We are home—safe, sound, and somehow still holding on to the peace we found at the ocean.
This trip was a gift. A reset. A holy exhale. It wasn’t perfect, but it was deeply healing. And now, as I ease back into normal life, I find myself reflecting not only on the beauty of the waves and the laughter of my boys but also on the quiet moments with God that shifted something deep in my spirit.
One morning, it rained. And then came the rainbow.
I sat in my quiet time and watched it stretch across the sky—a colorful promise right off our balcony. I couldn’t help but think of Joseph’s robe. The robe that was stripped from him. The robe that symbolized favor. The robe that represented something more than just fabric—it was identity, calling, hope.
Joseph may have been thrown out by his family, betrayed by the people meant to protect him, lied about, and forgotten—but God never left him.
Not in the pit. Not in the prison. Not in the in-between.
He was robbed—first of his colorful robe, then of his reputation, and finally of his freedom. But what no one could take from him was God’s presence. That stuck with me.
Because I’ve felt that too.
I was never physically thrown out, but emotionally, spiritually—I know what it feels like to be discarded. I’ve made choices that strained relationships. I’ve been in seasons where I felt invisible, misunderstood, even unloved. But still—God never left me.
Like Joseph, I’ve learned that faithfulness doesn’t always bring immediate reward. Sometimes, it brings more struggle. But in the wrestling, I’ve also found favor. Through MELT, through my dance students, through quiet moments of surrender—I’ve been trusted with the care of others. Just like Joseph in prison. That matters.
And then I came across the dreams in Genesis 40.
One dream with wine. One with bread. One man restored. One executed.
It struck me—those elements, wine and bread, are the very symbols Jesus used to represent His body and His blood. The cupbearer is restored—new life. The baker is not—judgment. Is it coincidence that one clung to the vine and the other didn’t protect the bread? Maybe. But maybe not.
Jesus said, “I am the vine, you are the branches.” (John 15:5)
So I hold onto that today. I want to remain in the vine. To be fruitful in hope. To multiply joy and peace and healing—not just for me, but for other women who feel trapped. Who feel scared. Who feel unseen.
Women who are just trying to breathe through marriages that feel like mine did. Who are afraid to leave or afraid to stay. Who don’t know where the money will come from or how they’ll explain the pain to their kids. Who feel like the only way to survive is to smile and pretend they’re fine.
If that’s you—please hear this: You are not alone. You are not forgotten. And the pit is not your final chapter.
Let’s remain in the vine together. Let’s be women who bloom with hope. Let’s multiply that hope until it touches someone else's story.
God can use our brokenness and bring beauty. He did it for Joseph. He’s doing it for me. And He can do it for you, too.
Amen.
