Silent Hands Still Move (A Poem about Post-Grad)

I walk away from doors I dreamed of,
watching chances slip like sand.
Every step feels like surrender,
every loss a reprimand.

Failure hangs upon my shoulders,
whispers heavy in my chest.
I reach for God, but hear the silence,
wonder if I’ve been dismissed.

So I go down to the water,
where the lake still knows my name,
where the ripples hold my sorrow,
though they never speak the same.

I wade out past the quiet shoreline,
let the cold seep through my skin,
searching for a sign—some echo,
proof that He still draws me in.

Faith feels fragile, thin and fleeting,
prayers dissolve before they rise.
Yet the current keeps on whispering,
as if mercy still survives.

Unseen hands are carving pathways
through the wreckage of my doubt.
What I’ve lost was never wasted,
even now, He shapes me out.

Not in thunder, not in fire,
not in answers, clear and bright—
but in whispers through the water,
in the wind that moves the night.

I will find Him in the tempest,
in the lull between each wave.
Though my sight is blurred by sorrow,
His hands still move—His love still saves.

Post-grad life has been a whirlwind of emotions, a delicate balancing act between hope and doubt. I never expected to feel so stuck while the world around me seemed to move effortlessly forward—friends landing dream jobs, settling down, stepping into the futures they always envisioned. Meanwhile, I find myself waiting, questioning, wondering if I somehow missed my chance or took the wrong turn. The quiet moments stretch on, making faith feel distant and purpose harder to grasp. But even in the uncertainty, I hold onto the belief that grace is still working, shaping me in ways I can’t yet see. Much like the gentle pull of waves against the shore, there is movement, even if it feels imperceptible. This season may be one of longing and loss, but I trust that something greater is being woven through it all.