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.