Golden Vibes, God Winks, and the Healing I Didn’t Know I Needed

I just returned from something that stretched me—literally and spiritually. ✨

I hopped on a plane to a place where I didn’t know a soul, and I came home with a full heart, a deeper understanding of fascia and healing, and a tribe I didn’t even know I needed.

The MELT Immersion wasn’t just a training—it was a transformation.

First, I learned that I am powerful.

I know that might sound a little wild to say out loud, but stay with me. I’ve always talked about how my dad had this larger-than-life bravado—the kind of presence that filled a room without him saying a word. People noticed him because of who he was, not just what he said. And this past week, I realized: I carry that same energy. I command a room—not with arrogance, but with grace, warmth, and a deep love for people.

That realization came with so much gratitude. It’s like my father passed down this quiet confidence that’s been waiting inside me, and I finally saw it for what it is.

I also saw my sweet mom in me.

She was a caretaker through and through. And somewhere along the way, I became the resident social media helper and fairy hair lady at our training—teaching, serving, laughing, connecting. I didn’t even mean to fall into that role. It just… happened. And in doing so, I realized how much I love teaching. How natural it feels to guide others with compassion, creativity, and kindness.

Over and over, the women I met said, “You’re so patient. You explain it so clearly. And you never make me feel dumb for asking again.”

That’s when it clicked: I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Teaching babies at Preston Center Dance.
Helping women find their worth again through MELT.
Meeting people right where they are and holding space for them to grow.

I also learned I can do hard things.

Neuro strength work? Whew. It nearly fried my brain. But I kept showing up. Kept trying. Kept practicing. And guess what? I found it. I found the movement, the rhythm, the connection.

That’s who I am—I don’t give up.
I love teaching.
I love healing.
And I love that God is still growing me.

Another thing I discovered? I love meeting new people.

Different ages. Different stories. Different spiritual beliefs. But when you find one common thread—like healing, or curiosity, or even just a roller—you realize that all the other stuff? It doesn’t matter. We saw each other. Encouraged each other. Built each other up. Loved one another.

What a gift this past week has been.

And would you believe… I had the sweetest God wink?

It was Saturday night. I was standing in the ocean during a sound bath, letting the waves and frequencies wash over me, when I looked up and saw the moon. It was hanging low, new and crooked—exactly like Janie’s smile.

Janie was one of our precious dancers we lost in the flood July 4. Her smile was unforgettable—wide and joyful, with the tiniest, most perfect tilt.

I looked at my new friends and said, “I feel Janie here with us.”

And later that night, I saw that one of the other mamas—whose daughter Hadley also went to be with Jesus in the same flood—posted a photo from a year ago. It was Hadley, wearing the same hat my friend Luci had been wearing in the ocean during the sound bath.

I couldn’t wait to show Luci.
They were there. I just know it.
Dancing to the rhythm of the water, smiling in the moonlight.

These little signs were God’s way of telling me,
“They’re okay. And you’ll see them again.”

Because that night, all I could think about were the mamas whose girls were supposed to be coming home that very day. My heart ached for them. And God, in His gentle way, whispered peace over my sadness.

So this past week?

It pushed me.
It pulled me.
It hugged me tight.

And somehow, in the most unexpected ways, it healed me and grew me.

I can’t wait to share this work with you—because healing isn’t just possible…
It’s already happening.

SOOOOOOO…If you're ready to get out of pain, age gracefully, and stay active and vibrant for the long haul—let me show you The MELT Method.

This practice has transformed the way I move, teach, and live—and I’d be honored to walk alongside you as you begin (or deepen) your own healing journey.

Whether you're curious, cautious, or ready to dive in—I’ve got a roller with your name on it. 💙

Let’s get you moving, glowing, and feeling good—because you’re worth it.
Always have been.

Dear Little Girl...You Don't Have to Compete Anymore

“When the Lord saw that Leah was not loved, He enabled her to conceive…” —Genesis 29:31
(Leah’s story in Genesis 29–30)

Just like Leah, you kept showing up in a story that seemed to celebrate someone else.
You gave, you stayed, you prayed—hoping it would finally be enough to be chosen.

And somewhere along the way, without even realizing it,
you became everything to everyone.

You wore so many hats in those early chapters, didn’t you?

Wife.
Mother.
Healer.
Helper.
Peacemaker.
Protector.

All while still feeling like a little girl inside some days.

You carried so much, trying to keep everyone else standing—
when you were the one quietly unraveling.

You tried to be the steady one.
The safe one.
The one no one would ever leave.

But sweet girl, listen closely—because I’ve been where you are.

I know the fear that wraps around your ribs like a vice.
The fear of divorce.
The fear of being alone.
The fear of never being chosen—not really.
The fear that if you stop holding it all together, everything will fall apart.
The financial fear. The motherhood fear.
The late-night wondering:
Do I stay to protect my kids—or do I go to protect myself?
Will healing ever come? Will a miracle ever reach this messy, broken place?

I’ve lived those questions.

And I want you to know:
You don’t have to compete anymore.
Not for love.
Not for approval.
Not to be seen, celebrated, or chosen.

Because you already are.

Already loved.
Already known.
Already held.

Even when others missed the weight you were carrying—God never did.

He saw the nights your heart raced in silence.
The mornings your smile covered worry.
The way your mind looped through every worst-case scenario.
The way your son’s pain felt like your own wound.
The way a passing comment could shake your sense of worth.
The way you quietly wondered if you were crazy—or just deeply, deeply tired.

And still—you stayed.
You prayed.
You showed up.
And He never stopped showing up for you.

And now He whispers...

“You don’t have to be strong all the time. You just have to be Mine.”

So exhale, Love.
Set down the fear.
Set down the hustle.
Set down the invisible scoreboard that told you you had to earn love to keep it.

Come sit at the well.
The stone’s already rolled away.
The Living Water is flowing.
And the table?
It’s set—and your name card is there.

No one can take your seat.
Not Rachel.
Not anyone else.

You belong here.
There’s still time.
There’s still hope.
And yes—miracles still happen.

🙏 A Prayer for the One Who’s Trying So Hard:

Jesus,
Thank You for seeing me—especially in the places I once felt invisible.
Thank You for reminding me that I don’t have to compete for what You freely give.
Help me keep laying down the fear of not being enough.
Help me rest.
Help me trust.
Help me stay rooted in the truth that being Yours is enough.
I give You the ache, the old stories, the worn-out striving.
Thank You for choosing me—again and again.
Amen.

Dear Little Girl...You Were Never Second Choice

You don’t talk about it much.
But deep down, you’ve known the ache of Leah—
the woman in Genesis 29,
whose story sits quietly between the lines of someone else's love story.

Leah was given to a man who never asked for her.
Married by deception.
Overshadowed by a sister who seemed to sparkle.
So she kept giving—hoping it would finally be enough.

Maybe this time, she thought.
Maybe if I give more, love harder, carry heavier,
he’ll finally choose me.

And every time he didn’t,
Leah turned her eyes to heaven.

She named her sons after her ache—
hoping each one would be the thing that made him stay.
But by the time she birthed her fourth,
something in her shifted.
She let go of the need to be chosen by a man
and chose to be seen by her God.

“This time,” she said,
“I will praise the Lord.” (Genesis 29:35)

Dear Little Girl,
You were never created to compete for love.
You were created to receive it.

You’ve stayed through storms.
You’ve raised sons in the wreckage.
You’ve poured yourself out again and again,
even when your own cup felt bone-dry.

But look—
the love is coming back to you now.

In texts that say, I’m proud of you.
In the moment your son is moved to tears by your purpose.
In a small box of macaroons that whispers, I see you, Mom.

You are not Leah because you were unloved.
You are Leah because you were faithful.
Because you kept praising.
Because God is building something eternal through you—
three boys worth of praise.

And maybe, just maybe,
He gave you sons to remind you
that you were always worth choosing.

That you are seen.
Steady.
Sacred.

And even when love gets complicated—
God’s love never does.

So rest, Little Girl.
Let go of the need to be picked.
You already are.

And the One who chose you?
He’s not leaving.
He’s just getting started.

Dear Little Girl...Remain in the Vine: A Redemption Still Unfolding

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.

Dear Little Girl...Let Go of the Mess You've Been Carrying

Dear Little Girl,
You've been carrying a lot. Some of it’s heavy. Some of it’s old. And some of it? It was never even yours to begin with.
But still, you've held onto it — trying to fix it, manage it, make sense of it.
You’ve worn it like that green dress that doesn’t fit anymore but still hangs in your closet — full of stories and weight you’ve long outgrown.

But what if you didn’t have to carry it anymore?

What if the parts that feel too messy to explain — the guilt, the grief, the pressure to hold everyone else together — were already being held by God?
What if the dreams that keep bubbling up — even the messy, uncertain ones — are invitations to finally release?

You are allowed to outgrow what hurt you.
You are allowed to feel light again.
You are allowed to lay down the roles, the expectations, the resentment, and the perfection that was never yours to maintain.

Because here’s the truth:

God doesn’t bless your performance.
He blesses you.
Not the edited, polished, striving version.
Just you.

So today, let go.
Let go of the weight.
Let go of the need to explain.
Let God hold what you no longer can.

It's time to walk freely again.

A Question to Journal On:
What burden have you been carrying that God never asked you to hold?

A Prayer for the Girl Ready to Release the Weight:
Dear God,
I’m tired of picking up what I was never meant to carry. I want to be free — free from the weight of expectations, old wounds, and the fear that I’m not enough.
I want joy again. I want peace.
Help me release what no longer serves me.
Help me live light, love big, and trust You deeper than I ever have.
Thank You for meeting me in my mess — and loving me there.
Amen.

Dear Little Girl...Even the Messy Parts Count

Dear Little Girl,

How could the messy parts not be part of the plan?

Funny how time reveals what pain once concealed. I wrote this a while back, in a season of wrestling and remembering — and now, as I prepare for a family trip that carries hope for healing, I realize just how far God has carried me.

From the tiny one twirling beneath rainbow parachutes, drawn to every bit of color and wonder, to the little girl who played house and dreamed of being seen — really seen. You admired others. You mimicked their grace. And deep down, you hoped someone would see that same magic in you.

Your family wasn’t perfect. Your dad traveled. Your mom drank. But you were loved. And yet, you still carried a quiet ache: Why don’t they see me?

Maybe that’s when the story began to shift. Maybe that’s where the lie snuck in.

Like the day you told your dad you wanted to go to college and dance and act — and he said, “I’m not raising a gypsy.”
In front of Carol Street.
You felt humiliated.
Unseen.
Unheard.
But not unloved.

Still, something rooted in that moment. You tucked away your dream like it was shameful. You chose what was “safe.” Sales. Performance. Achievement. Hustle. It worked for a while — until it didn’t. Until it started to cost you you.

But here’s the plot twist: you never lost what was planted.

Your love for imagination. For movement. For children. For connection. God saw it all. And He never stopped nurturing it. Even when you were chasing approval, trying to be two versions of yourself, running on empty. Even when it got messy.

Especially then.

Because look at you now.

You’re back in the center of your calling — dancing, teaching, loving the kids who remind you of younger you. The full circle wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t clean. But it was holy. And it was His.

So, Dear Little Girl… trust that every twist in the story is still on purpose. Nothing is wasted — not even the painful parts.

A Question to Journal On:
Where in your story have you mistaken “mess” for “meaningless”?

A Prayer for the Girl Wondering If She Took a Wrong Turn

Dear God,
Thank You for being the Author of every chapter — even the ones I wanted to scribble out. You saw the dream when I hid it. You held my heart when I dropped it. And You never stopped calling me back. Help me to trust the mess — not as failure, but as formation. Help me to see that even the winding roads lead me closer to You. Thank You for bringing it full circle. Thank You for never giving up on who You created me to be.

Amen.

With love,
Worthy

Dear Little Girl...God Still Speaks

You keep asking for a sign.
Not because you don’t believe in God — but because deep down, you want to be reminded He’s still near. You want to know you’re on the right path, that you’re not walking alone, and that the choices you’re making are leading somewhere good.

You’re not alone in that.

Even the servant in Genesis 24 — on a sacred mission to find a wife for Isaac — asked God for a sign. He didn’t yet know God personally. His prayer began, “Lord, God of my master…” That distance. That unfamiliarity. And still, God answered.

He answered clearly. Gently. Faithfully.
Because God wants to be known.
He wants to be heard.
And yes — He still speaks.

Sometimes through people.
Sometimes through peace.
Sometimes through a whisper or a moment that causes you to pause and say, “That had to be You.”

The question is — are you listening?

You’ve walked through a lot. You’ve grown so much. You’re no longer the girl who used to twist herself into a version others would accept. You’re not driven by fear the same way. And you’re slowly, gently, stepping out of needing constant validation — and instead anchoring yourself in God's steady presence.

The truth?
God doesn’t always give signs because He wants you to trust, not test.
But even when we ask — in our weakness, in our childlike wondering — He meets us with grace.

Maybe today isn’t about needing a sign at all.
Maybe it’s about recognizing how many have already come.
A peaceful night.
A healed conversation.
A little circle of ballerinas scooting their dots closer to you.
A calm morning.
A whisper in your heart that says, “You’re right where you need to be.”

That’s God.
Still speaking.
Still guiding.
Still loving.

So take a breath, dear one.
The pressure is off.
You don’t have to force clarity — just walk in trust.
God is already ahead of you.

A question to journal on:
Where in your life are you asking for a sign — and could it be an invitation to deeper trust?

A Prayer to Close

Dear God,
I know You still speak.
Help me recognize Your voice, even in the quiet.
When I feel unsure or anxious, remind me that I don’t need to force answers — I just need to stay close to You.
Give me ears to hear, a heart to trust, and the wisdom to know when You’re asking me to wait — and when You’re asking me to walk.
Thank You for the little signs You’ve already given.
Thank You for never leaving.
I trust You with the next step.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.

With hope,
Worthy

Dear Little Girl...You're Ready to Share Again

Four years ago, I stood on a stage with nothing but a trembling heart and a truth I could no longer keep inside.
I was supposed to share a neat, prepared talk about the journal I had created after my mom passed away.
But life wasn’t neat then.

I was in the middle of heartbreak.
A season I didn’t choose.
A silence I didn’t want.
A loss that reshaped everything.

So I crumpled the notes I had prepared and spoke from the heart instead.

It wasn’t polished.
But it was real.
And that night, something awakened in me.

I remembered what it felt like to be the girl who smiled to survive —
the girl who stayed quiet to keep the peace,
the girl who betrayed her own heart just to feel loved.

That girl had something to say.
Not because she had answers — but because she knew what it was like to live without them.

Since then, life has unfolded in a thousand unexpected ways.
More grief.
More rebuilding.
More healing.
More surrender.

And now — after all this time — I feel ready again.

Not to perform.
Not to prove anything.
But to write from a place of peace.

Because healing doesn’t always shout.
Sometimes it takes years of quiet journaling, whispered prayers, and choosing to believe you’re still worthy of love.

So if you’ve ever silenced your story out of fear —
If you’re in the middle of a season you didn’t ask for —
Let me tell you what I wish someone had told me:

You’re not alone.
You still have a voice.
And maybe… just maybe… it’s time to use it again.

A Question to Journal On:
Have you silenced your story out of fear?
What would it look like to share it from a healed heart instead of a hurting one?

A Prayer for the Brave Heart:
Dear God,
Thank You for staying with me in every season — even the silent, shattered ones.
Thank You for meeting me when I had no words, and still using my story for Your glory.
Give me the courage to write, to speak, to live with tenderness and truth.
Let someone feel less alone because I didn’t stay silent.
Amen.

With peace and purpose,
Worthy

Dear Little Girl...Grief Comes in Waves

Grief comes in waves.
And today, it’s the quiet kind — the kind that tiptoes in through the back door of your heart.

Today marks sixteen years since I lost the baby I never held.
And today… I miss them.

I wonder who they would’ve been.
A boy? A girl?
Would they have had blue eyes like us?
Would they have danced with me?
Been close with Graeme?
What would they have loved?

I never found out the sex.
I would tell people I did, and I don’t know why I said that — but that’s what grief does.
It makes you say and do weird things.

At the time, I just couldn’t.
I was too overwhelmed by pain.
And now, I wish I had.
I wish I could call them by name.

This morning, I asked God for a sign.
I know He doesn’t have to give me one.
But I asked anyway — because this ache is still real.

I believe love began the moment I knew I was pregnant.
And that kind of love never dies.
It just lives quietly in your bones — rising to the surface on anniversaries and in church pews when you see a newborn resting in her mama’s arms.

And somehow, I’ve learned to praise through the pain.
To thank God for a love so strong it still moves me to tears.
To trust that He holds my baby in heaven — safe, whole, and fully known.

Today, I also felt something else:
Release.

For the first time in a long time, I felt myself letting go.
I prayed for the person I was releasing — not out of obligation, but out of a desire to be free.
Free from the resentment, the hurt, the tension that lives too long in our ribs when we cling to pain.

Forgiveness doesn’t mean re-entry.
It doesn’t mean I erase boundaries or pretend everything’s okay.
But it does mean I can say, “Lord, bless him,” and truly mean it.
And that? That’s healing.

This morning’s Bible study brought me to Genesis 31 —
Where Jacob is confronting his own family wounds.
His father-in-law had manipulated him, betrayed him, changed his wages ten times.
And yet Jacob says:

“But God did not allow him to harm me.”

That verse landed deep.
Because I’ve walked with people who have wounded me.
But I’ve also walked with God.
And He’s always protected me.
Even when I didn’t understand.
Even when I felt alone.

I don’t have to manipulate anything to stay safe.
I don’t have to strive to be loved.
I can rest.
I can be still.

God’s got me.
He’s got my boys.
He’s got my marriage — even when I don’t know what’s next.

So today, I’m not cleaning up the messes.
I’m not fighting to be enough.
I’m simply showing up.
And then I’m breathing.
Laying in the sun.
Resting in the truth that I am fully loved.
Without proving a thing.

A gentle reminder for you:
You don’t have to fix all the messy places.
You don’t have to fight for love or approval.
You can breathe.
You can trust.
You can simply be.

God sees you.
He hears you.
And His plans for you are still unfolding — even now.

A Question to Journal On:
Where is God inviting you to slow down and simply be today?

With love and stillness,
Worthy

Dear Little Girl...You Have A Voice

Maybe today feels noisy — full of plans, pressures, and expectations.
Maybe you're trying so hard to keep everything together that you almost forgot to breathe.

But there’s a whisper waiting for you underneath it all.

God's whisper.
The one that says:

"You have a voice."
"You don't have to strive for it."
"You don't have to earn it."
"You already have it — because you are Mine."

You don't have to carry the weight of your future alone.
You don't have to fix all the messy places.
You don't have to fight for love or approval.

Breathe.
Trust.
Listen.

And you can use your voice — whether it's in quiet surrender, in fierce love, or simply in choosing joy today.

You are seen.
You are heard.
You are loved.

And God's plans for you are unfolding... even now.

So take a moment today — to pause, to breathe, to remember your voice.

A Question to Journal On:
Where is God inviting you to slow down and listen today?

A Prayer for the Listening Heart:
Dear God,
Quiet the noise around me and within me.
Help me to hear Your voice above all the others.
Show me how to trust You — not just with my dreams, but with my everyday moments.
Thank You for giving me a voice that matters.
Help me to use it for love, for truth, and for You.
Amen.

(Sometimes breaking into imperative form creates more power and immediacy — up to your style!)

💡 Optional Add-On Line (before the journal prompt):

So take a moment today — to pause, to breathe, to remember your voice.

Dear Little Girl...It's Ok to Feel Heavy

Some seasons hit harder than others, don’t they?

Even when you’re doing all the things.
Even when you’re showing up for everyone else.
Even when there’s technically nothing wrong—your chest can still tighten, your thoughts can still race, and your body can still beg you to slow down.

I remember one of those seasons.

It was a swirl of caregiving, teaching, end-of-year performances, unexpected emotional anniversaries, and the kind of fear you can’t quite name. Graeme had broken both arms. We were managing—but barely. I was feeding him, dressing him, bathing him. Loving him. All while running a full-time job, managing a recital, and holding space for a marriage, a family, and a future that felt fragile.

I sat with God one morning and all I could say was: I give up.

Not in a hopeless way—but in a surrendering way.

I let go. I handed it over. I couldn’t fix it all, carry it all, or know it all. But I could choose to trust.

Maybe that’s where you are right now.

Maybe trust feels like the only way forward. Maybe you’re handing over fears about your kids, your partner, your work, your purpose, your health. Maybe you're not even sure what you’re handing over—just… something.

And that’s okay.

You don’t need words for the weight you carry in order to lay it down.
You just need the willingness to open your hands.

Because here’s what I’ve learned: God never needed us to be perfect.
Just present. Just willing. Just honest.

So if today feels heavy, here’s what you can ask Him to do:

– Calm the panic you can’t explain
– Lift the weight you don’t understand
– Send little bursts of peace through your ordinary day

Dear Little Girl,
You were allowed to be tired then, and you’re allowed to be tired now.
You’re allowed to say, This feels like too much.
You’re allowed to need help.

And you are still good.
Still faithful.
Still held.

A Question to Journal On:
What are you handing over to God today?

A Prayer for the Heavy Days:
Dear God,
Sometimes I don’t even know what’s wrong—I just feel off.
My heart is heavy, my mind is noisy, and I can’t find the words for the swirl inside. But I’m here. And I know You are too.
Take what I can’t name.
Hold what I can’t carry.
Give me the peace that passes understanding.
Some days I want to be joyful… but today I just need to be held.

So hold me.
Love me.
Whisper truth back into my soul.

I surrender. Take care of everything.

Amen.

With open hands,
Worthy

Dear Little Girl...The Stone Has Been Rolled Away

I was reading Genesis 29 — a chapter I didn’t expect to shake me. It’s the beginning of Jacob’s story with Rachel, but before that love story unfolds, there’s a quiet moment that stopped me:

“There he saw a well in the open country, with three flocks of sheep lying near it… The stone over the mouth of the well was large… When all the flocks were gathered there, the shepherds would roll the stone away… and water the sheep.” (Genesis 29:2–3)

At first, it just felt like pastoral logistics — sheep, shepherds, and a well. But then the Spirit stirred something in me.

Three flocks.
A heavy stone blocking life-giving water.
A shepherd rolling it away so the sheep could drink.

Suddenly, I wasn’t just in Genesis anymore.

I was standing outside a tomb.
I could see another stone — one that sealed death itself.
And I could feel the power of resurrection in the air.

The stone was rolled away.
Not so sheep could be watered temporarily — but so all of us could be given eternal life.
Jesus, the Good Shepherd, the Living Water, had risen.

And maybe — just maybe — the three flocks weren’t just a coincidence.
Father. Son. Holy Spirit.
All present at the well.
All present at the tomb.
All present here, in this sacred moment where Scripture comes alive in your heart.

Dear Little Girl,

You’ve been carrying so much.
Worrying about the future.
Feeling the ache of a child growing up and away.
Sensing a shift, a stillness, and wondering if it means something is wrong.

But maybe today isn’t about figuring it all out.

Maybe today is about remembering the stone has already been rolled away.

You're drinking from Living Water — even as you doubt your own thirst.
You're showing up in your calling — even as you wonder if it’s enough.
You’re choosing hope — even when fear knocks louder.

And that? That’s resurrection.

You’re not the girl who needs to hustle for worthiness anymore.
You’re not the woman who bends and breaks to keep everyone else whole.

You are the one who hears the whisper of the Spirit in Scripture.
Who sees Jesus in the well, in the tomb, in the ordinary.

Let the water wash over the fear.
Let it soften the grief.
Let it nourish the roots of every buried dream.

The tomb is empty.
The well is full.
And the Shepherd still sees you.

A Question to Journal On:
What “stone” has been rolled away in your life lately — and how are you being invited to drink deeply of God’s Living Water?

A Prayer for the Girl Who’s Learning to Live Fully

Dear God,
Thank You for rolling away the stone — in Scripture, in history, and in my life.
Thank You for being the well that never runs dry.
When I feel dry or distant, help me remember You are near.
Help me live like the well is open and the invitation is for me.
Let me be refreshed by Your Spirit and pour that love into the lives around me.
Use my story, Lord — even the hard parts.
Turn my mess into a message of hope.
Amen.

With joy and wonder,
Worthy

Dear Little Girl...You Are Allowed To Say This Is Hard

Some days you’re strong.
Some days you’re tired of being strong.
And today, you’re tired.

The fear creeps in like a quiet whisper: “Here we go again…”
You’ve ridden this ride before. The walking-on-eggshells, the short tempers, the roller coaster of moods and wondering what version of someone you’ll get today. And if you're honest — you're exhausted.

Not because you’re weak.
Because you're human.

You're a woman who fiercely protects her children.
Who shows up to her calling.
Who serves with love even while she hurts.

And today, you feel it all. The heaviness. The “what ifs.” The swirl of grief for what should’ve been different. The ache of past betrayals you thought you buried. And still… you get up. You show up. You speak truth in love. And that, sweet girl, is sacred work.

You’re doing holy work — even if it looks like writing a letter to protect your son, or choosing not to shrink back into silence, or whispering “Lord, I’m scared, but I trust You anyway.”

Because the truth is, this isn't about fixing someone else.
This is about healing you.

It’s about learning how to stay grounded in your purpose and peace — whether the world around you feels stable or not.

And if no one has told you lately, hear this:
You are not too much.
You are not wrong for feeling tired.
You are not broken for wanting more.

God sees it all. The tension. The frustration. The fight to be heard. The courage it takes to live your life fully while still honoring someone else's process.

You’re not alone in it. He’s walking with you.

Even now.

Even in this.

A Question to Journal On:
What fear are you carrying that God is asking you to set down?

A Prayer for the Days You’re Just Not Sure:
God,
I don’t know what to do with all this today. But I trust You do. Help me release what I can’t control. Help me find words when I need to speak, and peace when silence is the right answer. I give You my fears, my hopes, my hurt. Thank You for holding them gently. Thank You for never making me carry it alone. Walk with me, and help me walk in wisdom.
Amen.

You are allowed to be tired.
You are still held.
You are still worthy.
💗
In tenderness and truth,
Worthy

Dear Little Girl...You Can Heal What Still Hurts

You’ve forgiven. You’ve chosen love. You’ve stayed.

But if you're being honest, there's still pain. The kind that hides beneath the surface… quiet, sharp, and unresolved. And just because you've moved forward doesn't mean it doesn’t still sting.

That doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.

There’s no shame in feeling the echoes of old wounds — the grief that never had space to breathe. You told yourself it didn’t matter. That you were strong. That staying meant letting it go. But what you didn’t realize was that letting go doesn’t always mean pretending it never happened.

Letting go can mean telling the truth. To yourself. To God.

It can mean sitting in discomfort and saying, “This still hurts.”

It can mean owning the anger you buried for the sake of peace. Or finally admitting that what they did did change you — and you’re still becoming whole again.

You’re not broken for needing healing.
You’re brave for asking God to meet you in it.

And He is.

He’s in the ache. In the silence. In the awkward, in-between spaces. He’s in the surrender — the kind that says, “I’m not okay, but I’m giving it to You anyway.”

You are not alone in this.
He doesn’t just carry your healed heart.
He carries your hurting one too.

And you’re allowed to keep choosing love and still want healing.
You’re allowed to hold joy in one hand and ache in the other.

That is not weakness. That is wholeness.

Keep going, little girl.
You’re doing the hard work.
And your healing is holy.

A Question to Journal On:
What part of your story still stings — even though you’ve forgiven?

A Prayer:
Dear God,
Thank You for being safe enough for my pain. Thank You for being the One I can tell the truth to — even when I don’t have the answers. Help me name what still hurts, release what’s not mine to carry, and trust You to restore every part of my heart. You’ve walked with me through it all. Keep showing me how to heal — not just once, but again and again.

Amen.

With tenderness and truth,
Worthy

Dear Little Girl...God Still has you

Dear Little Girl, God Still Has You,

(Even when it feels like everything is falling apart)

Today we celebrate the day death lost its grip.
The day hope rose from the grave.
The day the impossible was defeated by love.

Easter is not just a story from long ago.
It’s a declaration over your life — right now.
When it looks like everything is falling apart, God is still moving.
When it feels like the end, God is still writing.
When you feel abandoned, unseen, or forgotten — the empty tomb shouts back: YOU ARE HELD. YOU ARE SEEN. YOU ARE LOVED.

Maybe today, your life feels heavy. Maybe love feels heavy. Trust feels broken. Maybe you’re whispering, “Lord, get in my head before I do,” because your mind is racing and your heart is aching. And you’re tired of holding it all together.

Maybe the tension at home is thick. Maybe someone you love is making choices that hurt — and you can’t fix it...

 You want to fight for what matters, but it feels like you're losing yourself in the battle. And sometimes? You don’t even know what to say anymore.

That’s okay.

God hears the whispers you don’t even speak.
He sees the tears that fall in parking lots, in kitchens, in counseling rooms.
He knows when you're at the end of your rope — and He’s already holding you.

Last week, I opened my Bible and found myself right in the middle of Genesis — the part where Abraham, Sarah, and Hagar are at an impasse. Decisions have been made. Lines have been crossed. And consequences follow. Hagar is sent away, heartbroken and alone. She becomes the first single mother recorded in the Bible — cast out with her child.

And what does God do?

He finds her.

He speaks to her.

He provides for her and her son.

He reminds her — and all of us — that even when we’re not part of someone else's “plan,” we are still very much part of His.

Dear Little Girl, even if others don’t see your worth, God does.

Even if you feel abandoned, betrayed, or pushed aside — you are never outside the reach of His love.

And if you're like me — weary from trying, tired from holding back emotions, unsure if you're being too much or not enough — I want you to know this:

You don’t have to beg for love.
You don’t have to fight to be seen.
You don’t need a man, a parent, a friend, or anyone else to tell you who you are.

You are already known, deeply loved, and completely held by the One who created you.

So if you find yourself in a moment like Hagar’s — desperate, on the edge, unsure where to go next — remember: God hears you.

You are seen.

You are worthy.

You are still part of His plan.

Even when things are messy.
Even when you're not sure what tomorrow holds.
Even when you’re just surviving.

God still has you.

Where have you believed the lie that you need someone else’s love to be whole? (Sit with this and journal on it)

Prayer:

Jesus,
When everything feels like it’s falling apart, remind me that You are still holding me together.
When I feel unseen, help me remember You see every tear.
When I feel unworthy, whisper again that Your love has never been based on my performance — only Your goodness.

Thank You for finding me in the wilderness.
Thank You for speaking life over places I thought were dead.

Today, I surrender what I can't fix.
I surrender what feels broken.
I surrender my need to be enough.

I trust that You are still writing my story — and because of You, it is not over.

Amen.

Remember this:

He is risen.

And so are you.

Keep going sister…I see you…I was you…I am you…

Love,

Worthy

Dear Little Girl, Trust the Process

Life has a way of circling back to lessons we thought we’d already learned.

Trust. Patience. Faith.
We think we’ve mastered them—until they get tested again, in different ways, at different times.

I’ve been here before, haven’t you?

That place of waiting. That space between where you are and where you hope to be. It’s uncomfortable, uncertain, and often frustrating. We like progress, forward motion, and clear answers. But sometimes, God asks us to wait.

And I hate waiting.

If I’m being honest, I’ve never been good at it. I like control. I like knowing the plan. I like fixing things. And when life isn’t moving as quickly as I want it to, I start reaching for the next thing to hold onto—the next distraction, the next goal, the next source of validation to prove I’m doing enough.

But over and over again, God has gently whispered to me:

"Slow down. Stop striving. I see you. I know you. And I already have the way laid out before you."

God Sees You in the Wilderness

I was reflecting on Hagar’s story.

Hagar was a slave. An outsider. A woman caught in a story not of her own making. She had been used, mistreated, and then cast aside. She didn’t have choices. She didn’t have control. When she ran into the wilderness, she had no plan, no direction—just the aching desire to escape.

And I get it.

I’ve run into the wilderness, too.

I’ve run into it when I felt unseen and unworthy in my marriage.
I’ve run into it when I was grieving my mom’s death, trying to hold it together while my heart was shattered.
I’ve run into it when I felt lost in motherhood, wondering if I had lost myself entirely.

Maybe you’ve been there, too.
Maybe you’re there now.
Maybe you’re in a season of uncertainty, feeling unseen and wondering if God has forgotten you.

But God didn’t forget Hagar.

He met her in the wilderness.
He called her by name.
He didn’t erase the struggle, but He saw her and gave her a promise of something greater.

And in that moment, Hagar became the first person in Scripture to give God a name—
El Roi, “The God Who Sees Me.”

Where Have You Come From, and Where Are You Going?

When God spoke to Hagar, He asked her one question:

“Where have you come from, and where are you going?” (Genesis 16:8)

He didn’t ask because He didn’t know.
He asked because Hagar needed to pause and reflect.

And maybe, right now, so do you.

I know I do.

Because if I’m honest, there have been so many times in my life when I tried to force the answers. I’ve gripped things too tightly because I was afraid to trust. I’ve tried to rush my healing because sitting in the pain felt unbearable.

But every single time, God was already ahead of me.

Even when I couldn’t see the next step, He could.
Even when I felt lost, He knew exactly where I was.
Even when I thought I had to hold it all together, He was already holding me.

Dear Little Girl, He Sees You.

Maybe today, you need this reminder:

God sees you. In your joy, in your frustration, in your fear.

He knows the next step, even when you don’t.

You don’t have to have it all figured out—because He already has.

So where have you come from, and where are you going?
Maybe the answer isn’t in striving but in surrendering.
Maybe today, the only step you need to take is to trust.

A Closing Prayer

"Father, in the moments when I feel lost in the wilderness, help me to remember that You are the God who sees me. You are not absent. You are not silent. You are working, even when I cannot see. Give me the faith to trust the process and the patience to wait on Your perfect timing. Amen."

Reflection Question:
Have you ever felt like you were in the wilderness, waiting on God? Share your story in the comments below—I’d love to pray with you!

If this devotion spoke to you, share it with a friend who needs encouragement today.

Join the conversation on Instagram! → @worthy.heart

Dear Little Girl...Your Heart Can Heal

There’s something sacred about a simple break. A breath. A pause in the middle of the whirlwind of life and yesterday, I got one.

A day that started with dance and MELT ended with a nap and a dinner date with my oldest son, Will. It wasn’t flashy or wild. It was exactly what my soul needed. Rest. Connection. A glimpse of joy that reminded me, once again, that even in the mess, God is near.

Yesterday morning I sat in silence, letting the stillness speak. The roofers were working — I heard drills and hammers chipping away at damage, repairing something that’s long needed tending to. And I couldn’t help but think…

That’s what I need too.

Not just my house.

But my heart.

It’s been carrying burdens. Old ones. Deep ones. Rooted in stories that were never true but felt real enough to shape me: that my body had to earn me love. That I had to give to be wanted. That silence or shame meant I was broken.

But maybe the truth is this: I’ve always been worthy. I just didn’t know how to believe it.

So I sat. I let God get into my head before I did. I remembered Hagar — how she ran into the wilderness, wounded and unseen, and God met her there. God saw her. Provided for her. And gave her the strength to carry on.

That same God sees me.

He sees you, too.

You are not forgotten. You are not too far gone. You are not broken beyond repair.

You are seen. Loved. And worthy of healing.

So maybe today isn’t about fixing it all. Maybe today is about asking: What needs to be chipped away? What needs to be surrendered? What story have I outgrown that I’m still dragging around?

Let Him be the one to do the patchwork. He’s the best at restoration.

A question to journal on:

What part of your heart is still in need of healing?

Sit with it. Breathe. Give it space.

The answer will come — and when it does, freedom follows.

A Prayer for the Healing Heart

Dear God,
I’ve been carrying this burden far too long.
Trying to fix things, hold things together, be everything to everyone.
But today, I don’t want to carry it alone.

I invite You in — to my mind, my heart, my pain, my past.
Chip away at the fear.
Drill through the doubt.
Tear off the broken pieces and patch them with your peace.

Remind me that I am already enough.
I don’t have to earn love.
I don’t have to be perfect to be healed.
I don’t have to hustle for worthiness.

You call me beloved — as I am.

Thank you for seeing me.
Thank you for healing me — even when I can’t see the full picture yet.
I choose to trust You with the process.
And I choose to believe that joy is coming.

Amen.

With love,
Worthy

Dear Little Girl....Laughter is Coming

Life is so beautiful, yet so complicated sometimes. There are seasons where we find ourselves desperate for laughter. Desperate for joy. Desperate for peace. And what I’m learning is this: life will continue to life. People will continue to people. And we, as humans, will continue to make choices — some good, some bad, and some that carry painful consequences, not only for us but for those around us.

I’ve felt the weight of that since 2018.

But sometimes, the smallest lines leave the biggest impact. This morning, I read something that stopped me in my tracks:

“God, please get in my head before I do.”

What a simple, powerful prayer. Before the world floods in with worry, assumptions, scrolling, and spiraling, what if we paused and simply asked God to take the lead?

Because the truth is: He’s already working.

He’s softening hearts. He’s healing wounds. He’s bringing laughter to places that once held pain. Even when we don’t feel it yet. Even when the surface of life feels chaotic, messy, or overwhelming.

Today, I opened my Bible to Genesis 21 and was greeted by the long-awaited moment Sarah gives birth to her son, Isaac. His name means laughter. A holy reminder that joy still comes — even after silence, even after doubt, even after the long, barren stretches of waiting. Joy finds a way. Laughter finds us.

This past week has been a mixed bag: moments of tension, moments of growth, words of apology, reconnection, and most surprisingly — laughter. And not the forced kind, but the kind that bubbles up when your heart finally exhales. Laughter in the ordinary. Laughter in unexpected peace.

Maybe you’re not in a light season right now. Maybe you're stuck in the middle of your own Genesis 19 — full of chaos, fear, consequences (from your own choices or someone else’s), and the temptation to keep looking back.

But today, I’m choosing to pause at Genesis 21. I’m choosing to sit in the laughter. To dwell in the joy that comes when God keeps His promises. I’m choosing joy over fear. Peace over spirals. Presence over panic.

Because here’s the truth:

• You don’t have to have it all figured out to be filled with joy.

• You don’t have to wait for everything to be perfect to celebrate what is good.

• God is still in the business of turning barrenness into beauty, fear into faith, and silence into songs of laughter.

So today, I’m praying:

Lord, I surrender all of me. Take care of everything. I’ll do my part to show up, to love, to be present, to be your light. You handle the rest.

Reflection Question: Where in your life are you longing to see laughter return?

Laughter is not the absence of struggle — it's the presence of God even in the midst of it.

Let’s look for it today.

You are loved. You are seen. And yes, you are worthy of joy.

With hope,
Worthy

Dear Little Girl, When God Feels Silent… Can You Still Trust?

I woke up today thinking about waiting. About silence. About how hard it is to trust when life feels uncertain.

This past week, I woke up to a storm—and a leaking roof. It was one of those mornings where life smacked me right in the face before I’d even had my coffee. As I stood there staring at the mess, I felt that familiar wave of frustration and loneliness creeping in. Memories from the past seven years grabbed hold of me, and before I knew it, I was spiraling. My mind was racing. My mouth, too, if I’m being honest.

Why can’t things just be easy?

But it wasn’t just the roof. It was everything. The unexpected struggles. The setbacks. The triggers. The unanswered prayers. The waiting.

And the truth is—I hate waiting. I like action. I like answers. I like knowing what’s coming next. I like having a roadmap and a plan.

But as I sat with God that morning, after I got the buckets and towels situated, I found myself back in Genesis 16—the story of Hagar. And then I turned the page to Genesis 17, and something hit me in a way it never had before.

Between those two chapters, thirteen years passed.

Thirteen years.

Thirteen years where God said nothing.

When God Goes Quiet

Imagine what that must have felt like for Abraham.

God had made this huge promise to him—"I will make you into a great nation"—and then… silence. No updates. No signs. No reminders that the promise was still on its way.

And that’s when it hit me—maybe I am in my own “thirteen-year waiting period.”

Now, don’t get me wrong. I don’t think it’s actually going to be thirteen years (Lord, I hope not). But I do know I’m in a season where I don’t have all the answers. I don’t know exactly what the future holds. I don’t know how certain struggles will resolve, what our new normal looks like when life “life’s,” how certain prayers will be answered, or how long this waiting will last.

And that’s uncomfortable. I don’t like it. At all.

But the truth is—waiting is always uncomfortable.

And I know I’m not alone in this.

Maybe you’re waiting, too.

Maybe you’re waiting for healing. For clarity. For a relationship to be restored. For a financial breakthrough. For direction in your career. For a prayer to be answered that feels like it’s taking forever. For a child to come back home. For the offer to be accepted.

Or maybe you’re like me—just waiting for a little bit of peace.

And in the waiting, the enemy whispers lies:

God has forgotten you.
Nothing is ever going to change.
If He really loved you, you wouldn’t be struggling like this.
You really are alone.

I know those lies well. I’ve believed them more times than I care to admit.

But here’s what I’m learning—silence does not mean absence.

God was just as present with Abraham in those thirteen silent years as He was the day He made the promise.

And He is just as present with me. With you. Right now.

When We Want Answers, God Wants Surrender

Here’s something else I noticed.

Right in the middle of all this waiting, God changed Abram’s name to Abraham.

Why?

Because Abraham means “Father of Many Nations.”

God renamed him before he even had a single child with Sarah. He called him something that didn’t make sense in his present reality. But God wasn’t looking at his current situation—He was looking at the promise.

And I wonder…

What is God calling me in this season that I haven’t fully stepped into yet?

What is He calling you?

Faithful? Worthy? Chosen? Healed? Brave? Loved? Mom? Wife? Friend?

Even if you don’t feel it yet?

God asked Abraham to walk with Him and trust Him—before the evidence of the promise even showed up.

And maybe that’s what He’s asking me to do right now, too.

Maybe that’s what He’s asking you to do.

To trust before you see.
To believe before you understand.
To know He is working even when everything feels quiet.

Because just like He saw Hagar alone in the wilderness, He sees us in the waiting.

And His promises are still true.

A Question for You

Have you ever been in a season where it felt like God was silent?

What did you learn from it?

Final Thought

Dear little girl,

If you are waiting right now, I want you to know that you are not forgotten. God has not left you. He is working behind the scenes, even when you don’t see it.

And just like Abraham, when the time is right, the promise will come.

Until then?

Keep walking. Keep trusting.

Even in the silence.

A Prayer for the Waiting Season

Father,

Waiting is hard. It stretches me in ways I don’t like, and if I’m honest, sometimes it feels like You’re silent. But I know You are here. I know You are working, even when I can’t see it.

Help me to trust You in the waiting. To surrender my need for control and embrace the peace that comes from knowing You are faithful. When the enemy whispers lies—telling me I am forgotten, that nothing will change, that I am alone—remind me of Your truth.

You are with me. You see me. You hear me. You love me.

Lord, help me believe that Your timing is perfect, even when it doesn’t align with mine. Strengthen my heart when doubt creeps in. Give me the patience to wait well, knowing that what You have for me is worth the wait.

And just like You saw Hagar in the wilderness, just like You fulfilled Your promise to Abraham, I trust that You see me now—and that Your promises for my life are still true.

I choose to keep walking. To keep trusting. Even in the silence.

Amen.

Dear Little Girl, You are Seen

Dear Little Girl,
I see you, standing there, wondering if you are too much… or maybe not enough. Wondering if what you have is too little… or maybe you don’t deserve more.

You’ve carried this fear for so long, haven’t you?
The fear that love is something to be earned. That security is something you must control. That you must hold everything together—the house, the family, the finances—so that no one leaves.

But what if I told you that’s a lie?

You are not unseen.
You are not forgotten.
You do not have to prove your worth.

💛 “She gave this name to the Lord who spoke to her: ‘You are the God who sees me.’” – Genesis 16:13

Hagar was an outsider. An Egyptian servant. A woman thrown into a foreign land, used, discarded, and left to wander the desert alone. But God found her. He saw her. He called her by name.

And dear little girl, He sees you too.

You don’t have to keep a perfect house to be loved.
You don’t have to hide your desires to be worthy.
You don’t have to be afraid of abundance—God delights in blessing His children!

You are seen. You are heard. You are loved.

A Personal Reflection

I didn’t always believe this.
Somewhere along the way, I picked up the story that love was something I had to work for—that if I was good enough, quiet enough, responsible enough, I would be worthy. I thought keeping everything in order—my home, my marriage, my finances—would make me feel safe and seen.

But no matter how hard I worked, the old fear remained. The little girl inside me still whispered, "You have to hold it all together, or you’ll be left behind."

And then, God whispered something different.

"I see you. Not because of what you do, but because of who you are."

An Invitation to Let Go

Maybe today, you just need to sit in that truth.
Let go of the lie that you have to earn love, and rest in the One who has already given it freely.

💛 What would change if you truly believed you were seen by God?

A Closing Prayer

"Father, remind me today that I don’t have to strive to be seen. You see me, fully and completely. Help me release the need to prove my worth and rest in the truth that I am already loved. Amen."

💬 If this spoke to you today, leave a comment or share with a friend who needs this reminder.