Elket Rodríguez
CBF Global Migration Advocate
In a year filled with noise, upheaval and uncertainty, I’ve found myself drawn back—again and again—to the quiet truth that God’s presence is the deepest blessing I know.
Not the gifts God gives, not the answers to prayer, not even the things I’m most grateful for. Just…God.
I think of the words of the psalmist in Psalm 73. For 16 verses, the writer vents frustration and complains that the wicked flourish, while the faithful struggle. But then everything shifts: “Until I entered the sanctuary of God…” That moment of divine perspective reframes everything. Beyond circumstances, the writer realizes, “Whom have I in heaven but you?”
Psalm 42 also echoes the same longing: “My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When shall I come and behold the face of God?” The author begins in deep despair but slowly remembers that there is something deeper than bitterness and more enduring than sorrow. The turning point doesn’t come with changed conditions, but with God’s presence. “Hope in God, for I shall again praise him, my help and my God.”
I’ve had a year full of blessings, no doubt. I have three incredible children—one of whom still runs to me with open arms yelling, “Papá!” when I come home. I have two sons who hunger to learn and explore life, a heritage of the Lord (Psalm 127.3). And I have a wife who, honestly, defies description, a virtuous woman (Proverbs 31:10).
I could write volumes on the blessings in my life. But the real blessing—especially in moments when even those good things fade into the background, when joy is hard to muster, when gratitude feels distant—is this: God is the blessing.
It’s easy to get caught up in everything else—even in the good things—and still lose sight of the giver. But when all else dims, when darkness does not lift, there is One who lifts us, holds us and stays close.
I thank God for nearness, for patience and for faithful companionship. When all other blessings fade, God remains. And that is blessing enough.
A Blessing for the Journey
May you give thanks for all that has been given,
both the gifts you asked for and the ones you didn’t know you needed.
May you notice the holy traces
on the path beneath your feet,
the imprint of a faithful God,
and the footsteps of those who walk beside you.
May you receive the rain of heaven’s kindness,
that falls without condition,
refreshing the just and the unjust alike.
May you rejoice in the sunlight that rises without favoritism,
shining on every corner of your story,
even the ones still under construction.
May you savor the moments
when time slows,
and you become aware:
God is near.
God is here.
God is yours.
And above all,
may you give thanks not only for what God does,
but for who God is.
Amen.