Dear Little Girl…Your Limp Is Proof You’ve Been With God

Genesis 32

Dear Little Girl,

Maybe you've been apologizing for the way you walk.

Maybe you've spent years wishing you could go back to who you were before the heartbreak… before the grief… before the betrayal… before the disappointment.

You keep asking God to take away the limp.

But what if the limp isn't proof that you're broken?

What if it's proof you've been with Him?

When Jacob wrestled with God, he didn't walk away unchanged.

He walked away with a limp.

For years, I thought healing meant walking as if nothing had ever happened.

I thought one day my mom's death wouldn't catch in my throat.

That birthdays wouldn't ache.

That I wouldn't instinctively reach for the phone to tell her something wonderful.

I thought healing meant the limp would disappear.

But that's not what God has done.

Instead...

He taught me how to walk differently.

And maybe that's the greater miracle.

My grief is still real.

I still miss my mom.

I probably always will.

But the limp no longer tells me only what I've lost.

It reminds me of Who carried me through it.

I've noticed another limp too.

There was a time in my life when I needed everyone to like me.

I became a chameleon.

I would change who I was depending on who stood in front of me.

I said yes when I wanted to say no.

I laughed when something wasn't funny.

I drank because I wanted to belong.

I even made choices that weren't true to who God created me to be because I was afraid of being left out.

I was constantly chasing acceptance.

Today...

I don't do that anymore.

I don't chase.

I don't change myself to fit the room.

Not because I've become hard.

Because God has made me secure.

That doesn't mean everyone understands me.

It doesn't mean everyone agrees with me.

It doesn't even mean everyone likes me.

It simply means I know whose I am.

And that changes the way I walk.

Jacob's limp wasn't a punishment.

It was a reminder.

Every step he took whispered,

"I met God there."

Maybe your limp looks different than mine.

Maybe it's grief.

Maybe it's betrayal.

Maybe it's illness.

Maybe it's the child you're praying for.

Maybe it's the marriage you're fighting to rebuild.

Maybe it's a dream that never came true.

Whatever it is...

Don't be ashamed of the places life changed the way you walk.

Those very places may be where God met you most deeply.

Sweet girl,

Some people will only see your limp.

God sees the woman who refused to let go.

The woman He carried.

The woman He changed.

And one day, when you look back, you'll realize something beautiful.

You aren't walking like you used to.

Not because life didn't leave its mark.

But because God did.

Prayer

Father,

Thank You for meeting me in the places I never would have chosen to go.

Thank You for carrying me through grief, disappointment, and seasons that changed me forever.

When I'm tempted to hide my limp or wish it away, remind me that You are often doing Your deepest work in the places that still feel tender.

Help me stop chasing acceptance and start resting in the security of being Yours.

Teach me to walk with confidence—not because my life has been easy, but because You have been faithful.

Amen.

Journal Prompt

Where has life changed the way you walk?

What if, instead of seeing that place as evidence that you're broken, you began seeing it as evidence that God has been faithfully walking beside you all along?

Dear Little Girl…The Chair Before Mine

Dear Little Girl,

Before there were Two Chairs...there was one.

Today would have been my mom’s 90th birthday.

For My Mom on What Would Have Been Her 90th Birthday

And today, I finally understood where my own chair began.

Ninety Years Old!

How has it been almost ten years since we said goodbye?

Some days it feels like a lifetime ago.

Other days, I still find myself reaching for the phone at three o'clock.

Because for years, that's when we talked.

Almost every day.

You would be sitting in your prayer chair, rosary in hand, looking out the window at the children walking home from school. You loved watching them. You prayed for them, even if you didn't know their names.

I can still picture you there.

My Mom’s Prayer Chair….legacy of faith.

And I don't think there's been a single day since you've been gone that you haven't crossed my mind.

They say time heals.

I think time softens.

The ache isn't as sharp as it once was, but love has a way of leaving fingerprints that never disappear.

Maybe that's why the saying is true...

The greater the grief, the greater the love story was.

And ours was a beautiful one.

Today is another beautiful day in our family.

It's Alex Foley's wedding.

On your birthday.

He didn't even realize it until I told him.

He smiled the biggest smile.

And all I could think was...

Mom would have loved this.

Yesterday I found myself wondering...

What if God let you come to the wedding for just five minutes?

I can see it so clearly.

You'd walk in wearing that dress you loved so much—the one you wore to Robin's wedding.

Your beautiful red hair.

Your rosy cheeks.

Your little nose.

Your pink lipstick.

Those sparkling blue eyes that somehow smiled before the rest of your face did.

I miss this little firecracker!

You wouldn't rush.

You'd simply stand there for a moment...

taking all of us in.

Then I think you'd smile and say,

"Heaven is more beautiful than you can possibly imagine."

"Trust Him."

“Keep Praying…”

You always trusted Him.

Every single day.

You sat in your prayer chair with that worn prayer pad—yes, I still have it—and faithfully prayed through every name on your list.

People counted on your prayers.

Dad used to laugh and say,

"Your mom has the direct connection."

I believed him.

I still do.

One of the last conversations we had was in the ICU.

I asked if you were scared.

You folded your hands in your lap, looked at me, and quietly said,

"Sure...but we all have to do it."

At the time, that answer unsettled me.

I didn't want my mom to be afraid.

But today...

I think if you could speak to me now, you'd smile and say,

"Don't be afraid, my angel."

That's what you always called me.

Your angel.

I miss hearing that.

I miss your blue eyes.

Sometimes I catch a glimpse of them in Graeme's face, and for just a second...

it's like seeing you again.

I see you in other places too.

I see you in my heart for forgiveness.

In my love for people.

In my compassion.

In my desire to pray before I panic.

And then, as I sat here writing this letter...

I realized something that stopped me in my tracks.

You had a prayer chair…

I have Two Chairs…

I always thought…my Two Chairs were born out of my own heartbreak.

Out of losing you.

Out of losing my marriage.

Out of learning to trust God in the hardest seasons of my life.

But maybe...

they began long before that.

Maybe they began with a little girl watching her mother faithfully return to the same chair every day to meet with God.

You planted seeds you never got to see bloom.

Those seeds carried me through your death.

They carried me through betrayal.

They carried me through grief.

They carried me back to hope.

And now they are carrying other people too.

You never knew your faithful prayers would become someone else's healing.

That's your legacy.

Not because you wrote a book.

Not because you stood on stages.

Not because the world knew your name.

Because you quietly showed up to meet with God every single day.

And a little girl was watching.

Mom...

You taught me about prayer.

You taught me about forgiveness.

You taught me about serving others.

You taught me what compassion looks like.

You taught me to keep showing up when life hurts.

You taught me that faith isn't built in extraordinary moments.

It's built in ordinary, faithful ones.

Fifty years from now, I hope people remember you as the redhead with the faithful prayer chair.

The woman who believed God heard every prayer she whispered.

The prayer warrior.

Her final prayer list…..

The cook who made everyone feel at home.

The mom whose greatest sermon wasn't something she preached...

It was the life she lived.

And today, on your birthday in Heaven, I hope you're celebrating with Dad.

With your family.

And if you're with my baby...

Would you hold that little one close for me?

Tell them how deeply they are loved.

Tell them their mama thinks about them often.

And one day...

We'll all be together again.

Until then...

Know this.

Because you loved me...

I am okay.

I am better than okay.

I am whole.

Love,

The little girl who finally realized her faith began in the chair before hers.

Dear Little Girl, The Chair Was Never Empty

Three years ago, I sat on a stage with a simple chair beside me.

Just one empty chair.

The Chair Was Never Empty

That was the visual.

One chair for me.

One chair for God.

That's it.

Show up.

Sit down.

Talk to the One who never leaves.

What I didn't tell everyone that night was that I was living through one of the hardest seasons of my life.

Trey and I were separated.

Our marriage was ending.

And as I stood on that stage, I cried because I didn't want it to.

Speaking Through Tears….Held By Grace

My marriage felt like it was slipping through my fingers, and I honestly didn't know how the story would end.

I had originally planned to speak about my Good Life Journal—how it was born out of grief after losing my mom.

Instead...

I threw my notes away.

I spoke from my heart.

Months later, someone saw a picture from that night.

They quietly said,

"That picture always broke my heart.

It looked like someone was missing."

For a long time...

I thought they were right.

I thought that chair represented the person who wasn't there.

The husband I missed.

The future I couldn't see.

The life I thought I had lost.

But today...

I see that picture completely differently.

The chair was never empty.

Because God never left.

Even when Trey walked away...

God stayed.

Even when I cried more tears than I thought one person could cry...

God stayed.

Even when I questioned everything I believed about marriage, trust, and the future...

God stayed.

Day after day...one chair at a time.

Long before my marriage was restored...

My heart began to heal.

That was the first miracle.

Somewhere in those daily conversations, something inside me slowly changed.

I stopped trying to control every outcome.

I stopped believing my safety depended on another human being.

I stopped waiting for my circumstances to change before I allowed myself to breathe.

I discovered that I was never sitting in that second chair alone.

God had been there the entire time.

By His grace, Trey and I found our way back to one another.

Our marriage has been restored in ways I once thought were impossible.

Grace Wrote A Different Ending

But if I'm honest...

The greatest miracle wasn't that Trey came home.

The greatest miracle was discovering that even if he hadn't...God had never left.

Everything else grew from there.

So if you're sitting in a season that feels painfully quiet...

If someone you love is distant...

If you're waiting for healing...

If you're wondering whether hope is foolish...

Pull up a chair.

Not because every story ends the way mine did.

But because every story can be met by the same faithful God.

You don't have to have the right words.

You don't have to know how the story ends.

You don't have to fix a thing.

Just show up.

Sit down.

Be still.

Because healing doesn't begin when life gets easier.

It begins when you discover...

The chair beside you was never empty.

The One you've been longing for...

has been sitting there all along.

Love,

The girl who discovered God's presence was enough before His answers ever came.

💭 A Question to Journal On

Have you ever felt like you were waiting for someone—or something—to return before you could finally breathe?

What if the presence you've needed most has been with you all along?

🙏 A Prayer

Dear God,

Thank You for never walking away.

Thank You for staying when everything else felt uncertain.

Thank You for meeting me in the silence, in the waiting, and in the questions I didn't know how to ask.

Teach me to trust that Your presence is enough for today.

Help me believe that even when life feels unfinished, You are still writing a beautiful story.

And remind me, again and again, that the chair beside me has never been empty.

Amen.

With hope and healing,

Amy

The Vacation That Reminded Me How to Be Present

There are vacations where you come home with souvenirs.

Then there are vacations where you come home different.

When Trey and I booked our trip to Secrets Huatulco, I thought what I needed most was rest. After the past several years of walking through mental illness, family struggles, grief, uncertainty, and rebuilding a marriage, I was simply tired.

I thought paradise would fix that.

Instead, paradise exposed something I didn't know I was carrying.

The first thing I noticed wasn't the breathtaking cliffs or the turquoise Pacific Ocean.

Magical Conejos Bay in Huatulco, Mexico

It was the furniture in the lobby.

"This place feels old," I thought.

Even sitting in one of the most beautiful places I had ever seen, I was looking for what was missing.

Isn't that funny?

Sometimes we spend so much time searching for the next better thing that we almost miss the beauty standing right in front of us.

Thankfully, God is patient.

Over the next several days He slowly redirected my attention.

Not with dramatic miracles.

With quiet ones.

A cup of the best coconut cappuccino I've ever tasted.

Best Coconut Cappuccino I have ever had

Fresh fruit that reminded me creation itself is extravagant.

A beach that was peaceful enough to hear the waves instead of the crowds.

The kindest resort staff I've ever met.

Long conversations with my husband that reminded me healing isn't always loud.

One evening Trey asked me what gift he had given me that mattered most.

Without thinking, I answered, "Because of your faith, I wanted more of God."

Neither of us expected the tears that followed.

In that moment I realized something profound.

The greatest gift someone can give you isn't perfection.

It's helping point you toward the One who is.

That conversation alone would have made the trip unforgettable.

But God wasn't finished.

A few days later I caught myself doing something I've done for years.

Instead of enjoying the vacation I was already planning the next one.

I was sitting in paradise worrying about the next paradise.

Why?

Because somewhere along the way I had learned to prepare for loss before I had fully enjoyed the gift.

After enough unexpected pain, your brain starts scanning the horizon instead of soaking in the view.

I knew exactly where that habit came from.

Life had taught me that beautiful seasons sometimes end without warning.

Marriage changes.

People die.

Dreams shift.

Storms arrive uninvited.

So somewhere along the journey I quietly convinced myself that if I stayed prepared, maybe I wouldn't get hurt again.

But standing beside the Pacific Ocean, God whispered something different.

"What if bad doesn't happen today?"

That question stayed with me.

Then came the butterfly.

My sweet little friend the butterfly

I found her on our morning walk.

She was injured—or maybe simply exhausted—but she never flew away.

Instead, she stayed with me all day.

Opening and closing her wings.

Simply resting.

She reminded me that not every beautiful thing is rushing toward the next destination.

Some things are here to teach us how to stay.

Later that same day I found a shell shaped like a heart.

Beautiful heart Shaped Shell

Two simple gifts.

Nothing expensive.

Nothing planned.

Just little reminders scattered across the shoreline by a God who knew exactly what my heart needed.

By the end of the week I realized the greatest treasure I found in Huatulco wasn't the ocean.

It wasn't the sunsets.

It wasn't even the conversations.

It was presence.

Life hadn't stopped while I was gone.

Family issues still existed.

Parenting still required faith.

Marriage was still a journey.

Work was waiting for me at home.

Nothing magically disappeared.

The difference was that my heart had grown quieter.

I came home to the same life.

But I wasn't quite the same woman.

I returned believing something I didn't fully believe before I left:

I don't have to borrow tomorrow's worries while standing in today's blessings.

The God who surprised me with this vacation is already waiting in whatever comes next.

I don't have to rush there.

Today is enough.

As I reflect on Secrets Huatulco, I can honestly say this:

The resort itself could use some updating.

The people could not have been more wonderful.

The views were unforgettable.

The service was exceptional.

But the real reason I'd go back has very little to do with the resort at all.

I'd go back because that's where God gently reminded me that wholeness isn't found by collecting more experiences.

It's found by noticing the treasures already surrounding us.

Sometimes the greatest adventure isn't traveling somewhere new.

Barefoot and present on the beaches of Huatulco

Sometimes it's finally learning to be where your feet are.

And that might be the greatest souvenir I brought home.