𝒥𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝒶 𝒢𝒾𝓇𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 ℒℴ𝓋ℯ𝓈 𝒽ℯ𝓇 𝒢ℴ𝒹. 

𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙶𝚘𝚍 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚜 '𝙽𝚘,' 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝔾𝕣𝕠𝕨... 

I used to think God was ignoring me.

 

I would cry out for healing, for peace, for love that didn’t leave. I’d close my eyes and pray the kind of prayers that come from the gut,  the ones soaked in tears and whispered into the cracks of a pillow at 3 a.m.

And then?

Life would give me the opposite.

 

I asked God to heal my broken heart. Instead, I found myself in more broken relationships, each one cutting deeper than the last. But what I didn’t realize then is that every crack in my heart was an opening. He wasn’t trying to destroy me; He was rebuilding my self-worth from the inside out. Every man who couldn’t love me was showing me how to love myself. Every goodbye was God’s hand saying, “Come back to Me, daughter.”

 

I asked for abundance; and thought He’d rain money, opportunity, success. But what He gave me was far richer: laughter in my living room. The sound of my boys breathing peacefully at night. A kitchen full of food, even when the bank account was light. The abundance was never out there... it was right here all along.

 

I begged for peace. He gave me people. Hurting people. Struggling souls. And it was through their healing that mine began. God didn’t wrap peace in silence; He wrapped it in purpose. Every time I held space for someone else’s pain, a little more of my own began to settle. He was showing me that healing doesn’t always come in rest, sometimes, it comes in reaching.

 

And Lord knows, I made idols out of men. I placed them on pedestals, hoping they’d rescue the little girl in me still waiting for her father’s love. But the higher I lifted them, the further I fell from God. Every time I put a man above Him, I lost myself. And He, in His mercy, took them away. Not to punish me, but to position me. To remind me who I belong to. To remind me who loves me first and always.

 

I used to see His silence as rejection. Now I see it as redirection.

 

Every “no” was really a “not that way, baby.”

Every heartbreak was Him handing me back my own heart, cleaner, stronger, fuller.

Every delay, a detour to destiny.

And every single “Why me?” turned into “Oh… thank You.”

 

I no longer beg God for what I think I need.

I just say, “Your will, not mine… but could You hold me while You do it?”

 

Because He’s not just building my character ... He’s building me.

 

And these days, I ain’t waiting for answers.

I’m learning to dance in the questions.

 

The rest that found me. "Be still, and know that I Am God." 

 

I used to think waiting meant punishment.

That silence meant I’d been forgotten.

But now I know, waiting is where the real work happens.

And rest? Rest is where God finally had room to speak.

 

See, before this quiet season, I was constantly moving, not just in life, but in my spirit. Always proving. Always pleasing. Bending myself into shapes just to fit into spaces I was never created to fill. I let the voices of others dictate my value: men who only saw me for what I could give, family who only loved the version of me they understood, friends who applauded the highlight reel but disappeared when the credits rolled.

 

I didn’t know who I was without their noise.

 

But then, God pulled the plug on the performance.

 

Suddenly, the stages were empty. The phones got quiet. Invitations stopped coming. And for the first time in my life, I wasn’t being asked to show up for anybody but me.

 

It scared me at first, the stillness. The way silence echoed through my days. But slowly, it became less like emptiness… and more like invitation.

God wasn’t ignoring me.

He was isolating me.

Not to abandon me, but to anoint me.

 

In this rest, I stopped searching for affirmation in broken mirrors.

I started opening the Word, not out of obligation, but hunger.

And what I found wasn’t a God keeping score , it was a Father pulling me into His lap, brushing the world off my shoulders, whispering,

“You don’t have to earn My love. You already have it.”

 

Without all the noise, I could finally hear His voice.

It wasn’t booming or dramatic.

It was steady. Warm. Familiar. Like a melody I’d known my whole life but forgotten the lyrics to.

 

He reminded me who I was before the trauma taught me to be small.

Before rejection trained me to apologize for my presence.

Before disappointment made me hard in places where I was meant to be soft.

 

This rest wasn’t just about catching my breath... it was about catching my identity.

 

And let me tell you... when God gives you rest, it’s not just sleep. It’s release.

 

I laid down the need to be everything for everyone.

I laid down the shame I carried from old choices.

I laid down the heavy armor I wore trying to survive love that wasn’t rooted in Him.

And in return, I picked up peace.

 

Not the peace the world offers; temporary, surface-deep, depending on circumstances.

But that God-peace. The kind that wraps around your soul like a blanket and says,

“Even if nothing changes… you are still whole.”

 

This rest made me dangerous; not in a reckless way, but in a reclaimed way.

I am no longer easy to manipulate.

No longer desperate for validation.

No longer confused about where my worth comes from.

 

Because I’ve learned that in the stillness, God speaks identity.

And in the waiting, He does His best weaving.

 

So no, I’m not “doing nothing.”

I’m being made new.

 

Behold, I Am Made New… “Even If No One Sees Me, God Does”

 

It’s a strange thing, to be filled with so much love, and yet feel invisible.

 

To walk into a room and know your heart is glowing like a lamp, and still feel like no one sees the light.

Sometimes I wonder…

Am I truly that unremarkable?

Is this what it means to grow; to become softer, wiser, deeper... and somehow, less desirable?

 

I used to think transformation would come with applause. That becoming the healed version of me would make me magnetic.

But instead, it’s made me sacred.

Set apart. Quiet.

And strangely… hidden.

 

Men don’t chase me like they used to.

Compliments don’t come as often.

But what has come is space;

Beautiful, stretching, soul-expanding space.

 

Space to finally grow into the woman I was created to be.

Space to pray without begging.

Space to ask God questions without fearing the answers.

Space to cry and not feel weak, to dance without feeling watched, to love people without expecting anything in return.

 

Because even if I don’t have a man’s attention…

I have God’s affection.

And that… is enough.

 

I still love every human I encounter, not because I expect love back, but because that’s who I am.

I love with my full spirit.

I smile at strangers. I pray for people I don’t even know. I cry over suffering I’ve never experienced.

It’s not performative, it’s spiritual.

God has enlarged my heart, even while the world seems to shrink its gaze.

 

And I won’t lie, I still long to be seen.

I still ache to be chosen, desired, protected.

But I’m no longer chasing those things as proof that I matter.

I’m chasing God.

I’m chasing wisdom, clarity, closeness.

 

I want to understand Him.

Not just worship from a distance, but draw near enough to recognize His voice in the quiet.

To feel His presence when I open my eyes, not just when I close them.

 

This journey isn’t about being perfect.

It’s about being present.

Being humble enough to say, “Lord, I don’t know everything… but I want to know You.”

So maybe this season of invisibility isn’t punishment — it’s protection.

Maybe God has hidden me in His wings while He finishes His work in me.

Because who I’m becoming requires this stillness.

This hunger.

This holy surrender.

 

And when I finally rise…

I won’t just be new.

I’ll be true.

 

“Behold, I am doing a new thing;

now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?

I will make a way in the wilderness

and rivers in the desert.”

-Isaiah 43:19 (ESV)

 

I don’t have to be seen to be significant.

I don’t have to be loved by the world to know I am beloved by the One who formed it.

And even if no hand ever reaches for mine, I will keep reaching for heaven.

Because He is doing a new thing in me.

And this time, it won’t just bless me.

It will bless generations after me.

 

 

 

 

 

𝓐𝓷𝓭 𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰... 

I didn’t land in faith through a denomination… I arrived through desperation.

 

Before anything felt sacred, I just needed something bigger than my own thinking;  because my own thinking had driven me straight into walls, heartbreak, and rock bottom. When I got clean at 33, what my 12-step program gave me wasn’t a rulebook… it gave me permission.

 

Permission to believe without having everything figured out.

 

The idea of a Power greater than myself wasn’t about joining a system,  it was about admitting I wasn’t the center of the universe. That small shift cracked something open in me. Suddenly, spirituality wasn’t confined to one building, one language, one tradition.

 

It became a living, breathing relationship.

 

So today, I can read scripture and feel anchored in the teachings of Jesus; the compassion, the mercy, the radical love, without feeling boxed in by religion.

 

I can sit with a Bible verse and let it speak to my recovery.

I can hear truth in a meeting, in nature, in silence, in a hummingbird that feels like a hello from the other side.

I don’t experience belief as a fence… I experience it as a field.

Honoring Jesus doesn’t cancel out my openness.

Reading sacred text doesn’t require me to close the door on other wisdom.

Recovery taught me that God was never limited to human categories.

And once I stopped trying to define the divine so tightly… my spirit had room to breathe.

 

So my faith isn’t about subscribing.

It’s about staying connected.

Connected to grace, to guidance, to something loving and steady that shows up across traditions, across moments, across the quiet spaces where certainty isn’t required, only willingness.