Four years ago, I stood on a stage and shared my story — not from a place of polish, but from raw, real pain. I was in the middle of heartbreak, and instead of reading my notes, I crumpled them and spoke from the heart. That moment changed everything. Today, I’m ready to share again — this time from peace, not pain. Maybe you are too.

Sixteen years ago, I lost the baby I never held. Today, I remember. I reflect. And somehow, I also release. This is a story of quiet grief, unexpected healing, and the gentle voice of God reminding me that I am loved — even in the letting go.

You don’t have to strive for your voice — you already have it. God’s whisper is waiting under the noise. Come breathe, trust, and listen.

Some seasons don’t feel hard because of what’s happening—they feel hard because of what’s still healing underneath. In this reflection, I look back on a season of caregiving, emotional anniversaries, and surrender. If you're carrying something heavy today, may this remind you: you don’t have to have words to lay it down. God is still near, still faithful, and still holding you.

When all the flocks were gathered there, the shepherds would roll the stone away from the well’s mouth and water the sheep. Then they would return the stone to its place over the mouth of the well.

You’ve walked this road before — the emotional landmines, the fear, the heaviness of what-ifs. But today’s not about fixing anyone else. It’s about healing you. Even in the chaos, God sees you. He walks with you. Even now. Even in this.

Healing isn’t just for the things that look better on the outside — it’s for the aches you still carry deep inside. Dear Little Girl, you are not too broken to be made whole.

Even when everything feels like it’s falling apart, the empty tomb declares: God still has you. You are seen. You are loved. You are not alone. Easter is the proof your story isn’t over.

In a world that celebrates control and forward motion, waiting can feel like failure. But what if the wilderness isn’t punishment—it’s preparation? In this heartfelt reflection on Hagar’s story in Genesis 16, I share how God gently reminded me that I am seen, even in the unseen seasons. If you’ve ever felt forgotten, lost, or unsure of what’s next, this one’s for you.

In the quiet hum of roof repairs and a heart that’s been carrying too much, I felt it — the gentle whisper that healing is possible. Sometimes we don’t need to do more. We just need to sit still, let God in, and let Him start the restoration. This is a letter to every little girl who’s been trying to be enough — you already are.

Maybe you're not in a light season right now. Maybe you're stuck in the chaos, the fear, or the consequences. But laughter is coming. Joy finds a way. God keeps His promises — even when we can't see it yet.

What do we do when God feels silent? When the waiting seems endless, and the answers don’t come? Maybe, like Abraham, we’re in a season where God is working behind the scenes—where silence doesn’t mean absence. If you’re waiting, this one’s for you.