Spaghetti Sunday: Creamy Spicy Vodka Rigatoni with Meatballs (BerryFamily Favorite

Almost every Sunday in the Berry house, it’s pasta night. It started as something simple—and became a family tradition. It’s comforting. It’s nostalgic. It brings us all to the table (and let's be honest… sometimes back for seconds).

This week, I tried to break the code on a vodka sauce from one of our favorite local restaurants—and I think I nailed it. It’s creamy, dreamy, spicy, and so good I had to grab a spoon to “test” it… multiple times. 😏

Let’s dive in!

Ingredients:

• Olive oil

• ½ onion, chopped

• 2–3 cloves garlic, chopped

• 2 small cans tomato paste

• 1 cup mushrooms (I used fresh but you could use canned)

• 1 ¾ cups heavy whipping cream

• Cracked red pepper (to taste)

• Sea salt, pepper (to taste)

• Dried basil (about 1 tsp)

• 2 tbsp unsalted butter

• ½ cup fresh grated Parmesan

• ¾ cup reserved pasta water

• 1 package rigatoni

• Optional: Store-bought meatballs (I used Central Market’s and they were amazing)

How to Make It:

1. Start the pasta: Bring salted water to a boil and cook your rigatoni. Reserve ¾ cup pasta water before draining.

2. Sauté the base: In a large skillet, heat olive oil over medium. Add chopped onions and sauté until soft. Toss in the garlic and cook for another minute.

3. Build the flavor: Add tomato paste and mushrooms. Stir frequently and let it cook for about 4 minutes, allowing everything to caramelize slightly.

4. Creamy magic: Lower the heat and stir in the heavy cream. Let it gently bubble for 3–5 minutes.

5. Spice it up: Add cracked red pepper, sea salt, pepper, and dried basil. Stir in the butter and reserved pasta water.

6. Cheese, please: Fold in the Parmesan until melted and glossy.

7. Bring it all together: Add cooked pasta and meatballs. Stir to coat and serve piping hot.

That’s it!

Rich. Spicy. Silky. And done in about 30 minutes.
Perfect for Sundays—or literally any night you want something special without a ton of effort.

Let me know if you try it—and tag me if you do!
I’d love to know… what’s your favorite family dinner tradition?

Dear Little Girl…God Is in the Ordinary (Easter Edition)

Dear Little Girl,

You thought resurrection would feel bigger.

Louder.
Clearer.
More obvious.

But here you are…
on Easter morning, a little tired, a little foggy,
trying to find your footing after a full few days.

And I want you to notice something.

You’re still here.
Still talking to Me.
Still soft.
Still open.

That is resurrection too.

You stood this past week and honored someone you loved.

You showed up when it mattered.
You spoke the words.
You felt the weight of it… and the beauty.

And then…

You laughed with your sister.
You saw her differently.
You softened toward her in a way you hadn’t before.

That shift?

That is Me.

Not just in the prayer you spoke…
but in the way your heart changed afterward.

You are beginning to understand something that will set you free:

Not everything is yours to carry.

Not every situation is yours to fix.
Not every storm is yours to step into.

You can love…
without losing yourself.

You can care…
without controlling the outcome.

You can say,
“This is not mine to solve,”
and still be deeply compassionate.

That is growth.
That is healing.
That is Me in you.

And today…

You feel a little off.

Maybe it’s the emotions.
Maybe it’s the exhaustion.
Maybe it’s Will leaving for the summer.

But you wonder quietly,
“Where are You in this?”

I’m right here.

In the quiet drive.
In the studio.
In the little ones running toward you.

In the laughter around your table.
In the memories that still take your breath away.

Those moments?

They are not random.

They are reminders of My goodness.

You read it this morning and it stayed with you:

Celebration at its very best is a response to God’s goodness… not a reward for our own.

Yes.

That feeling when your dancers move closer and closer to you…
That moment when your boys are all together, laughing, alive, home…

You didn’t earn that.

That is My goodness.

And today, we celebrate Easter.

Not just that I died.
Not just that I rose.

But that I am still rising.

In you.

In your softened heart.
In your new perspective.
In your ability to see differently today than you did yesterday.

Resurrection is not just a moment in history.

It is happening in your life.

Right now.

So don’t miss it.

Don’t rush past it.

Don’t wait for something bigger to believe I’m here.

The ordinary moments that take your breath away…

That’s where I live.

Love,
God

Dear Little Girl…Love Always

In loving memory of Vahid—my parents’ neighbor and my dad’s “partner,” who showed me what it looks like to live a life of love, service, and quiet faithfulness. This one is for him.

Dear Little Girl,

There will be people in your life
who leave a mark so gentle…
so steady…
so full of love…

that even when they are gone,
you can still feel them.

You will remember:

not the loud moments,
not the flashy ones…

but the quiet faithfulness.

The way they showed up.
The way they cared.
The way they lived.

And one day,
you will lose one of those people.

And it will feel…

final.

Heavy.

Unexplainable.

Because death has a way
of making everything feel still.

But here is what I want you to know:

Love does not end where life does.

It lingers.

In memories.
In stories.
In the way someone made you feel.

And sometimes…

in the most beautiful way…

it continues.

You will picture them again.

Not sick.
Not weak.

But whole.

Laughing.
Talking.
Reunited.

And for you…

you will see something sacred:

Two souls sitting together again.
Partners.
Friends.
Connected beyond this life.

And it will bring you comfort.

Dear Little Girl,

You are learning something about love
that many people miss:

It is not measured
by what someone says…

but by how they live.

By how they show up
when it matters most.

By the quiet ways they care
when no one is watching.

That kind of love?

It is rare.

And when you witness it…

you are witnessing God.

Because God is love.

And people like that…

they reflect Him.

So when someone like that leaves,
it is okay to feel the ache.

It means it mattered.

It means they mattered.

But don’t let the ache
make you forget the gift.

You were given the chance
to see what love looks like in action.

And now…

you carry it forward.

Dear Little Girl,

Let this be what you remember:

Love big.
Love small.
Love in the ordinary.
Love in the unseen.

Because in the end…

that is what lasts.

Not the noise.
Not the things.

Just love.

Always.

🤍

Why Your Body Feels Tight (And It’s Not What You Think)

There’s a phrase I use a lot with my clients:
“stuck stress.”

And no — it’s not just emotional.
It’s physical.

It lives in your connective tissue — your fascia — the system that supports, stabilizes, protects, and connects your entire body.

And when it gets dehydrated or compressed from stress, sitting, overuse, or even just life…

You feel it.

Not always as pain.
Sometimes as:
– stiffness
– fatigue
– poor sleep
– that “off” feeling you can’t explain

I see it all the time.
In active people. In healthy people. In people who are doing everything right.

Because this isn’t about doing more.
It’s about doing something different.

Learning how to:
✨ reconnect

✨ reblance
✨ rehydrate
✨ release

These are part of what we call the 4 R’s of MELT —
and this is where your MELT practice begins.

This is what I teach.
And it’s simpler than you think.

And the beautiful part?

It’s gentle.
AND…
And it works.

You don’t have to live in a body that feels stuck.

You can:
– move with ease
– live with less pain
– and feel at home in your body again

And that… changes everything.

If you’re ready to learn more,
I’d love to walk alongside you.

💌 Email me at amy@worthyheart.com
or DM me on Instagram @worthy.heart

Let’s get you started on your healing journey.

Happy Melting!

🩵

Dear Little Girl…You Don’t Have to Be Enough…God Already Is

Dear Little Girl,

You’re trying so hard to hold it all together.

You have a full day ahead — Sunday School, clients, classes, people depending on you — and somehow, underneath it all, there’s this quiet question:
Am I doing enough? Am I enough? Can I keep this up?

You’re asking God for strength…
but then wondering why you still feel so tired.

You’re holding hope for your children,
healing for your heart,
and pieces of your story that still feel tender.

And yet… you keep showing up.

But listen closely, sweet girl:

God isn’t asking you to be enough.
He’s asking you to let Him be.

He’s already in your story —
not just in the breakthroughs,
but in the overwhelm,
the uncertainty,
the moments where you feel like you’re holding your breath just trying to get through the day.

Remember Jacob from the Bible? (Genesis 28)

He didn’t have it together.
He was messy, afraid, and unsure of what was next…

And that’s exactly where God met him.

Not after he fixed everything.
Not after he proved himself.

Right there.
In the middle of it all.

And maybe that’s where you are too.

Not running…
but moving fast enough to avoid feeling everything underneath.

And beneath it all is a quiet prayer:
“God… please meet me here.”

He will.

He already is.

So today…
take the next step.
Not ten steps ahead — just the next one.

Offer your presence, not perfection.

And when the weight rises in your chest…
pause.

Breathe.

And remember:

God’s faithfulness isn’t dependent on your hustle.
His love isn’t waiting on your performance.

He is with you.
Right here.
Right now.

A Question to Journal On:
Where am I trying to earn what God has already freely given me?

A Prayer for the Girl Who’s Carrying Too Much

Dear God,
Thank You for meeting me right here — not when I have it all together, but in the middle of my real, messy, beautiful life.

Remind me that I don’t have to prove anything to You.
I don’t have to earn Your love.
I don’t have to hold everything on my own.

Help me release the weight I was never meant to carry.
My children, my fears, my future, my need to get it all right — I place it back in Your hands.

Slow me down when I start to strive.
Quiet my heart when I start to question.
And gently remind me… You are already here.

You are in this story.
Every part of it.

And I am safe with You.

Amen.

With love,
Worthy 🤍

Norwegian vs. Royal vs. Disney: My Honest Cruise Review (From a Mom Who’s Done All Three)

We just got back from a cruise… and let’s just say—I have thoughts 😅

If you’re trying to decide between Norwegian, Royal Caribbean, and Disney, I’ve now experienced all three—and they are very different.

So here’s my honest, real-life, no-fluff breakdown.

✨ Norwegian (NCL)
Slower. More relaxed. Less structured… and I LOVED that.

No set dinner time. No assigned seating. No rushing to make a reservation.

After years of cruising where dinner felt like a scheduled event you had to plan your whole evening around… this felt like freedom.

And honestly? That alone might bring me back.

(Side note: we once had a dinner table situation on another cruise that involved a very loud man oversharing things NO ONE needed to hear… so yeah… flexibility = blessing.)

Let’s talk: Rooms + Layout

Our Norwegian room felt less cluttered, which I liked… but the layout wasn’t ideal.

Once we pulled out Graeme’s bed, it became a full obstacle course trying to get to the bathroom at night 😅

BUT—
The bathroom? AMAZING.

• Bigger than Royal

• Huge shower

• Way more functional

So I’ll take that trade-off.

Now on to: Food + Dining

The food was good—similar richness to Royal.

(If I’m being honest… by the end of the week, I’m always craving something light and simple again.)

What stood out more was how Norwegian handles upcharges.

They are… creative 😅

Not bad—just something to be aware of.

That said, we had more options and felt less pressure around dining, which made the whole experience more enjoyable.

And can we talk about the people serving us?

Every single person was kind, attentive, and genuinely happy.
I don’t fully understand how their tipping system works—but it clearly does.

And next up: Pools + Deck Life

Norwegian’s setup is different:

• Smaller infinity-style pools (which were really cool)

• One main pool

• No true adults-only pool unless you pay extra and there still was not a pool…😅

That part surprised me.

BUT… I found my spot.

Right by the splash pad where tiny droplets would hit me just enough to cool off while sunbathing.

It was perfect. Like my own little hidden oasis.

Let’s not forget: Kids + Activities

Norwegian did NOT disappoint here.

• Race track (so cool)

• Escape room

• Amazing kids area

Graeme’s official review:

👉 “Royal is better.” 😂

Why?

Because Norwegian shuts things down earlier (around 9–10pm), and Royal keeps the party going.

So if you have teens who want late-night energy—Royal wins.

Oh and the fun stuff: Entertainment + Ship Life

This is where Norwegian really surprised me.

• We saw Beetlejuice the musical (SO good)

• Fun themed nights (we went to “prom”… and yes, it was actually fun 😅)

• Unique bars everywhere:

  • Whiskey bar

  • Wine bar

  • Cigar bar

  • Live entertainment spaces

And my personal favorite…

✨ The Observation Lounge

Coffee + whipped cream + those views??

I was living my best life.

For those in their Health Era: Spa + Wellness

The spa on Norwegian is next level.

• Salt rooms

• Charcoal saunas

• Thermal pools

You can buy a day pass or a full-week package, and it’s honestly a whole experience in itself.

Biggest Surprise of all: The Ports

We hit 4 ports in 7 days, and I thought that would feel rushed…

But I LOVED it.

🌴 Cozumel

We actually got off this time and snorkeled the reef—SO fun.
Fresh shrimp ceviche made by the crew? Yes please.

🌴 Harvest Caye (Belize – Norwegian’s private island)

Super cute, easy, relaxing.
Beach + food + shops… then rain rolled in and we went back to nap.
No complaints.

🌴 Roatan (FAVORITE)

This place has my heart.

We:

• Zip-lined through the jungle

• Ate lunch on the beach

• Soaked in the joy of the people there

If you go—visit the animal sanctuary and hold the sloths.
It’s worth it 🥹

🌴 Costa Maya

Used to not love it… now I do.

We found our spot:
✨ Ya Ya Beach Club

Same waiter two years in a row—Gregario (the best).
Massages on the beach.
The BEST guacamole.

10/10 every time.

Final Thoughts

Each cruise line has its lane:

✨ Norwegian → Relaxed, flexible, less pressure
✨ Royal Caribbean → High energy, more activities, teen-friendly
✨ Disney → Pure magic (especially for younger families)

For me?

This trip reminded me how much I value:

• Flexibility

• Thoughtful spaces

• Experiences that feel easy, not scheduled

Drum Roll Please what’s next 👀

I made a little promise to myself:

👉 Plan the next trip while you’re still on the current one.

And I did.

Trey and I are heading to
✨ Secrets Huatulco, Mexico this June

And I already love having something to look forward to.

I guess you could say…

I’m officially in my travel more, stress less, find the magic where you are era ✨

Dear Little Girl…Protect Your Peace

Dear Little Girl,

There will be moments when you look around and wonder if everyone else is ahead of you.

Someone else's marriage will look easier.
Someone else's family will seem more peaceful.
Someone else's success will feel louder.
Someone else's life will look more certain.

And before you realize it, your heart will start measuring.

Am I behind?
Did I miss something?
Why does their life seem easier than mine?

But comparison is a thief that quietly steals your peace.

God never asked you to carry someone else’s story.

You were never meant to live someone else's calling, marriage, timeline, or path.

You were created for your life.

The one with its twists.
Its healing.
Its slow growth.
Its unexpected beauty.

When you fix your eyes on what someone else has, you begin to lose sight of what God is doing in you.

Peace doesn’t grow in comparison.

Peace grows in trust.

Trust that God knows your story.
Trust that your timing is not a mistake.
Trust that the life you are living is the one He is shaping.

So when the noise of comparison gets loud…

Come back to stillness.
Come back to gratitude.
Come back to the quiet truth that God is writing a story in you that no one else could live.

And that story is enough.

Love,
Amy

Worthy Heart

A Monday Morning Reflection

Yesterday in church our pastor talked about the cost and the benefit of following Jesus.

At first, the cost looked like early mornings.

But somewhere along the way those early mornings became my favorite part of the day.

Those quiet moments with Jesus are where these Dear Little Girl letters are born.
And maybe, just maybe, they are reaching someone who needs them.

Sometimes I catch myself wishing it all moved faster.

More readers.
More responses.
Speaking opportunities.
The book written already.

But today I realized something.

I am actually at peace with where I am.

The last two weeks have been incredibly busy at the studio. My life is full of dance, MELT, kids, and family. Six years ago I never could have imagined this life.

Back then I thought my future looked completely different.

But God knew better.

When I look around, comparison still tries to sneak in.

I see marriages that look easier.
Couples sharing wine at dinner.
People traveling more.
New cars.
Beautiful homes.

And if I’m not careful, my heart starts measuring again.

But the truth is…

I don’t know the cost of someone else’s life.

And when I stop comparing and start counting my blessings, I see something entirely different.

Will is thriving and knows the Lord.
JP is finding his way in New York and just landed his first gig.
Graeme, even when he gives me a run for the money, has the sweetest heart.

And yesterday, as I watched the children in our show — some with special needs — I was reminded again how much we have to be grateful for.

My life may not look like what I once imagined.

But it is so good.

Or maybe the better word is and.

It is different and it is good.

Yesterday our pastor shared a quote by Dallas Willard that stuck with me:

"Discipleship to Jesus is the greatest opportunity we will ever have in life."

The truth is, following Jesus changes everything.

Getting to know Him slowly transforms the way you see your life, your struggles, your relationships, and even your dreams.

And those quiet mornings with Him?

They are like treasure hidden in a field.

They are like oil under the surface in Texas.

More valuable than anything else I own.

Because in those moments Jesus gives me something the world cannot give:

Peace in the middle of pain.
Joy in the middle of uncertainty.
Love even when I feel alone.

That is the real benefit of walking with Him.

And that is how we protect our peace.

Not by having a perfect life.

But by choosing to meet with Jesus every day and trusting that the story He is writing in us is exactly the one we are meant to live.

Prayer

Jesus,

Thank you for these quiet mornings.

Thank you for the mornings when I am grateful.
And the mornings when I am angry and you calm my heart.
The mornings when I am afraid and you help me breathe.
The mornings when I am so sad all I can do is cry and you simply sit with me.
And the mornings when my thoughts bounce everywhere like a ping-pong ball and you gently bring me back to peace.

Thank you for loving me.

Thank you for loving my family.

Thank you for the story you are writing in my life — even when I cannot see where it is going.

Help me keep my eyes on you and not on comparison.

Remind me that your timing is never a mistake.

And help every person reading this remember that you are writing a beautiful story in their life too.

Amen.

Worthy Heart Is Back in Color

Worthy Heart is back… and so am I.
But to understand why that matters — you have to understand where this blog was born.

If you’re new here, welcome.
If you’ve been here since the beginning… thank you. Truly.

Because this blog didn’t start in a shiny, picture-perfect season of life.

It was born in grief.
In confusion.
In survival mode.

It started when I lost my mom — my very best friend.
And in that same season, my son bravely came out as gay and was met with words no child should ever hear. Words that made me rise up as a mama and say:

“No. You are worthy. Exactly as you are.”

At the same time, I was helping care for my father as his memory began to fade… and I had no idea what was coming next — my husband’s first season seeking help and a time that would stretch and reshape everything I thought my life would be.

Life got ugly fast.

When I Was Just Coping

I remember trying to name this blog back then.
One of the names I considered was “Commit to Cope.”

Because that’s what I was doing.

Just coping.
Holding everything together with a bobby pin and a prayer.
Functioning on the outside… while quietly falling apart on the inside.

But when I searched that name, everything that came up was tied to suicide — and I knew that wasn’t my story.

Even in my darkest moments… I never wanted to leave this life.

I just wanted to learn how to live it again.

And that’s when Worthy Heart was born.

Because in the middle of the chaos, one thing I knew for certain was this:

My children are worthy of love
My family is worthy of love
YOU are worthy of love

And maybe… just maybe… I was too.

When Life Turned Black and White

If you’ve followed along over the years, you might remember…

At first the blog was full of color.
Then at some point… it slowly turned black and white.

I didn’t even do that on purpose.

Looking back now, it mirrored my life.

From 2018 through the spring of 2024… those were some of the hardest years of my life.

PTSD
Addiction
Rehab
Marriage on the brink
A father with dementia
Two boys leaving for college
Financial fear
A divorce I never wanted

And me… trying to hold it all together for everyone.

There were days I didn’t recognize myself.

Days I coped in ways I’m not proud of.
Days I was angry, exhausted, numb, scared.

But right in the middle of that darkness, God met me.

Through a book that I still say helped save my life:
Hearing Jesus Speak Into Your Sorrow by Nancy Guthrie.

That book gently reminded me that Jesus was still speaking.
Still present.
Still loving me through it all.

And something in me woke up.

And I started writing again.

Writing Saved Me

I didn’t sit down to become a writer.

I sat down because my heart needed somewhere to go.

And once I started… I couldn’t stop.

Writing became my therapy.
My prayer.
My release.
My joy.

It became the place where I could tell the truth.

And then something beautiful happened…

You started reading.

You messaged me.
You encouraged me.
You asked, “Are you going to write again?”

And in doing that — you reminded me that my voice mattered.

You reminded me that I mattered.

So thank you.

From the bottom of my heart… thank you for being part of my healing.

When Life Gave Me Lemons…

Somewhere in the middle of all the chaos… God handed me something unexpected.

A job.

Actually — no.

Not a job.

A calling.

I became a dance teacher.

And y’all… I don’t just have a job.
I have a passion I get paid for.

I get to love on babies in tiaras.
Encourage teenagers finding their confidence.
Create space for special needs students to shine.
And remind every single one of them that they are worthy.

And then I found MELT — a hands-on self-treatment method that helps people move, heal, and stay active — and now I get to help people feel better in their bodies too.

What started as survival… turned into purpose.

The Dear Little Girl Series

In this healing season, something new was born inside of me:

The Dear Little Girl Series.

Letters to the younger version of me.
To the little girl inside every woman.

Words of healing.
Truth.
Identity.
Faith.

And I have a feeling… there might be a book in there someday.

A Full Circle Moment

And now here we are.

The blog relaunched Saturday.

And for the first time in years…

It’s back in color.

Just like my life.

Is everything perfect?

No. Not even close.

I still have hard days.
Hard moments.
Hard seasons.

I call them “the waiting rooms of life.”

You know those places…

Where you’re waiting to hear how the test results come back.
Waiting to see how the relationship unfolds.
Waiting to see if the breakthrough comes.

Sometimes we sit there full of fear.
Other times full of hope.

But here’s what I know now:

There will always be something to be afraid of
There will always be something uncertain
But there will also always be miracles — if we look for them

Sometimes the miracle is big — like healing in a marriage or sobriety taking root.

Sometimes it’s tiny — like a day where no one calls from school.

But they are there.

And I don’t want to miss them.

So when fear creeps in… I go to God and I say,

“Take it. Because I don’t want to miss the beauty of my life.”

Meet Sadie — The Woman Behind the Relaunch

And speaking of miracles…

Let me introduce you to one of mine.

Her name is Sadie.

I met her at a Bloom event when I spoke… and I instantly loved her heart.

Fast forward to this past October at another Bloom event — and I walked up to her and said:

“Here’s my vision. Here’s my mission.
Do you think you could help me… and do you believe in it?”

She could have said no.

But she didn’t.

And now… she is part of my Worthy Team (yes I said team… we’re claiming it ).

Sadie is a young mama from Spokane, Washington, who runs a beautiful community for moms called @momwhatsnextspokane — and she has helped bring my vision for Worthy Heart back to life in the most beautiful way.

Sadie — thank you.
For believing in me.
For seeing the vision.
For helping me bring it to life.

Stay Connected to Worthy Heart

This space is not just for me.

It’s for you.

For the woman who needs to be reminded:

You are worthy
Your story matters
Your voice matters
Your healing matters

So I would love to hear from you:

– What do you love?
– What do you want more of?
– What would encourage you?
– What are you walking through?

Leave a comment.
Send me a message.
Or just say “Hi, I’m here.”

And if this story resonated with you…

 Subscribe so you never miss a post
 Share this with a friend who needs encouragement
 Come be part of the Worthy Heart community

Because I promise you this:

You are worthy.

And I would be honored to remind you of that as often as you need it.

With love,
Amy -Worthy 

What Started Heavy Ended Holy

I woke up braced…and went to be in peace.

I woke up in a terrible mood this past Tuesday.

Not dramatic. Not catastrophic. Just… heavy.

The night before had been full of uneasy dreams — safety dreams. Robbery dreams. Dogs getting hurt. That low-grade undercurrent of “stay alert.”

I woke up already braced.

Graeme was running late, which made me late.
Emails from teachers.
A schedule that felt packed.
Money things hovering in the background.
The world generally feeling like it’s on fire if you open social media for more than five minutes.

It felt like too much before 8:30am.

And I could feel the spiral starting.

The Undercurrent

It wasn’t just one thing.

It was:

• tension that hums quietly in the background

• worry about Graeme’s friendships

• finances and medical decisions

• political noise and cultural chaos

• the exhaustion of always being the steady one

Sometimes the heaviness isn’t a headline moment.

It’s just accumulation.

And I felt cranky. Short. Tired. On edge.

The Pivot

Instead of pushing through it, I did something different.

I turned on worship music.

Not because I felt holy.
Because I felt human.

At first, nothing changed.
Then slowly, something softened.

A song came on about how we all have mountains and valleys — and how maybe the answer isn’t fixing everything, but staying humble and kind. Saying please. Saying thank you. Looking people in the eyes. Opening doors.

Simple things.

And something about that simplicity steadied me.

Not because my problems disappeared.
But because my perspective shifted.

Movement Heals More Than We Think

Then I went to teach my favorite adult class at Cooper.

And I cannot explain it — maybe it was the cardio, maybe it was the humans, maybe it was both — but my joy bucket filled up.

When I teach, I feel alive.
Seen.
Encouraged.
Useful in the healthiest way.

Then Pilates.
Then counseling.
Then my babies and All Abilities.
Then sauna and bed.

What started heavy ended up being okay.
Actually… better than okay.

What I’m Learning

A bad morning does not have to become a bad day.

An undercurrent of fear does not mean danger is present.

My nervous system can start in protection mode and still end in peace.

And maybe most importantly:

Joy is not always found in the places we expect.
Sometimes it’s found in movement.
In community.
In serving.
In music.
In showing up.

And that doesn’t mean something is wrong with my life.
It means God scattered grace in more places than one.

The Real Miracle

Nothing dramatic changed yesterday.

My marriage is still complex.
Graeme is still navigating friendships.
The world is still noisy.

But I changed.

I chose:

• worship instead of scrolling

• movement instead of rumination

• gratitude instead of grievance

And by the end of the day, I could honestly say:

Everything will be okay.

Not because everything is perfect.

But because I don’t have to solve everything before the sun sets.

Two Chairs Reflection
What if the goal isn’t to avoid heavy mornings…
but to learn how to walk them through?

What tool helps your mood melt — music, movement, prayer, people?

Sometimes the holiest thing we do isn’t fixing our lives.
It’s staying humble and kind while we live them.

One truth I’m holding onto:
You don’t have to fix the whole world before bedtime.
You just have to stay with God in it.

Dear Little Girl...People Pleaser No More (Learning Self-Love One “No” at a Time)

People Pleaser Extraordinaire.

That was me.

In fact, if you had looked up people pleaser a few years ago, you might as well have seen my name next to the definition.

Always helpful.
Always available.
Always saying yes—even when my body, my heart, and my soul were quietly screaming no.

Google says a people pleaser is one of the nicest and most helpful people you know.

I call a little bullsh*t on that.

Because what it doesn’t say is this:
People pleasers are often exhausted.
Overextended.
Quietly resentful.
And terrified that if they stop giving, fixing, or accommodating… they’ll stop being loved.

That was me.

I didn’t know how to say no.
I thought being needed was the same thing as being valued.
I believed that love was something you earned by being useful.

And when you live that way long enough, something happens.

You lose yourself.
Your nervous system stays on high alert.
Your body keeps score.
Your joy gets smaller.
Your peace disappears.

I started this journey back in 2016—when a doctor looked me straight in the eye and said,
“Amy, you have got to start taking care of you.”

That moment woke me up.

And here’s the honest truth I want you to hear, especially heading into Valentine’s week:

I’m still learning this.

Years later.
Older.
Wiser.
More aware.

Still learning.

Because people pleasing doesn’t just disappear—it shows up in new forms.
In friendships.
In marriage.
In boundaries that feel uncomfortable to hold.
In moments where choosing myself still feels selfish… even when it isn’t.

But here’s what I do know now:

Saying no doesn’t make you unloving.
Resting doesn’t make you lazy.
Choosing yourself doesn’t make you difficult.

And being needed is not the same thing as being loved.

This Valentine’s Day, I want to offer you something different.

Not roses.
Not chocolate.
Not approval.

But permission.

Permission to stop proving your worth.
Permission to take up space.
Permission to love yourself the way you keep loving everyone else.

Because here’s the truth I’m still practicing—and inviting you into:

You matter.
Your needs matter.
Your energy matters.

And love that costs you yourself is not love—it’s survival.

If you’re tired…
If you’re stretched thin…
If you recognize yourself in this story…

You’re not broken.
You’re waking up.

And that’s where the Good Life actually begins.

With self-love.
With boundaries.
With the courage to believe you are already enough.

Happy Valentine’s Day, sweet girl.
Choose you this week. 💗

XO,

Worthy
(Amy)

Dear Little Girl...You Don't Have to Be Needed to Be Safe

Dear Little Girl,

You learned early that being useful made you lovable.

That if you were helping, fixing, teaching, managing, or holding everything together — you were safe. You were seen. You were wanted.

So of course stillness feels strange now.
So of course rest feels heavy.
So of course your body collapses when there is nothing on the schedule.

It’s not laziness.
It’s not lack of discipline.
It’s not weakness.

It’s a nervous system that spent years being responsible.

Somewhere along the way, you learned that love followed effort.
That belonging came from producing.
That safety meant staying needed.

And now God is gently teaching you something new:

That you are allowed to be still and still be loved.
That you are allowed to rest and still be safe.
That you are allowed to do nothing and still be worthy.

What if your body doesn’t shut down because you’re broken…
but because it’s finally not being asked to save anyone?

What if stillness feels unsafe not because it is —
but because it’s unfamiliar?

What if Eve didn’t rebel…
what if she was just exhausted from being responsible?

What if the deepest healing isn’t learning how to do more —
but learning how to stay when you’re no longer needed?

Not disappearing.
Not rescuing.
Not proving.

Just staying.

Staying with yourself.
Staying with God.
Staying in a body that is learning a new truth:

That love does not require performance.
That rest is not abandonment.
That you don’t have to earn your place here.

Little girl,
you don’t have to be useful to be safe anymore.

You already are.

Love,

Worthy
(Amy 🤍)

Dear Little Girl...The Quiet That Kept Me Alive

Dear Little Girl,

Last Saturday I did absolutely nothing. And maybe that’s exactly what my body needed.

I wrote about my feelings on quiet time, and Trey asked me why it bothered me so much. I don’t know if he can fully understand it, but the truth is — quiet time saved me in some of my loneliest, darkest seasons.

Seasons he was part of.

When my mom died, I turned to God because I was angry. Angry that He took her away from me. I didn’t understand death back then. All I knew was that we had a beautiful, loving relationship — and suddenly she was gone.

She was the one I called every day at three o’clock. Always there. Always listening. Never telling me what to do. She didn’t butt in. She just heard me.

God, I miss that.

Then Trey got sick. And I think quiet time gave me endurance. It gave me a clearer picture of Jesus — of what He endured, of what it means to keep showing up when things are hard. It helped me stay strong for my three boys. It helped me pray for guidance, for the right people to surround our family, because addiction and mental health are real — and they are terrifying.

Then it got worse.

My dad died.
And Trey got sicker.
Like, scary sick. Doing scary things.

And then he left.

Physically.
Emotionally.
Financially.

It was dark. A kind of dark I don’t have words for.

But I had a morning routine that had been slowly building since 2018. And by 2023, I was staring down the barrel of a divorce.

And while I never heard God audibly, what I felt was this:

Wait. Don’t talk.

So I didn’t.

I didn’t talk to Trey.
I didn’t talk to my attorneys — not until they forced me to.
I got quiet.

And in that quiet, I think God was working. I can’t explain it. I just know He was.

Because last Saturday, on a snowy morning, I sat typing this while Trey was across the room on the couch watching church.

We’re not divorced.

It feels like a miracle.

Is it rainbows and sunshine? Not even close.

Sometimes it’s still lonely.
Sometimes I wonder if I should have left.
Sometimes I feel angry that I stayed.
Other times I feel deeply grateful.

It’s a wild mix of emotions. Every day brings new joys and new problems. It’s not all smiles and kisses and laughter like Instagram suggests.

But one thing has stayed constant:

God.
And my time with Him.

Whether it’s five seconds of, “Hey God, I’m here but I don’t have time today,”
or hours at this keyboard — He’s there.

Always available.
Wherever I am.
Whenever I need.

And if I ignore Him, get lazy, get mad, or feel really close — He still meets me right where I am, with exactly as much of me as I’m willing to bring.

That’s what I’m thankful for.

That He doesn’t expect flowery words.
That He doesn’t require memorized verses.
That He doesn’t even demand I bring a Bible.

He just wants me.

My heart.
My fears.
My joy.
My dreams.
My pain.

All of me.

And slowly — without pressure — I find myself wanting to know more. Wanting to open Scripture. Wanting to understand who He is. The Father who created me for big things.

And my biggest prayer is simply this:

That I am walking in His will.
Living how He wants me to live.

Of course I still want things.

I want to be the best dance teacher.
I want my MELT business to thrive.
I want to speak. To write. To tell my story.

I want my marriage to feel like a fairy tale.
I want my boys to be healthy and whole and deeply loved.

I want Will to be wildly successful and a man of God who cherishes his family.
I want JP to live out every creative dream in his heart and find someone who loves him and loves God.
I want Graeme to make it through adolescence untouched by addiction, surrounded by good people, rooted in faith, and brave enough to lead.

I pray all of these blessings over my boys.

And Trey…

I leave him at God’s feet. Because I can’t carry him anymore.

But this is what quiet time does for me.

It doesn’t fix everything.
It doesn’t prevent pain.
It doesn’t give me control.

It plants seeds of hope.

And somehow — even on my darkest days — that has been enough to keep me here.

So thank you, God.

For meeting me in the quiet.
For staying when everything else felt like it was falling apart.
For loving me without performance, pressure, or prerequisites.

I love you.

— Worthy 🤍
(Amy)

Dear Little Girl: You Don't Have to Get God Right to Be With Him

Dear Little Girl,

You don’t have to get God right to be with Him.
You don’t need the candle.
You don’t need the journal.
You don’t need the perfect words.

You just need you.

Some days it’s a prayer.
Some days it’s a cry.
Some days it’s five minutes in the car.
Some days it’s yelling into the air.

That still counts.
That still matters.
That’s still relationship.

God isn’t grading your quiet time.
He’s just glad you showed up.

And if all you can say today is:
“Hey God… it’s me again.”
That’s more than enough.

From 2018 to 2023, I didn’t magically land on what worked.

I tried everything.

Books.
Journals.
Devotionals.
Bible studies.
Podcasts.
Silence.
Anger.
Doubt.
Avoidance.
Coming back.
Leaving again.

I even wrote my own journal during that time — and someone close to me once told me it was “lukewarm Christianity.”

But that was actually the whole point.

It was safe Christianity.

It was written for the woman I was:
The one who wasn’t sure God existed.
The one who didn’t know how to pray.
The one who felt awkward around faith.
The one who needed a doorway, not a doctrine.

Slowly — over years, not days — I built a relationship with God that worked for me.

Not because I followed a formula.
But because I kept showing up in whatever way I could.

Sometimes it was a book.
Sometimes it was a journal.
Sometimes it was a podcast.
Sometimes it was just me talking into the air, not even sure anyone was listening.

And here’s what I’ve learned:

Everyone’s relationship with God will look different.
Because everyone is wired differently.

It’s no different than human relationships.
We all connect differently.
We all communicate differently.
We all feel safe in different ways.

The miracle of God is this:

He meets every single one of us exactly where we are.

Not where we should be.
Not where we pretend to be.
Not where church culture says we belong.

But where we actually are.

Confused.
Curious.
Angry.
Hopeful.
Doubting.
Searching.
Tired.
Trying again.

That still counts.
That still works.
That is still relationship.

In 2018, a book by Nancy Guthrie helped me survive grief.
In 2023, Two Chairs met me in the middle of a near divorce and changed everything.

But between those years?
I wandered.
I questioned.
I experimented.
I built something personal.

And that’s the part people don’t talk about.

Faith isn’t built in one moment.
It’s built in a thousand tiny check-ins.

A seed of hope forms.
Not because life gets easy.
But because when life knocks you to the floor, you still know — somewhere deep down — that you are not alone.

I didn’t find God by doing it right.

I found Him by staying in the conversation long enough.

So if someone tells you quiet time needs to be rebranded…
Or canceled…
Or fixed…
Or perfected…

Take what’s helpful.
Leave what isn’t.

But don’t let anyone take this from you:

The power of simply showing up.

You don’t need a formula.
You don’t need a routine.
You don’t need to wake up at 5am.

You just need a moment where you say:

“Hey God… I’m here.”

Even if you’re not sure He is.

That’s where relationships begin.
With humans.
And with God.

Love,
Worthy

(Amy)

Below I have included links to the two books that met me in some of my hardest seasons: 2 Chairs and Hearing Jesus Speak Into Your Sorrow. The two books that literally changed my life….

Dear Little Girl, You Don't Need a Formula to Be Loved by God: Why real faith isn’t built on quiet time culture — it’s built on relationship.

Dear Little Girl,

Somewhere along the way, you started to wonder if you were doing it “right.”

Right way to pray.
Right way to believe.
Right way to meet with God.
Right way to grow spiritually.

You heard words like quiet time, discipline, consistency, structure — and instead of feeling invited, you felt a little evaluated.

Like there was a checklist.
Like God was keeping score.
Like intimacy with Him had a format.

But here’s the truth you’re allowed to remember:

God is not impressed by your methods.
He is moved by your presence.

Sometimes your time with Him looks like a Bible open and a warm cup of coffee before the house wakes up.

And sometimes it looks like:
“Hey God… it’s me again. I’m tired. I’m scared. I don’t know what to do.”

Both count.
Both matter.
Both are prayer.

You don’t need a perfect routine to be close to God.
You need a real relationship.

The kind where you show up messy.
The kind where you argue, doubt, cry, ramble, vent, thank Him, forget about Him, and then come back again.

Because that’s what love looks like.

Not a formula.
Not a performance.
Not a spiritual productivity plan.

Just presence.

Some days your connection will be deep and reflective.
Some days it will be five minutes in the car.
Some days it will be a song that cracks your heart open.
Some days it will be a journal entry that starts with:
“God, where are you?”

And none of those days disqualify you.

Spiritual growth isn’t built on intensity.
It’s built on honesty.

Not how early you wake up.
Not how many chapters you read.
Not how eloquent your prayers sound.

But how often you come back.

Again and again and again.

Even when you’re angry.
Even when you’re confused.
Even when you’re exhausted.
Even when you don’t feel anything at all.

Especially then.

So if you’ve ever felt like you were failing at faith because you couldn’t keep up with someone else’s version of it…

Let this be the reframe:

You are not behind.
You are not doing it wrong.
You are not disappointing God.

You are building a relationship the only way relationships are built:

By showing up as yourself.

And whispering,
“Hey God… it’s me again.”

That’s not weak faith.
That’s real faith.

And it’s more than enough.

Love,
The woman who learned God doesn’t want her perfection —
He wants her heart. 🤍

Dear Little Girl...Seeds Don't Need Pressure to Grow

Author’s Note:
I’ve been sitting with the idea of the underground season — the part of growth we don’t see yet.
If life feels quiet, slow, or unresolved right now, this letter is for you.
Not everything that matters grows in the spotlight. Some things are taking root.

There are places that remind your body how to breathe.
For me, it’s the dance studio.

The music.
The laughter.
The movement.

The way my shoulders drop the moment I walk in.

This week, after being away, I felt it instantly — not just joy, but relief.
My body remembered something my mind already knew: this is a place where I come alive.

And it reminded me of something else I’ve been holding quietly in my heart.

Some of the most important things in life don’t grow louder with pressure.
They grow steadier with time.

I’ve been thinking a lot about seeds lately — the kind you plant and the kind you never see break the surface right away.

In my Bible study, I was struck by a detail I’d never really let sink in before.
Jesus’ own brother, James, didn’t believe in Him during His ministry.

Gospel of John says it plainly:
“Even His own brothers did not believe in Him.”

And yet — after the resurrection — Jesus appeared to James personally.

That moment changed everything.

James went from skeptic to pillar.
From doubt to devotion.
From observer to leader.

And I can’t help but think how much hope there is in that.

For anyone loving a child who questions.
For anyone walking alongside someone who isn’t sure what they believe.
For anyone tempted to push, argue, convince, or panic.

What if belief doesn’t need force?
What if seeds don’t need pressure to grow — just time?

As a parent, this matters deeply to me.

I see how sensitive hearts absorb the weight of the world.
I see how pain, injustice, and suffering can make faith feel complicated.

And I’m learning that my role isn’t to demand certainty —
it’s to remain present.
To love without panic.
To trust what’s already been planted.
To believe that God is not limited by the timing I prefer.

The same is true in marriage.
And healing.
And becoming.

Some seasons are loud and active.
Others are quiet and underground.

But just because something isn’t visible doesn’t mean it isn’t alive.

Acts tells us,
“But the word of God continued to spread and flourish.”

Not because people controlled it —
but because God tended it.

I’m learning to do the same.

To show up where I’m called.
To breathe where I feel alive.
To rest when my nervous system asks me to.
To release what I cannot fix.

And to trust that what has been planted —
in my children, my marriage, my life —
is not forgotten.

Dear Little Girl,
You don’t have to rush growth.
You don’t have to force faith.
You don’t have to carry what isn’t yours to carry.

Seeds know what to do.
And so does God.

Twenty-Five Years: What the Tide Taught Me About Love

Author’s Note:
This reflection was written from a place of gratitude and growth—not crisis. It shares lessons from the past, not a moment of urgency in the present.

Twenty-Five Years.

That sentence still takes my breath away.

If I’m honest, it feels nothing short of a miracle. Trey and I have shared beautiful memories over the past twenty-five years — moments of laughter, deep love, and joy. We have also walked through seasons that were painful, heavy, and far more real than I ever imagined when we said I do.

Did we always like each other?
That answer is a hard no.

But I do believe we have always loved each other. At least, I know I have loved him — even in the ugliest seasons. And I think that may be the quiet truth of long marriages: you won’t always like each other, but if there is even a mustard seed of love, there is hope.

This year, we celebrated our anniversary in Punta Cana. When we landed, it was pouring rain — the kind that makes you pause and wonder if the universe is trying to tell you something. It brought me back to our honeymoon twenty-five years ago, when I realized one of the tiny diamonds in my wedding band was missing. I thought that was an omen too.

Now I see those moments differently.

Sometimes things go missing.
Sometimes it rains when you hoped for sunshine.
And still — the sun rises again.

What matters most is what we do in those moments.

Over the years, I’ve learned to turn not to the world for guidance, but to God. The world often means well, but when something isn’t His will, the rain seems to linger. When I turn to Him, eventually the clouds move.

And they did.

We woke up the next morning to sunshine — soft and warm.

Strength, Trust, and Learning Again

On this trip, we decided to start a new tradition together: lifting weights.

Anyone who knows me knows I hate weights. Trey knows this very well. But strength matters at this stage of life, so we showed up together — awkward at first, unsure, then slowly finding a rhythm.

It felt like a mirror of our marriage.

We didn’t start strong. We didn’t know what we were doing. And I had to learn — again — how to trust. When trust is broken, rebuilding it takes time. But slowly, steadily, we are.

We spent quiet days by the pool and long walks on the beach. We swam with sharks — terrifying and exhilarating — and I held a stingray, slimy and strange, thinking how familiar fear and courage can feel. At one point, we floated in the middle of the ocean on a platform, receiving massages with nothing but water and sky around us.

I remember thinking, How lucky am I?

And also feeling heavy.

Both were true.

What I’m Proud of After Twenty-Five Years

I am proud of myself for staying.

Not blindly.
Not silently.
But with boundaries.

When we married, we promised for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. And we have lived every one of those words.

I want to say this clearly: if there is physical abuse, you leave. Period. That is a line I will never blur.

What I learned is that boundaries are not punishment — they are protection. They are fences that keep the bad out so the good has a chance to survive inside. Without them, harm grows quietly. With them, even when life isn’t perfect, there can be safety.

Boundaries gave me my voice.
They gave me back me.
They gave me my worth.

I stayed because I finally had myself — not because I lost myself.

Trust Lives in the Body

For many years, I didn’t trust my inner voice. I explained discomfort away. I tried to make everything feel okay so tension would disappear.

It didn’t.

What I’m learning now is that trust lives in the body. When my body doesn’t feel safe, I’m allowed to get quiet — not to disappear, but to listen.

That quiet isn’t shutting down anymore.
It’s discernment.

Healing isn’t linear, and love doesn’t always feel light. Sometimes it feels sober. Sometimes it feels tender and unsure. And sometimes it feels like grief — grief for who I thought I was, who I thought we were, and what I imagined marriage would look like.

But there is also gratitude.

I don’t miss the mean.
I don’t miss the numb.
I don’t miss the version of myself without a voice.

What the Tide Taught Me

On our last morning, I stood at the edge of the ocean and noticed the boundary where water meets land. The tide rolled in and out — never the same, always moving.

That’s what our marriage feels like now.

It rises.
It falls.
It changes.

And the boundary — where water meets land — is beautiful. Necessary. Sacred.

I stopped asking for signs and started asking for trust. God is the truth, the way, and the light. Not every storm is a message. Sometimes it’s just weather passing through.

And it does.

Coming Home, Hope Intact

It rained again as we packed to leave. By the time we drove away, the sun was shining. Our flight home was easy. The flight attendants toasted us with champagne for twenty-five years. I left a gift behind for the woman who cleaned our room, hoping it might bless her.

We came home to a broken dishwasher.

I laughed.

Life, in all its irony.

Good and bad. Joy and frustration. Love and grief — all living together.

We are not promised sunshine and rainbows every day this side of heaven.

But we are promised presence.
We are promised growth.
And we are promised that love, when tended with truth and boundaries, can deepen instead of disappear.

After twenty-five years, I don’t have all the answers.

But I have my voice.
I have my faith.
And I have hope — steady, honest, and still standing.

And for now, that is more than enough.

Dear Little Girl...The Year Of The Whole

For the past two years, before the noise begins—before the plans, the striving, the fixing, the taking down of the decorations—I come back to this quiet practice.

I write a letter to God.

Not a polished one.
Not a pretty one.

A real one.

It’s full of gratitude and grief.
Faith and fear.
Hope and hurt.

I get naked in the truth.
I name the pain.
I confess the longing.
I say the parts out loud that I usually try to carry quietly.

And then I read it back slowly.

I look for the words that keep repeating—
the ones my soul keeps circling, even when my mind doesn’t know why.

From there, I open the dictionary.
I study the meaning.
I let other words rise up—synonyms, echoes, invitations.

Then I take it all to Scripture.
Because I don’t want a word that just sounds good.
I want a word God is already speaking.

This year, the word that kept rising was Whole.

Not perfect.
Not fixed.
Not untouched.

Whole.

Whole means nothing missing.
Nothing broken.
Nothing that has to be earned back.

It means spirit, soul, and body learning to live in harmony again.
It means being honest about the fractures without letting them define you.
It means choosing safety without shrinking.
Truth without hardness.
Boundaries without guilt.

It means trusting that God can put you back together—not into who you were, but into who you are becoming.

This is the verse that held me:

“May God himself, the God who makes everything holy and whole,
make you holy and whole, put you together—spirit, soul, and body—
and keep you fit for the coming of our Master, Jesus Christ.
The One who called you is completely dependable.
If he said it, he’ll do it.”
—1 Thessalonians 5:23–24 (The Message)

That verse mattered to me because it reminds me of this truth:
Wholeness is not something I manufacture. It is something God completes.

My job is not to force healing.
My job is to stay present, honest, and willing.

This year, Whole is not about pretending things are easy or healed or resolved.
It’s about trusting that even in the middle of uncertainty, I am not fragmented.

I am whole.

Being whole means I no longer abandon myself to keep the peace.
It means I listen to my body when it signals danger or rest or truth.
It means I set boundaries not as punishment, but as protection for what is sacred.

When I live from wholeness, I don’t have to beg for safety.
I can discern it.
I can choose it.
I can wait for trust to grow where respect consistently lives.

This is the mantra I’m carrying this year:

I am whole.
I choose safety.
I allow trust to grow where respect lives.

I place these words by my bed and in my phone—
not as pressure, but as a reminder.

And every year, I wear my word.

A bracelet I keep on my wrist as a quiet witness—
not to who I hope to become,
but to who God is already forming.

My friend Loren creates these bracelets with intention and prayer,
and I love that they are made to endure real life—
water, movement, work, tears.

(You can find her on instagram (@shoploreneveryday.)

This year, the word on my wrist is Whole.

Not because life is perfect.
Not because trust is automatic.
But because I believe God is faithful to finish what He starts.

Dear Little Girl,

You don’t have to earn wholeness.
You don’t have to prove it.
You don’t have to wait for anyone else to make you safe before you become yourself.

You are already held.
Already known.
Already being put together by the God of peace.

Walk gently this year.
Stay honest.
Stay rooted.

You are whole.

🩵

Dear Little Girl...The Gift Didn't Leave With the Wrapping Paper

Dear Little Girl…

You made it through the noise.

Through the expectations.
Through the lists and the plans and the pressure to make it all magical.

And here you are now…The house is quiet this morning.

And sitting here, this truth feels holy and clear:

I don’t want to scroll past my life.

One son has already left.
Another will leave soon.
And the miracle I prayed for — all of us together under one roof — came and went in less than two days.

I didn’t realize how much I missed us until we had it again.

Not the perfect version.
Not the Instagram version.
Just us — playing games, laughing, talking, being human together.
Forty hours. I’ll take it.

I tried so hard to be present.
I really did.
But even in the middle of the joy, I felt the pull — the phone, the to-do list, the future creeping in. And now, sitting here in the quiet, I realize how easy it is to miss a moment even while you’re living it.

This Christmas taught me something tender and uncomfortable at the same time:

I learned the real gift isn’t what we open —
it’s the present moment we’re finally willing to receive.

The way a room feels when everyone is home.
The sound of voices overlapping.
The calm that comes when we stop reaching for the next thing and stay with what’s already here.

God meets us here.
Not in the rush.
Not in the comparison.
But in the quiet yes to now.

I’m learning that presence is not passive.
It’s a practice.

When my mind races or my heart tightens, I put both feet on the floor.
I breathe.
I notice what’s right here:
what I can see, hear, touch, smell, taste.

And slowly, my body remembers it’s safe to be here.

Because the present moment keeps me out of a past I can’t change
and a future I can’t control.

Scripture says it plainly:

“Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.”
— 2 Corinthians 3:17

I’m beginning to understand that freedom doesn’t mean nothing hurts.
It means I don’t have to run from the moment I’m in.

Christmas didn’t end Thursday.
It’s still unfolding — in the quiet, in the ache, in the gratitude, in the breath I’m taking right now.

Maybe the invitation isn’t to recreate the magic.
Maybe it’s to receive it while it’s here.

So today, I’m putting my phone down a little sooner.
I’m listening a little longer.
I’m letting the gift stay unwrapped.

Because the real gift of Christmas isn’t what we open —
it’s the present moment we’re finally willing to receive.

Dear Little Girl...Let This Be Enough For Today

Dear Little Girl,

Christmas Eve has a way of holding everything at once.

Joy and ache.
Gratitude and longing.
Full rooms and the awareness that time is fleeting.

Today, tonight, you don’t need to resolve any of it.

There are moments when God gives us a gift that isn’t loud or permanent—
just present.

A table that gathers again.
Laughter that feels familiar.
A sense of calm that gently returns, even if only for a night.

Scripture reminds us that God doesn’t write His covenant on stone anymore—
He writes it on hearts (Hebrews 8).

Which means today isn’t about doing more, fixing more, or proving anything.

It’s about remembering.

Remembering how far you’ve come.
Remembering that provision has met you again and again.
Remembering that love still shows up—in imperfect, human ways.

Faith doesn’t always feel like certainty.
Sometimes it feels like lighting a candle in the dark
and trusting that the light is enough for now.

So if your heart feels full and tender right now,
you’re doing Christmas right.

Dear Little Girl,
Let joy be joy without asking it to last forever.
Let peace be peace without demanding it solve tomorrow.
And let this moment be enough for right now.

God is near.
And that is the miracle.

God, thank You for this moment.
For presence instead of answers.
For light instead of certainty.
Help me receive what is here,
and trust You with what comes next.
Amen.

PS…Happy Eve Birthday to Jesus!!!!!

Dear Little Girl...You Can Trust God With the Ones You Love

Dear Little Girl,

There are days when your heart feels stretched so thin, you wonder if it might break. Days when the people you love most seem just out of reach. Days when you show up with open arms and walk away with a heavy heart.

Today is one of those days.

But hear me: you are not alone.

As a parent, as a friend, as a human who loves deeply — there will be moments when you want to hold on tighter, fix it all, make it all feel right again. And yet, sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is open your hands and surrender.

Because love, real love, isn't about control.

It's about trust.

Not trust in people, who are as fragile and flawed as you are. But trust in the One who sees the whole story. The One who has loved them longer than you have. The One who has never left, even when hearts wandered far.

Today you prayed for peace. You prayed for connection. You prayed for soft landings and safe returns.

And here's the truth: God heard you.

Even when it feels like your prayers are carried away on the wind, they land in the very heart of God. Your tears are not unnoticed. Your hope is not wasted. Your love is never unseen.

It's okay to grieve what feels lost. It's okay to feel sad for what you wish could be different. It's okay to acknowledge the ache.

But don't let it close your heart. Don't let it steal your tenderness. Don't let it silence your prayers.

Keep loving. Keep trusting. Keep hoping.

Even when it feels messy. Especially when it feels messy.

Because God specializes in resurrection. In empty tombs. In stories that feel broken beyond repair.

You are doing better than you think. Your love matters more than you know. And one day, you will look back and see — He was holding it all the entire time.

A Question to Reflect On: Where in your life is God asking you to loosen your grip and trust Him more?

A Prayer for the Surrendered Heart

Dear God,
Today I lay down my need to control. I surrender the ones I love into Your capable hands. I trust that You see what I cannot, and You are working even when I cannot feel it.

Give me peace where there is fear.
Give me hope where there is sadness.
Give me faith where there is doubt.

Help me to love with open hands and open heart, just as You love me.

In Jesus' Name, Amen.

With hope,
Worthy