Marjorie: You Didn't Know How Much You Were Loved

She Was Seen. She Was Loved. And I Will Not Forget

There are some losses that don’t just hurt… they pierce.

A few weeks ago, Marjorie “Robertson” Denis passed away after a battle with advanced breast cancer that metastasized. Even writing those words feels wrong. Too fast. Too final. Too heavy for something my heart is still trying to process.

This wasn’t just someone I “knew.” This wasn’t just another name connected to House of Prayer.

This was someone I loved.

And what breaks me open the most is this: she may not have known just how deeply she was loved.

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Jesus, Pray for Me

By the time I left House of Prayer, I was not whole.

I was not steady.

I was not okay.

I was unraveling.

And in that fragile, disoriented place, I lived with Marjorie’s mom. That season could have swallowed me whole. But in the middle of that pain… There was Marjorie.

She saw more than most people ever did.

Not the surface. Not the polished answers.

She saw the struggle.

And she didn’t turn away from it.

There was a moment—one I have never forgotten—where she prayed with me while I was completely broken. Not the kind of broken you hide. The kind you can’t dress up. The kind that exposes everything.

And in that moment… something sacred happened.

She didn’t stand above me.

She didn’t fix me.

She didn’t distance herself.

She became vulnerable too.

And I saw her.

Not the role.

Not the expectations.

Not the image people try to maintain.

I saw her.

And I loved her.

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There is something holy about being seen in your brokenness and not rejected.

There is something deeply Christ-like about meeting someone in their pain and choosing to stay.

That’s what she did.

And that is why this loss feels the way it does.

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Scripture says:

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” – Psalm 34:18

I have clung to that verse in my own darkest moments. And today, I cling to it again—not just for myself, but for everyone who loved her… and especially for her daughter.

Because when someone leaves this earth, what remains are the echoes:

• The prayers they prayed

• The moments they showed up

• The love they gave, even if they didn’t fully realize its impact

And Marjorie’s life—whether she knew it or not—left a mark.

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I am asking something of everyone reading this.

Please… let there be silence where silence is needed.

Let there be honor where honor is due.

Let there be restraint where opinions are itching to speak.

This is not the moment for division.

This is not the moment for commentary.

This is a moment for grief.

For dignity.

For love.

She has a daughter.

A daughter now navigating a world without her mother.

And that reality is heavy enough without the noise of careless words.

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There is also something I cannot ignore… something that has been sitting in my spirit since I heard the news:

Time is shorter than we think.

We assume there will be another conversation.

Another chance.

Another moment to say what we meant to say.

But sometimes… there isn’t.

And what devastates me the most is the possibility that she passed without fully knowing how deeply she was loved.

So let this be a warning and an awakening:

Say it now.

Say “I love you” until it feels repetitive.

Say it until the people in your life can never question it.

Don’t let silence rob someone of the truth they deserved to hear.

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I will never forget her.

Not the moment she prayed with me.

Not the way she stepped into my brokenness.

Not the glimpse of her heart that I was given.

That mattered.

She mattered.

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Seen In the Places No One Looked

There is something the Lord presses on my heart in this moment:

There are people—right now—who feel unseen, misunderstood, or buried under expectation. People who have given pieces of themselves quietly, without recognition.

And the Lord is saying:

“I saw it all.”

Every hidden act of compassion.

Every quiet prayer.

Every moment of choosing love over self-protection.

Nothing was wasted.

And even when people leave this earth carrying misunderstandings or unspoken things, God is not confused about who they were or what they carried.

He is the righteous judge of every story.

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A Prayer for Moriah

Father…

I don’t even have polished words for this.

This hurts too much for anything to sound clean or put together.

But You are near to the brokenhearted, so I bring Moriah before You right now.

God, wrap her in something that feels like safety when everything around her feels like it’s been torn open.

When the silence hits… be loud with Your presence.

When the grief comes in waves… be the anchor that holds her steady.

When questions arise that have no answers… be her peace in the middle of them.

Lord, cover her mind from torment.

Cover her heart from despair.

Cover her future from the lie that she is alone.

Let her feel—not just hear, but feel—that she is loved.

Send the right people.

Real people.

Safe people.

People who won’t wound her further, but will sit with her, pray with her, and carry pieces of the weight she shouldn’t have to carry by herself.

And God… where there are wounds, confusion, or pain tied to her mother—meet her there with truth, with healing, and with mercy.

Redeem what feels broken.

Restore what feels lost.

And hold her through every moment of this grief.

Jesus… be closer than her next breath.

Amen.

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Marjorie… you were seen.

And you were loved.

And I will never forget you. I am so deeply heartbroken... in a way words will never be able to carry.

Yours truly— Blackhawk Missions

I ask that everyone be respectful. Have compassion. Love one another.