“But none saith, ‘Where is God my Maker, who giveth songs in the night?’” —Job 35:10

It seems that everything arrives in the stillness of night. Fear, sorrow, pain—they all wait for the moment your head touches the pillow. This is their hour, or so they believe. Yet there are seasons even darker than any single night—what I call “night seasons.” In these times, there is no moon or starlight to offer comfort. You cannot count down the hours until sunrise, because dawn feels impossibly far away. Instead, it is as though you are submerged in the depths of the sea, far below the surface where even the faintest light cannot reach. Time feels suspended, and you drift in what seems like an endless, shadowed abyss.

But something happens in the soul during these night seasons—something that allows “deep to call unto deep.” I imagine it like the haunting calls of whales echoing through vast, lonely waters. Their first cries sound mournful, aching, and raw. Yet, in the distance, another voice answers. And suddenly the loneliness shifts; the song becomes a duet—mysterious, resonant, and strangely beautiful.

This is how I picture the soul in its darkest moments: crying out in deep, wordless tones. Then, from the distance, the Holy Spirit responds with His own majestic call. And somehow, simply knowing we have been heard brings comfort. His answers draw us closer, into what feels like a holy depth. When sorrow is met in those deep places, even our thoughts grow richer and more meaningful, shaped by the very waters we’re swimming through. Nothing else evokes this response—not easy days, not lighthearted moments. It is born only from profound pain, loss, and struggle.

Yet even in the deep there is beauty, for something miraculous occurs. For a brief, sacred moment, our spirit shifts from its own broken songs to His songs of promise. Our cries become offerings of praise as our wounded heart aligns with the Comforter. The song we sing together becomes a true Balm of Gilead for our soul. This sacrifice of praise—rising from sorrow yet filled with gratitude—becomes a sweet savor that drifts up to the throne of God.

This blog is about swimming in those deep, dark seas of loss and pain, because these dives have taught me one thing: I never need to ask, “Where is my Maker?” I know where to find Him. He waits for me in the depths, calling me ever deeper so He can give me a new song.

May this blog help you discover your own “night songs” and may those songs lead you to the morning light.