blanket, preoccupied with an uncertain future beyond my control.

Meanwhile, across the world, countless people—young and old—cannot afford the luxury of peaceful sleep.

For them, the future is not a distant worry but a fragile thing, one that could be extinguished in an instant.

Recently, a friend reached out, asking for prayers for her friends in Lebanon who were fleeing for their lives.

At the same time, friends in Israel messaged me, pleading for prayers as missiles streaked across the sky.

My mother, who lives in Florida, warned me of the powerful winds and rains sweeping across the state, asking for prayers for her friends in the storm’s path.

My daughter’s Ukrainian friend expressed fears for a loved one who had returned to their war-ravaged homeland.

Everywhere I turn, I am surrounded by stories of suffering: families fighting for survival in Gaza, Sudan, and other war-torn and disaster-stricken nations, including my homeland.

The terror these people face each day is unimaginable.

While I have the privilege of worrying about the distant future, they are focused on surviving the next hour, the next minute, and even the next breath.

For me, the future is something I can plan for. For them, it is something that might never come.

We live in a world so painfully divided—a world where some rest easily in their beds while others tremble in fear, where some feast extravagantly while others scrounge for crumbs.

In witnessing the suffering of these faceless people, my heart began to change.

I am no longer consumed by my own worries and ambitions. My eyes have been opened to the needs and cries of those around the world.

The concerns that once occupied my mind—my plans, my future—seem small and selfish in comparison.

Now, as the nights pass, I find myself losing sleep for a different reason. No longer am I kept awake by anxiety about my future.

Instead, I lie awake in prayer, my heart breaking for the families, children, and communities facing unimaginable horrors.

As tears fall, I feel an overwhelming sense of compassion—a deep connection to the pain of others.

It is in these quiet, sleepless moments that I sense God’s presence, reminding me that He is with those who suffer.

He hears their cries. His heart breaks for them, too.

Despite the darkness that seems to engulf the world, He assures me that He is still sovereign, still at work, still victorious, and always the Light of the world.

This transformation in my heart is profound. I feel God calling me to shift my focus from myself to others, to become a vessel of His love and compassion.

While I pray for those who suffer, He comforts me, reminding me that He is mindful of my own needs and my future. In caring for others, I am reassured that He is taking care of me.

Isn’t He a great God indeed? Take courage, my heart. Stay steadfast, my soul. He reigns.

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