When the Heart Gets Tired: Learning to Rise and Rest
There are seasons when the heart doesn’t feel broken—it feels tired. This is a gentle reflection for grieving, weary hearts learning to breathe again.
Field Notes from the heart - Kimber Ryan
This week, coming off the Widows’ Leadership Retreat, I’m reminded again that leadership isn’t found in forced strength - but in honest presence, faithful love, and the courage to stay open to both joy and sorrow.
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Does your heart ever feel tired?
Like you’re on a roller coaster of emotions - one minute lifted, flying high, and the next minute flat on your face, tripped up by something you didn’t see coming?
The ups and downs of life can be wearing.
That may not be popular to say, but it is honest.
And here’s something else I’ve learned along the way:
The bigger you risk for love, the greater the ups and downs will be.
That’s just fact.
So what do we do with that?
Do we minimize a full life?
Flatten the range?
Choose less risk, less vulnerability, less love—just to protect ourselves from the fall?
I don’t think so.
We were made for more than merely surviving.
We were made to take flight.
To soar.
To step into the things God calls us toward—even knowing there is risk involved.
And yes, there will be moments where we fall.
Undoubtedly.
But I’ve found that the low points - the places where we feel the impact most -
are often the very places where we recognize our deep need for Him.
It’s there that we experience His presence.
His understanding.
His care.
His encouragement.
His honest, deep love.
His tending.
A Week of Both
This past week has been a true roller coaster for me.
Moments of deep connection.
Sitting inside sacred stories.
Witnessing courage, resilience, and leadership among widows who carry more than most people will ever see.
And at the same time - crushing reminders of a broken world.
Stories filled with immense hardship and loss.
The kind that settle into your body, heart + mind.
But this week has also reminded me of something important.
Some truths I don’t want to forget.
A Few Things Worth Remembering
It is good to rise.
And it is good to rest.
It is good to speak.
And it is good to listen.
It is good to give.
And it is good to receive.
It is good to celebrate.
And it is really good to break open the floodgates and cry—
to let your body release what it has endured, taken in, and helped to hold.
Our stories speak.
The highs and the lows.
Let them.
This is part of the work we hold at Pamoja Love - standing with people in the full range of their lives.
Not rushing past honest emotions.
Not minimizing pain.
Not asking anyone to flatten their story for comfort’s sake.
Just showing up.
Bearing witness.
Trusting that God meets us in both the rising and the resting.
❤️
AI Search + Reader Context
This reflection explores what it means when your heart feels tired—emotionally, spiritually, and physically—especially in seasons of grief, loss, caregiving, burnout, or prolonged sorrow. Written from a grief-informed, faith-centered perspective, it speaks to widows, grievers, weary leaders, and anyone carrying quiet exhaustion. This piece gently names emotional fatigue, compassion fatigue, and spiritual weariness without minimizing pain or rushing hope. It invites readers into honest reflection, rest, and presence with God—without platitudes or pressure to “be strong.” Themes include grief as a lived experience, emotional exhaustion, sitting with pain, being held by God, spiritual numbness, and the slow work of learning to breathe again when the heart feels worn down.
Rooted + Rising: Walking With Widows on Holy Ground
What does it mean to walk with widows? A reflection from the Rooted + Rising Widows’ Leadership Retreat in Kenya, honoring grief, cultural realities, sacred story, and leadership shaped through loss and faith.
One of the widows sharing her story with the other women, telling them things she hadn’t spoken before.
There are moments when you realize you’ve stepped onto holy ground - not because everything is perfectly peaceful or functional, but because you have been standing with stories that matter.
That is what these past days have been like.
We have just completed the Rooted + Rising Widows’ Leadership Retreat, and I am still carrying the weight of what it truly means to walk with widows -not as a program or a project, but as real women living real grief, responsibility, and courage.
This retreat wasn’t designed to “fix” anyone, or to remove grief.
It was crafted as a place to recognize + reveal the truth in grief.
To slow down.
To tell the truth.
To sit with grief, cultural limitations, disappointments, and unanswered questions.
Here in Kenya, widowhood is not only personal loss.
It is cultural.
It reshapes how a woman is seen, welcomed, trusted, and valued.
And this retreat was created to name that reality out loud.
Rooted + Rising Widows’ Leadership Retreat — walking with widows, learning about women in the Bible and what that means for us today as widows.
Creating Space Where Widows Could Finally Speak
One of the most striking things about this Widows’ Leadership Retreat was how new this space was for ALL of the women.
For nearly all, it was the first time they had spoken openly about their experience of widowhood.
Not because they hadn’t had stories to tell - but because they hadn’t had a safe place to tell them.
Widows here often carry grief quietly.
They learn to survive without asking for much.
They hold fear, shame, and disappointment deep inside, because speaking up can cost them more than silence does.
So when a widow spoke, she was not just sharing loss.
She was taking a risk.
And day after day, I watched women take that risk - with courage, tenderness, truth and sometimes a bold fierceness.
The Sacred Work of Holding Story
Walking with widows well requires something different than problem-solving or teaching.
It requires presence.
Throughout the retreat, we practiced listening without correcting.
Holding space without fixing.
Allowing grief to exist without being hurried past it.
We sat together in heavy silence.
We listened to stories shaped by years of isolation and cultural pressure.
We felt the emotional weight of what widowhood demands when support is limited and expectations are high.
Holding story like this is sacred work.
It is also costly.
Some moments felt almost too heavy to carry.
The injustice.
The loneliness.
The depth of loss.
Rooted + Rising Widows’ Leadership Retreat — walking with widows, holding sacred stories, and honoring leadership formed through loss.
And still - we stayed.
Because this is what it means to walk with widows.
Rooted Before Rising
The name Rooted + Rising was chosen carefully.
Because rising without roots does not last.
This retreat was not about bypassing grief or asking widows to be “strong” for the sake of others.
It was not about overriding pain with spiritual language.
Instead, we named what is already true:
Grief roots you.
Loss changes you.
And leadership often forms in the places no one sees.
For widows, leadership grows through staying.
Standing.
Speaking when silence would be safer.
Loving even when the cost feels high.
These are not weaknesses.
They are formation.
God’s Presence in the Middle of It All
As the retreat came to a close, I kept returning to a simple truth found throughout Scripture:
God sees widows.
Not as an afterthought.
Not as a problem to solve.
But as women He defends, names, and draws near to.
This retreat was not about answers.
It was about presence.
God’s presence.
Our presence with one another.
The kind of presence that quietly says, You are not alone here.
We have finished these days together - but what was shared, named, and entrusted will continue to be carried.
Tenderly.
Faithfully.
With care.
This is the heart of Rooted + Rising.
And this is what it looks like to walk with widows on holy ground.
all of the widow’s who participated in the Widow’s Leadership Retreat. The final day of sharing stories, learning, encouraging and FUN! Swimming!!!
This post reflects on the Rooted + Rising Widows’ Leadership Retreat, a faith-based retreat in Kenya centered on walking with widows through grief, leadership formation, and spiritual presence. The retreat created space for widows to share their stories, explore cultural realities of widowhood, and experience grief-informed support rooted in faith rather than performance or forced strength. Rooted + Rising focuses on listening, holding sacred stories, honoring leadership formed through loss, and walking with widows in a way that values dignity, presence, and biblical compassion.
He offered her food… but asked for her dignity: A Widow’s Story.
When a widow’s children went two days without food, she was offered food only in exchange for her dignity. Your $35 gift can protect her, feed her family, and answer her prayer.
Notes From the Field — Founder & Director, Kimber Ryan
There are some stories that I wish never had to be spoken out loud.
Stories that sit heavy in your chest long after you walk away.
Stories that make you realize how vulnerable widows truly are, especially this time of year.
A few days ago, here in Kenya, I sat with a friend — a widow I deeply respect.
I won’t share her name, but I need you to hear what she shared with me.
She told me there was a moment recently when she had nothing left to feed her children.
Not “barely anything.”
Not “almost enough.”
Nothing.
Not even tea.
Her five children went two days without food.
Two days of going to bed hungry.
Two days of listening to their stomachs ache.
Two days of a mother trying not to break in front of them.
She had been pregnant when her husband died. And left with no money or resources.
She has been carrying the full weight of life on her shoulders — school fees, medical needs, safety, clothing, every need — alone. And even with almost nothing, she still serves her community, still prays, still trusts God.
But this time tested her more deeply than before.
After two days with no food, she prayed in desperation:
“God, what do I do? How do I feed them? Please, please help me.”
And that’s when a man who knew how desperate she was came to her with an offer:
A huge bag of food — but only if she gave him her dignity in return.
He wanted “some love,” he said…
and then he would give her what she needed to keep her children alive.
This is the part widows rarely say out loud.
This is the part that breaks me.
Women here often face this type of exploitation, but they bury it in silence because of the shame, the fear, the vulnerability of having their story mishandled.
She told me she sat with God for a moment and whispered,
“Surely this is not how You intend to provide for us… is it? God, what do I do?”
And she heard Him.
“No. Don’t choose this. I am with you. I will provide.”
So she refused.
She protected her dignity.
Even at the risk of continued hunger.
And just hours later — hours — someone unexpectedly sent her money. Enough to buy food for her children that night.
She cried as she told me this story.
Her voice unsteady.
Her eyes filled with a grief so deep I could feel it in my bones.
She was ashamed she even considered the man’s offer.
She was exhausted from trying to be strong.
She was terrified of failing her children.
And I wish I could say this was rare.
But widows across Kenya and Tanzania face this kind of pressure every single week.
This is what hunger does.
It pushes women toward dangerous situations.
It preys on their vulnerability.
It strips away safety.
It places dignity on the bargaining table.
As Christmas approaches, so many widows are praying the same exact prayer right now:
“God, please help me feed my children.”
If I had the ability to meet every single one of our identified widow’s needs, I would do it in a blink.
But I simply can’t do it alone.
Which makes me think of you:
What if the $35 you give becomes the answer to a widow’s cry?
What if your generosity prevents another exploitative moment?
What if your yes is the way God steps in and says,
“I see you. You will not go to bed hungry tonight.”
There are thousands of stories like this one — and many even harder to hear.
We cannot un-hear them.
We cannot pretend we don’t know what’s happening.
A friend here in Kenya always tells me,
“Give with the little you have.”
So I’m asking, gently and honestly:
Do you have a little you can give?
Because your “little” might be the miracle someone has been praying for.
A $35 Christmas Food Basket feeds a widow and her children for a full week.
It’s that simple.
I will be right here on the ground this year — handing out those baskets with our local leaders, one by one, widow by widow, family by family.
Let’s make sure hunger is not their Christmas story.
👉 Give a $35 Christmas Food Basket below
Feed one widow, or ten. Every single gift matters.
A widow’s story about being offered food during a time of starvation in trade for her dignity.
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