Heaven Is Cheering You On

Finding Strength in the Middle, Purpose in the Pain, and Joy in the Journey

I don’t know exactly what your race looks like right now.

Maybe you’re barely holding it together. Maybe you’re tired of running. Or maybe you’re still pressing forward, but no one seems to notice—at least not on this side of Heaven.

If that’s you, I want to speak something straight into the weariness that might be hiding behind your smile:

You are not running alone.

There’s a crowd you can’t see—but they see you. A cloud of witnesses who know what it’s like to walk through pain and keep believing. Saints who once lived just like you—who wrestled, who waited, who wondered if their faith was enough.

And now?
They’re not just watching.
They’re cheering.

Therefore we also, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight... and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us.
— Hebrews 12:1, NKJV

This verse has taken on new meaning for me in recent years. I used to read it like a call to try harder. But I see it differently now. I see it as a reminder of who’s with us. A glimpse into the unseen reality that when you feel the most alone… you’re actually most surrounded.

They’re not cheering because you’re doing it perfectly.
They’re cheering because you’re still showing up.

When I picture that cloud of witnesses, I don’t see faceless figures. I think of all the saints before us…and I think of people we’ve loved and lost—those who fought the good fight and finished their course. I picture them on their feet, hands raised, not because we’ve arrived at the finish line, but because we refused to not give up even when it hurt.

And I want you to know something deep in your spirit:

Heaven is not indifferent to your struggle.
Heaven celebrates your perseverance.

You may feel unseen right now. You may not feel like anything you’re doing matters. But nothing is wasted. Not the tears. Not the prayers. Not the quiet endurance. Not the decision to keep walking when you could’ve sat down and given up.

Your middle matters. Heaven leans in when you choose to keep going.

You Still Matter—Even in the Middle

Sometimes it’s not the crisis that’s the hardest.

It’s the in-between.
The long middle miles of the race that feel
ordinary, invisible, and exhausting.

Maybe you’re not where you used to be—but you’re also not where you hoped to be by now. The promises feel distant. The breakthrough feels delayed. And part of you wonders if anything you’re doing really makes a difference.

Can I whisper something here that I often tell my clients—and have had to tell myself? Your middle matters. Heaven isn’t just watching the finish line.

In fact, I think Heaven leans in a little closer when the road stretches long and you keep walking anyway. When the “wow moments” are few and far between, but you choose to be faithful. When no one is clapping, but you keep showing up. When the only spotlight is the one God shines over your obedience.

For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.
— Romans 8:18, NKJV

This verse doesn’t minimize the pain. It lifts our hope.
It says: There’s more coming. There’s a glory already forming in your story—even if you can’t see it yet.

I know what it’s like to feel like you're behind. Like everyone else has passed you. Like you missed your moment or messed up your calling. But listen to me:

You have not missed it.
You are not forgotten.
You are not too late.

If you’re still breathing, you’re still in the race. And if you’re still in the race, then your story is still unfolding. Praise God!

What you’re carrying is precious.
What you’re pressing through is holy ground. What you’re building in secret is going to shine in eternity.

I’ve seen people give up too soon because they believed the lie that what they were doing didn’t matter. Please don’t believe that. Not for a second. The God who numbers your hairs and bottles your tears does not overlook your faithfulness.

The Weight of Glory Is
Greater Than You Think

I remember sitting across from someone years ago—her eyes tired, her voice quiet, her hands wringing a tissue she hadn’t let go of the whole session. She had been faithful. She had stayed when it would’ve been easier to run. But now, everything felt... empty.

“Why would God give me such a heart to serve… and then let me be invisible?” she asked me through tears.

“What’s the point of being called if no one sees me? If no doors are opening? If nothing seems to change?”

It wasn’t bitterness I heard in her voice—it was heartbreak. The kind that comes from being willing… and waiting.

I didn’t give her a churchy answer. I just sat with her for a moment. And then I gently said something that came to me years earlier in my own hard season:

“Because glory is heavy. And the weight of it is being formed in you—right now.”

That’s what 2 Corinthians 4:17 says:

For our light affliction, which is but for a moment,
is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.
— 2 Corinthians 4:17, NKJV

I know—sometimes what you’re carrying doesn’t feel light at all.

It feels like grief you can’t explain. Delays you didn’t choose. Pressure you can’t escape.

But Scripture isn’t dismissing your pain here—it’s revealing your worth. Because only things of eternal value get pressed like that.

Only vessels that carry God and His glory feel the stretching, the resistance, the silence that makes you question if anything is happening. But friend, something is happening. Something eternal. Something glorious.

There is a weight of glory being formed in you that this world cannot comprehend.
And Heaven is watching it grow with reverence.

I don’t say that to spiritualize your suffering—I say it to honor it.

I say it because you need to know that your perseverance isn’t just for this life.
It echoes into eternity.

That woman I mentioned? She didn’t get a sudden miracle. But a few months later, she showed up radiant, standing taller. Not because everything changed… but because she had. She had walked through the fire and found Jesus in it. She had found a strength in her bones that wasn’t natural—and a nearness with God that only comes through endurance.

And I want the same for you.

Even when the path ahead looks dark—keep running toward the light.

Even when you can’t see the finish line—know that Heaven can.

Even when you feel like sitting down—remember who’s standing and cheering.

When nothing feels certain but God… keep going.

There’s More Light Ahead Than You Know

Sometimes the breakthrough doesn’t come in a flash.

Sometimes it comes in a breath.

That moment you realize you’re still here—still standing.

That quiet afternoon when peace shows up for no reason at all.

That unexpected laugh in the middle of a tear-soaked week.

These are evidence of God’s love.
Evidence that the darkness didn’t win.

You may not be able to see it yet, but there is more light ahead than you know.

The enemy would love for you to believe that the best is behind you. But God doesn’t tell stories that way.

He saves the sweetest wine for later.

He writes beauty into endings you thought were ruined.

He turns ashes into crowns when no one else is watching.

And I believe—deep in my spirit—that someone reading this needs to hear:

There are still joy-filled chapters ahead.

You haven’t cried your last healing tear.
You haven’t seen your last miracle.
You haven’t laughed your loudest, or danced your freest, or stood in your most radiant “after” moment.

I don’t know how or when—but I believe with everything in me: you are getting ready to enter into something powerfully life-giving.

You will smile again.

Not the polite kind of smile. The real one. The one that reaches all the way to your eyes and makes your soul say, “I remember now... this is who I am.”

Because the One who authored your beginning is not finished writing.

“Don’t quit. It’s going to be more glorious than you imagined.”

Keep Running

You were never meant to run this race in silence.

The great cloud of witnesses—the ones who’ve gone before, who walked through fire and stayed faithful—are not sitting back, indifferent. Their lives still speak. Their legacy surrounds you. And though Scripture doesn’t say they’re watching every move, it does say you’re not running alone.

You are encircled by the testimony of those who endured. Their faith still echoes: “Keep going.” “You’re not forgotten.” “This race is worth it.”

You may not hear the sound with your ears, but in the spirit, you can feel it—Heaven is not silent. The throne room is not still. The One who authored your faith is also the One who promises to finish it.

Looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith…
— Hebrews 12:2, NKJV

He sees every bruise on your soul.
Every time you’ve gotten back up.
Every unseen moment you’ve chosen to trust instead of shut down.

And He’s not folding His arms in disappointment.
He’s standing up with fire in His eyes saying,
“That one belongs to Me. And they’re going to make it.”

So run, beloved.
Run like you’re not alone—because you’re not.
Run like every step matters—because it does.
Run with your eyes on Jesus—because He already finished the part you couldn’t.

Even if your pace feels slow. Even if your legs are shaking. Even if today, “running” looks like crawling forward on your knees with whispered prayers—
Heaven is cheering you on.

You still matter.
Your race still counts.
And the finish line is not the end of your story.
It’s the beginning of glory you cannot imagine.

A Prayer for the Runner

Father God,
I thank You that You never take Your eyes off us—not for a second.
You see the weary runner, the hidden battles, the heart that wants to quit but keeps moving anyway.
Lift the one reading this today. Breathe fresh hope into their lungs.
Let them feel the weight of Heaven’s joy over them.
Let them see Jesus again—radiant, smiling, and ready to carry them where they cannot go alone.

Thank You for the promise that this race is not in vain.
Thank You for glory beyond what we can comprehend.
Help us run with endurance, knowing we are surrounded and celebrated—never forgotten.

In the Mighty Name of Jesus,
Amen

With fierce love and unwavering grace,
Dr. Cyndi Matos