A Rising Remnant

Author: Latoya Shalon

  • God, I’m Still Here… Just Not Okay

    God, I’m Still Here… Just Not Okay

    This post isn’t wrapped in a bow. It’s not a testimony with a clean ending or a breakthrough tied to a Bible verse. This is just me… in real time… trying to hold on to God while feeling like I’m slipping.

    And if that’s where you are too, I hope you know… you’re not alone.

    Let’s talk about it

    As Christians, we take this journey… some of us knowing what it will cost, others walking in blindly, not fully understanding what it truly means to follow Christ.

    I knew what I was signing up for.

    We hear the words “pick up your cross daily” and say yes, not realizing that cross doesn’t just mean hardship, it means dying.

    Dying to your flesh.

    Not your emotions, because feeling is human. But the behaviors that are driven by those emotions… the impulsive responses, the survival patterns, the self-protecting walls, the habits you’ve used to cope for years… those are the things we’re called to lay down.

    And that? That’s a hard pill to swallow.

    Because what do you do when dying to your flesh feels like losing yourself?

    What do you do when you’ve already lost so much and now God is asking for the rest?

    That’s where I am right now.

    This walk, this faith, this healing journey, it’s not glamorous.

    It’s not a highlight reel or a perfectly lit testimony post.

    It’s me… hanging off the edge of a cliff, trying to hold on to faith with fingers that are slipping.

    One by one.

    Slipping.

    And I’m tired.

    Trying, but Tired

    Not just tired like “I need a nap.”

    I mean my soul is tired.

    Tired of being strong. Tired of trying to have the right things to say. Tired of having to be encouraging all the time. Tired of feeling like I have to be “on” when internally, I feel like I’m falling apart.

    Yes, I’ve tried to keep showing up.

    Yes, I’ve tried to push through.

    Yes, I’ve tried to stay positive, stay encouraging, stay grounded.

    But lately… none of that feels honest anymore. It’s like I’m on autopilot.

    Because right now, I don’t feel hopeful.

    I feel like I’m losing.

    I feel like I’m praying and nothing’s shifting.

    I feel like I’m trying to trust, but my heart is worn thin.

    I feel like I’m doing all the things, serving, believing, healing, fighting and I’m still coming up empty.

    Spiritually. Mentally. Emotionally. I’ve just been off

    I’ve just been showing up where I need to… work, conversations, even this blog, but if I can be transparent and keep it all the way honest… I haven’t felt okay in weeks.

    It didn’t happen all at once.

    It started back in May, a few weeks before my small group ended for the summer. I started to feel a shift subtle at first, but steady.

    I started slipping away from the Word. I stopped praying and worshiping like I used to. My zeal for God started fading and I didn’t fight for it.

    I just let it happen.

    And that scares me, because I love God. I really do.

    And maybe the most frustrating part is, I don’t know why.

    ⸻

    June 17th marked six months.

    Six months of being on this walk.

    Six months of staying committed to my healing, my growth, my faith.

    Six months of choosing God every single day, even when I didn’t feel like it.

    I was actually excited to hit that milestone. I’ve never been this consistent before in my walk with Him. Never stayed in it this long without completely falling off. So I planned to celebrate that moment.

    But something shifted as I got closer to that mark.

    It’s like the closer I got to it, the more the disconnect started creeping in.

    ⸻

    I feel like I’m crumbling on the inside.

    I’ve been overwhelmed… financially, emotionally, spiritually.

    I’ve felt lonely, lost, and low all at once.

    My house is a mess most days. My thoughts are a mess. My faith feels shaky.

    I’ve been laying in bed too much. Not creating like I was. Not praying like I should. Not reaching out like I need to.

    And I’ve had moments where I’ve asked God:

    “Are You still here? Can You even use me like this?”

    Because how am I supposed to write about healing when I feel like I’m breaking?

    How am I supposed to tell people to trust God when I’m quietly wrestling with doubt myself?

    ⸻

    Survival Mode on Repeat

    I’ve been in survival mode for years.

    Not weeks. Not months. Years.

    It’s like I’ve been stuck in a loop, like one of those movies where the main character wakes up and it’s the same day all over again. Except in my version, it’s bills. It’s pain. It’s praying and still struggling. It’s breakthrough just barely out of reach. It’s doing everything I can to stay afloat while silently wondering, “When do I get to actually live?”

    Survival mode has made me numb to the present.

    It’s kept me so focused on what I have to fix, carry, or push through that I haven’t even had time to just be.

    Not without worry. Not without a to-do list. Not without fear creeping up in the background.

    ⸻

    When Encouragement Feels Hollow

    Sometimes I feel fake. Not because I’m lying. But because I encourage people when I’m barely encouraging myself.

    I find myself telling people, “Just pray,” or “God got you,” when honestly… I haven’t even been praying like I used to. It’s like the words are just in me now… on autopilot.

    They come out because they’ve become part of who I am.

    But the intimacy behind them? It’s been missing. And I hate that. I hate feeling like I’m pouring from a place I haven’t refilled.

    I hate feeling like I’m telling others to go to a God I’ve been avoiding out of guilt, shame, or exhaustion.

    I’ve even thought about stopping the blog.

    For the past week or two, I’ve seriously considered taking a break from writing. Not because I don’t care anymore, but because lately, it hasn’t felt genuine.

    I feel like I have to have everything together just to show up here. Like people expect me to have all the deep words and encouragement, but I haven’t even been able to encourage myself.

    And I know people tell you to “share from the middle,” but what if the middle is so confusing, you don’t even know what to say?

    I started feeling like maybe I should just be quiet until I feel “better.”

    Until I feel like I’m back in alignment.

    Until I feel like I have something real to say again.

    ⸻

    Even church feels hard

    That hurts to admit.

    Because I know God led me to the church I’m at now. I’ve felt His hand on it since the beginning.

    The way I connected with the community… the way the teaching hit my soul… the way I felt seen and covered… I know it was Him.

    So the fact that the enemy is fighting me so hard to be disconnected from it tells me something.

    I’m supposed to be there. That something is happening in me and through me, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.

    But the truth? It’s been hard to get up and fight lately.

    That passion I used to have for showing up, for serving, for just being in the room… it’s been fading.

    And I hate that.

    Because I know what it feels like to be on fire for God.

    And I miss it.

    But here’s the other side of that honesty…

    Holding On with Tired Hands

    Even though I feel far from God right now… I haven’t stopped wanting Him.

    I haven’t stopped needing Him.

    I haven’t stopped believing… I’m just tired.

    It’s like part of me still knows He’s right here, even though I don’t feel it.

    I don’t have the words like I used to. I don’t have the strength I used to.

    But there’s this little part of me, this whisper in my soul, that keeps saying,

    “Don’t let go.”

    That’s where I’m at.

    Not on fire, but not giving up.

    Not overflowing, but not empty either.

    Just somewhere in the middle, trying to find my way back.

    And maybe that’s what faith looks like right now…

    Not loud. Not perfect. Just… holding on.

    This is the part of healing we don’t post about, but it’s real.

    The part where you’re trying to do everything “right,” and it still feels wrong.

    The part where you love God, but you’re questioning if He still sees you.

    The part where your body is exhausted, your mind is loud, and your spirit feels distant.

    And I’m not writing this with a pretty ending.

    I don’t have the turnaround moment yet.

    I’m still in it.

    Still tired. Still slipping. Still trying.

    Still here.

    Not because I feel strong.

    But because something in me refuses to completely let go…

    even if I don’t have the strength to climb back up yet.

    You’re not alone

    If you’ve been showing up on the outside but falling apart on the inside…

    If you’ve been trying to hold it together, smile through it, saying “I’m good” when you’re not…

    If your faith feels shaky, your prayers feel quiet, and you’re not even sure what you believe some days, you’re not crazy, and you’re not alone.

    You’re not weak because you’re tired.

    You’re not fake because you’re struggling.

    You’re not less spiritual because you don’t “feel God” right now.

    It’s ok to say, “I still believe in God, but I’m just… drained.”

    “I love Him, but I feel disconnected.”

    “I’m still trying, but everything feels heavy.”

    I’ve been there. I am there.

    I don’t have a big revelation today. No scripture breakdown or bullet-point reminder.

    Just this truth: I’m still here.
    Still trying. Still choosing faith in the dark. Still whispering prayers I barely have the words for.

    And if that’s all you can do too…
    It’s enough.

    This isn’t the end of your story.

    You’re not too far gone.

    Feel free to comment if you’re in this space too, I don’t mind walking through this part together.

  • When You Want to Be Understood but Choose Peace Instead

    When You Want to Be Understood but Choose Peace Instead

    Because sometimes peace is louder than being right.

    Growing past the need to be right

    Let me be real… I love a good heart-to-heart. Like, I genuinely want to understand and be understood. I want resolution. I want clarity. I welcome challenges. I try to make sure I create a safe space for people to be vulnerable and heard. I want to walk away from conversations feeling like, “Yes, they saw me. They heard me. They got it.”

    But life doesn’t always give that back.

    Sometimes, after all the explaining, all the deep breaths, all the emotional preparing… you still feel unheard. Misread. Misunderstood.

    And let me tell you, that’s a hard pill to swallow. Especially when you’ve spent so much of your life not having a voice, or constantly having to defend it. When you’ve been silenced, overlooked, or brushed off in the past, feeling unheard now can feel like reopening a wound you thought was already healed.

    But here’s what I’m learning, slowly and painfully:

    Peace sometimes looks like walking away without the last word.

    It’s not that I don’t care. It’s not that I’ve given up. It’s that I’ve grown.

    Because growth says:

    “I don’t need to be right. I just need to be obedient.”

    “I don’t need to prove anything. I need to protect my peace.”

    “I don’t need to win this battle if it’s going to cost me my healing or drain my energy.”

    That doesn’t mean I don’t still want to be heard. Oh, I do. I really do.

    But I’m learning to choose what matters more in the long run.

    ⸻

    God reminds me in His word…

    “If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.”— Romans 12:18

    There’s so much freedom in that verse. It doesn’t say:

    “Convince them.”

    “Change their minds.”

    “Make them understand your pain.”

    It just says: if it’s possible… and as far as it depends on you… live at peace.

    That means I can only control what I bring to the table.

    I can only control how I show up, how I speak, how I respond.

    I can’t control how someone receives me.

    It doesn’t say we’ll always get the last word. It doesn’t promise mutual understanding or a perfect outcome. It says do your part. Make room for peace. Be responsible for your end, and let God handle the rest.

    So today, I’m choosing peace. Not because it’s easy. Not because I’m passive.

    But because I’m learning that peace is power. It’s strength. It’s evidence of growth.

    And honestly, sometimes the most powerful thing you can say… is nothing at all.

    ⸻

    If you’ve ever been in that place:

    Where you wanted to scream, cry, explain, and break it all down word for word, but instead, you chose silence, prayer, peace or a quiet “okay”…

    You’re not weak.

    You’re not giving in.

    You’re not running.

    You’re growing.

    You’re protecting your peace.

    You’re becoming someone your healed self can be proud of. 

    The Healing in Surrender

    There comes a point in your healing where you realize: peace doesn’t always come with full understanding.

    Sometimes, it shows up wrapped in surrender.

    Not the kind that makes you small, but the kind that reminds you that choosing peace over proving your point is sometimes the most powerful thing you can do.

    We often think healing means closure, but sometimes healing is choosing not to carry the same weight forward, even when the answers never come.

    And here’s the part that challenged me deeply:

    “All this is from God, who reconciled us to Himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation.”

    — 2 Corinthians 5:18

    The ministry of reconciliation.

    That sounds big… because it is.

    It means we’ve been entrusted with the grace to pursue peace and healing, to bridge what’s been broken, not in our own strength but through the example Jesus gave us.

    It doesn’t mean we stay in unhealthy places. It doesn’t mean there’s no room for boundaries. It means we allow God to lead us in repairing what can be repaired, and releasing what can’t.

    Reconciliation may not always look like relationship.

    But it can look like peace in your spirit, clarity in your role, and love that no longer has to prove itself.

    That’s where I’ve landed lately… and it’s a freeing place to be.

    A Prayer for the One Choosing Peace Today

    God,

    Help me trust that even when I feel misunderstood, You see me clearly.

    Keep reminding me that I don’t have to fight every battle, only the ones You’ve assigned to me.

    Give me the courage to let go when I’ve done all I can.

    Let my peace be proof that I’m walking with You.

    And when I can’t make sense of the silence, hold me in it.

    In Jesus name. Amen.

  • “Tremble and Trust: Choosing Faith When Fear Tries to Speak Louder”

    “Tremble and Trust: Choosing Faith When Fear Tries to Speak Louder”

    “Faith doesn’t silence fear—it just refuses to let fear lead.”—LT

    There’s a moment we all face when God calls us forward and fear tries to talk us out of it.

    Sometimes it’s loud and obvious.

    Other times, it’s subtle… disguised as logic, hesitation, or “waiting for the right time.”

    This week, I found myself standing in that very place.

    Feeling the pull of obedience, but also feeling the weight of uncertainty.

    And I had to ask myself: Am I going to let fear win, or am I going to trust God anyway, even if I tremble doing it?

    This post is a reflection of that moment. A reminder that fear doesn’t disqualify you, and faith isn’t about perfection… it’s about choosing to trust the One who holds it all together.

    Showing Up Anyway

    There’s a quiet battle that often begins before obedience ever takes place.

    It’s not always external.

    It’s not always dramatic.

    Sometimes it shows up in the form of hesitation.

    That moment where your heart knows what God is leading you to do…

    but your flesh, your trauma, your past rejections, and your overthinking start to argue with your spirit.

    That’s where I’ve been.

    Fear didn’t shout. It whispered.

    It tried to dress itself up as wisdom, tried to justify caution with “logic” and “timing.”

    But the truth is, it was fear.

    And not the holy, reverent kind.

    It was the kind meant to stop me from moving forward.

    And I knew it.

    Because the closer I get to obedience, the louder the resistance becomes.

    Not just from outside, but from within.

    But I’m learning something in this season:

    Being honest about where you are is growth.

    It’s growth to say:

    “I’m afraid.”

    “I feel overwhelmed.”

    “I don’t know if I’m enough for what God is asking of me.”

    You’re not pretending to be fearless.

    You’re just choosing not to be ruled by fear.

    You’re dragging it into the light instead of stuffing it down—and that’s how you take away its power.

    Let’s be clear:

    The fear you feel right now is not from God.

    “God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind.”—2 Timothy 1:7

    The enemy gets loud when your obedience is close. He’s not attacking you just for where you are, he’s terrified of what your yes will unlock.

    And he knows something we forget:

    Your obedience isn’t just about you. It’s about every person your faith will touch.

    It’s about every breakthrough that will ripple out from your surrender.

    It’s about the legacy your courage is shaping right now. It’s okay to feel fear, it’s not okay to obey it.

    Obedience in fear is still obedience.

    Courage is not the absence of trembling… it’s choosing to move forward while trembling. You can feel unsure and still be anointed.

    You can feel unqualified and still be called. Excuses are the enemy’s way of slowing down destiny.

    He knows he can’t take your calling, so he tries to make you delay it with doubt. He’ll offer you “valid reasons” why now’s not the right time.

    But those reasons will always pull you away from faith, not into it.

    So here’s what I’m holding on to:

    I am stepping out not because I know the whole plan,

    but because I trust the One who holds the plan.

    That’s not just a nice quote. It’s truth I’m preaching to myself every single day.

    Because some days I want clarity.

    Some days I want confirmation.

    But God keeps reminding me: Toya, what you really need is trust.

    Faith doesn’t cancel trembling. It redeems it.

    I’ve trembled in my healing.

    Trembled in my obedience.

    Trembled in writing posts like this, wondering if I’m saying too much or being too vulnerable.

    But I’m learning to trust that God is not asking me to be perfect.

    He’s just asking me to say yes.

    And I believe that He can take my small, imperfect yes and do something eternal with it.

    A Prayer for the Fearful Obedient:

    Father, I feel the fear, but I choose the faith.

    I won’t lie to You about where I am, because You already see it anyway.

    You know my thoughts, my doubts, my silent battles.

    But You also know the strength You’ve placed in me.

    I choose to walk by faith, not by sight.

    Strengthen me to step even when I feel unsure.

    Remind me that I don’t have to do this in my own strength. You are with me.

    I believe You will finish what You started in me.

    In Jesus’ name, Amen.

    This isn’t about being strong all the time.

    This is about surrender.

    It’s about believing that God will breathe on your obedience, even if it’s just a whisper of a step.

    A Milestone

    I’m almost six months into my walk with Christ.

    And I’ve never felt more aware of the tug-of-war between who I was, who I’m becoming, and who God has already declared me to be.

    The enemy wants me to quit.

    My flesh wants comfort.

    But my spirit is choosing faithfulness.

    Not perfection. Not performance.

    Just presence, and a heart that keeps saying, “Yes, Lord. I’m still here. I’m still choosing You.”

  • When I Had Nothing Left to Give

    When I Had Nothing Left to Give

    “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, Courage to change the things I can, And wisdom to know the difference.”—Reinhold Niebuhr

    Just Trying To Get By

    I didn’t post last week. And to be honest, I didn’t want to.

    Not because I didn’t care. Not because I didn’t have anything to say.

    But because I didn’t have anything left to give. I was mentally exhausted. Emotionally raw. Spiritually low.

    Sometimes following Christ feels like I’m fighting a war. Not a war against the world, but a war against myself. It felt like everything hit me all at once and kept hitting. 

    Old wounds constantly resurface as I’m trying to heal. Heavy memories pressing on my chest.

    And most days I have more questions than I have answers and prayers that I can’t even finish without crying just hoping God hears my heart instead. 

    Did saying yes to God mean life was supposed to get easier?

    No, but with the way life’s been hitting me lately, I can’t lie… sometimes it feels like it should have.

    I’ve been showing up here, sharing my journey, my healing, my heartbreaks, the hard truths I’ve had to face, and the moments where God met me in my mess. I’ve done it with honesty. But lately… life cracked something deeper. And I knew I had to pause.

    The truth is, I’ve been carrying so much.

    Trying to heal, but also trying to skip over the middle… the process itself and jump straight to the end. Wanting the healed version of me without going through the messy part first, while still feeling stuck in places I thought I’d already left behind.

    Trying to be strong and grounded, while some mornings I wake up feeling like I’m barely holding it together.

    It felt like my heart was crying out,

    “God, I can’t do this. I’m tired. I’m trying… but I’m tired.”

    And I didn’t want to pour from a place that was dry. It wouldn’t be genuine. It wouldn’t feel right. I didn’t want to write just to say I posted something.

    I’m learning that it’s okay to take a time-out for the sake of my spiritual health.

    This space isn’t about performance. It’s real, real life experiences, real triggers, real wounds, real struggles. But it’s also about presence, a place for me to share my heart, true healing and truth.

    And in order to be honest with you, I had to be honest with myself first.

    So I paused.

    I gave myself permission to not be strong.

    Not to be ok.

    To not be productive.

    To not have it all figured out.

    To be completely broken.

    Completely open and exposed to God like never before.

    And to be completely honest, that pause was deeply needed. Because even in the silence, God was still speaking.

    Even in the chaos that is my life right now, He’s still been present. Even when I felt unseen, He saw me.

    Sometimes, we need to stop pouring and start resting.

    Sometimes healing looks like pulling back for a while and letting God refill what life, family, friends, relationships, jobs and even you…have drained.

    If you’re reading this and you’ve felt the same… this is for you.

    If your smile has been forced, your prayers have been whispers, and peace feels far away, this is for you.

    If you’ve been showing up for everyone else, while secretly hoping someone would notice you or see you.

    You are not alone.

    And you don’t have to keep pretending you’re okay when you’re not.

    Healing is messy and painful.

    Faith gets weary.

    And strength?

    Sometimes it looks like being still instead of pushing through.

    Last week reminded me: I don’t have to have it all together to be loved by God. He doesn’t withdraw when I’m low. He draws near.

    And even when I had nothing left to give, or I feel like I’m doing something wrong, He gently reminded me:

    “I’m still here and you’re still mine.”

    ⸻

    I was reminded of Job a couple of days ago.

    Everything he went through… devastating loss, deep pain, betrayal by the people closest to him and yet he never cursed God.

    Yes, he questioned. He grieved. He lamented. But even in his confusion and heartbreak, he kept bringing it to God.

    His wife told him to curse God and give up. His friends tried to convince him he was to blame.

    But Job held on.

    Not perfectly. Not without struggle.

    But faithfully.

    That kind of faith wrecks me.

    Job didn’t fake strength. He didn’t try to defend or explain away his circumstances. He didn’t even pretend to be okay. 

    But he did choose to stay anchored in God… even when it hurt.

    It makes me ask myself some real questions:

    Am I truly taking everything to God?

    Or am I relying on my own will, my own wisdom, my own strength?

    Is my faith built on the rock or on sand that washes away when life gets hard?

    ⸻

    And if I’m honest?

    I question my walk sometimes.

    I don’t like the pruning process.

    I constantly feel like I’m doing something wrong.

    I don’t like the pain, the tears, the frustration of it all. But I’m committed to God no matter how shaking my walk is. Why?

    Because I know it’s necessary.

    Necessary for this season.

    Necessary for my growth.

    Necessary for the woman I’m becoming.

    And this journey? It’s not just about me.

    It’s for whoever needs to know they’re not the only one feeling like this.

    Honestly, I’m just now starting to feel the strength of God again.

    Because as long as I tried to stay in control, life felt like I was being tossed by the wind.

    But when I surrendered, God reminded me:

    “I’ve been here the whole time.”

    No matter if I can’t see Him moving, or if He seems silent…

    I’m choosing to trust who He’s shown me He is time and time again.

    I’m trusting in His promises.

    I’m trusting that He knows best, that His will is best.

    His way is better.

    His timing is perfect.

    Lord, help my unbelief.

    He sent people to pour into me when I wasn’t even asking for help.

    He caught the tears I didn’t want anyone to see.

    He fought battles I didn’t have the strength to face.

    God is always near.

    And when it’s all said and done, He will get the glory.

    ⸻

    “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”—Matthew 11:28 (NIV)

    He doesn’t ask us to be strong for Him.

    He just asks us to come.

    ⸻

    A Prayer for the Weary

    God,

    Thank You for loving me in the places I don’t show to anyone.

    For seeing me when I feel invisible.

    For catching every tear, every whisper, every broken prayer.

    Help me to trust You in the pruning.

    To lean into the process.

    To remember that You’re still good, even when life doesn’t feel that way.

    Give me the courage to rest.

    To release control.

    To let You be God and not try to carry what was never mine to hold.

    And for anyone reading this who feels tired and unseen, wrap them in Your peace.

    Whisper to their hearts: You are still mine.

    In Jesus’ name,

    Amen.

    ⸻

    With love and healing,

    Toya 💛

  • When Healing Feels Like Breaking

    When Healing Feels Like Breaking

    —2 Kings 20:5

    The in Between

    If healing were a straight line, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much.

    If it always looked like worship music, soft tears, and fresh journal pages, then maybe I wouldn’t question whether I’m doing it right.

    Real healing… that deep, soul-level, God-led healing… doesn’t always feel good.

    Sometimes it feels like breaking in places that I keep trying to rush through, knowing they’re still fragile.

    Sometimes I don’t want to go through the breaking. Sometimes I wish I had a Time Machine, so I could take a glimpse into my future… just to see if I ever get through it.

    But I know, that’s not reality.

    Sometimes healing feels like facing the same wounds, just with a stronger heart, but still feeling the sting.

    Grief in the Quiet Moments

    This past week… it’s like the surface of my healing was peeled back a bit.

    Not in a dramatic way, but in a quiet, uncomfortable one.

    I’ve felt moments of sadness I didn’t want to feel. Emotions that caught me off guard.

    And I had to face the fact that I’m still carrying some things I thought I had laid down.

    It’s like every week I discover something new, something that was buried deep. Hidden even.

    As if it’s God’s way of reminding me this is a journey of discovery, not a journey to a destination.

    Sometimes it’s not the big heartbreaks that set you back, it’s the little reminders.

    A conversation, a tone, a familiar silence.

    Things that seem small, but hit deep when your heart is still tender.

    And I’ll be honest, I’ve had moments where I wondered if I’m really healing at all.

    Because how do you explain crying over something you’ve already given to God, and already forgiven?

    How do you tell people you’re moving forward when emotions still comes in waves?

    What Healing Really Looks Like

    I’m learning that healing isn’t just the absence of pain.

    It’s the ability to feel it without it undoing me.

    Healing isn’t always visible.

    It doesn’t always feel victorious.

    Sometimes healing looks like holding it together long enough to fall apart in God’s presence.

    Sometimes it’s forgiving again.

    Surrendering again.

    Choosing peace again, even when your heart still feels sore.

    Healing isn’t linear. It loops. It lingers. It surprises you.

    But it also builds something deeper in you each time.

    It’s being honest with God about the mess and letting Him hold you there.

    Brokenness can be a doorway to wholeness, as it reveals a need for God’s grace.

    In the tears that turn into prayer.

    In the questions that push you closer instead of further away.

    God Never Said It Would Be Easy

    God never said this would be easy.

    He said He would be near.

    He uncovers before He restores.

    He reveals before He rebuilds.

    And this space I’m in right now, the in-between, the not-quite-there, is still part of His master plan.

    So I remind myself:

    Feeling pain doesn’t mean I’ve failed.

    Struggling doesn’t mean I’ve gone backward.

    Needing grace doesn’t disqualify me, it invites me closer to God.

    This season is stretching me.

    But it’s also grounding me.

    Teaching me that healing isn’t about “getting over it.”

    It’s about letting God into the places I can’t handle alone.

    And even now, even here, I believe…

    He’s doing something beautiful with the broken parts of me.

    Because sometimes healing is subtle.

    Sometimes it’s slow.

    Sometimes it’s one shaky prayer, one deep breath, one brave “yes” at a time.

    And even in the discomfort of this season, I know this much is true…

    God is working.

    Even when I can’t see it.

    Even when I don’t feel whole.

    Even when I don’t feel “better.”

    Scriptures That Keep Me Grounded

    — Psalm 147:3 – “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”

    (God’s ability to restore wholeness and bring comfort to those who are hurting, both physically and emotionally.)

    — 2 Corinthians 4:16–18 – “Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day…”

    (Encourages Christians to focus on the unseen, eternal rewards promised by God, rather than getting discouraged by the temporary troubles of this life.)

    — Romans 8:18 – “I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.”

    (This provides comfort and encouragement. A reminder that present hardships are temporary and will be overshadowed by eternal joy.)

    A Prayer in the Middle of It All

    God,

    I don’t always understand why I still feel this way. Or understand the way You heal.

    Why something I laid down shows up again in a different form.

    But I trust that even in this, You’re near.

    Teach me not to rush what You’re doing in me.

    Give me the courage to sit with the hard parts.

    Remind me that I’m not behind, I’m just becoming.

    Be close to me in the places that still ache.

    Because I know You’re not finished yet.

    Not with this season.

    Not with this story.

    Not with me.

    In Jesus name.

    Amen.

  • The Picture-Perfect Illusion

    The Picture-Perfect Illusion

    Freedom, whether physical or mental, is a gift—LT

    The Dream Come True

    I remember the day I bought my first house. Seven months after moving away, it was finally closing day. I remember pulling into the driveway and running into my new neighbor’s mom.

    I was never one to show much excitement, and to be completely honest, I felt kind of unsettled—almost worried even. Though those feelings were there, I still felt a sense of accomplishment… satisfaction, as I stood there talking to her. I was proud of myself deep down, even if I wouldn’t allow myself to show it. I had worked so hard, saved, and sacrificed to get there.

    This wasn’t just any house—this was my home—that I bought! I did that! I remembered being a kid, riding around with my mom and siblings through nice neighborhoods, admiring the big houses.

    My young eyes were full of hope, imagining that one day, we could live in a house like that. Later, in high school, my social studies teacher, Coach Booth, taught us about the value of real estate:

    “If you’re gonna buy a house, buy a brick house… it’s gonna last you longer,” he’d say.

    Growing up, I watched my mom struggle, taking care of five kids. I hated that we struggled, and I always told myself, “This wouldn’t be my life when I got older.”

    My whole existence after 2018, up until that moment, was about breaking generational cycles. I had reclaimed that declaration I made as a little girl. I did it. I had finally arrived—or so I thought.

    I had a good job making great money. I had the house. My kids were finally coming to live with me after their dad and I agreed they would stay behind until I found a place to stay and got settled. I would tell them often:

    “This is only temporary. I’m providing a better life for us.”

    I was tired of singing the same old tune—always having to tell them “no” or “I don’t have it.” All I cared about was making a better life for us.

    The Picture-Perfect Illusion

    It was all coming together now. Everything was supposed to be perfect.

    But it didn’t take long for that picture-perfect illusion I was piecing together to start falling apart. My great job didn’t see me as useful anymore. They never let me go, but they cut my hours, and money started to dry up.

    Instead of leaving, I stayed—hoping my hours would pick back up, thinking things would get better. But they never did. My pride kept me from reaching out for help, and I slipped further behind on my mortgage.

    I ignored all of God’s warning signs, thinking I could figure it out on my own. But threats of foreclosure showed up in my mailbox, and the panic set in.

    Grasping at Control

    “Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.” —Proverbs 16:18 (KJV)

    Desperation has a way of clouding your judgment—making something that may not be the best advice sound good. I grabbed onto the first solution I heard because I was hellbent on keeping my house.

    I just couldn’t let it go. All the long hours I put into that house, the tears that no one saw… months of hard work and dedication to make my dream a reality. I thought I was breaking generational cycles. But everything I was working for was slipping away, and I couldn’t look like a failure.

    I was too ashamed, too afraid, and too embarrassed of being judged. I was willing to trade my peace just to save a house I had no real peace about to begin with—just to save face.

    “What good will it be for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul?” —Matthew 16:26 (NIV)

    The Sacrifice

    That pride I once had turned into embarrassment. As I walked into the cold lawyer’s office, with tears streaming down my face, all I could think was:

    “How did I get here? I can’t believe I’m filing bankruptcy.”

    I felt like such a failure. I had worked so hard, and it was all crashing down around me. But I was still too proud to admit to anyone how bad things were.

    So, I made another heart-wrenching decision—I sent my kids back to their dad. I told myself it was so they could be stable while I figured things out. But deep down, it felt like proof that I couldn’t provide for them.

    That’s when I decided to go to trucking school to get my CDL—a surefire way to make more money. I was focused on fixing my situation, not understanding the emotional impact it would have on my sons.

    Even though I felt like I was doing the right thing, trying to provide for them meant sacrificing more time away from them.

    Losing Myself in Shame

    I was desperate to prove anyone wrong who thought I had made a mistake by moving. I needed to prove I wasn’t a failure. So I buried my struggle behind forced smiles and silence.

    I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was choosing money over my sons, money over my peace, and money over trusting God. Pride and the need to be in control wouldn’t allow me to let God in.

    When my children’s father remarried, I could have curled up and died—not because he was remarrying, but because it felt like I was being replaced as a mother.

    I was jealous, and I started questioning myself:

    Am I a bad mother? Do my kids love her more than me? Is it better for them if they have her in their life? Who even am I anymore?

    I became consumed with guilt, overly apologetic to my kids, trying to be the agreeable co-parent. But honestly, trying to go above and beyond just made me feel worse.

    But Then, Truth Broke Through

    December 2024—God began to show me that even in my mess, even in my mistakes, He never left me.

    I used to think that surrendering to God meant my problems would disappear. But He showed me that surrendering doesn’t mean avoiding suffering—it means having His strength to endure it.

    “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” —Psalm 34:18 (NIV)

    I wasn’t failing—I was being refined. He was using the very thing I was ashamed of to teach me humility, to strip me of my pride, and to draw me closer to Him.

    “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.” —Romans 8:28 (NIV)

    I’m not going to pretend I have it all together, because I don’t. I’m very much still going through the process, but the difference now is that I give all my worries to God.

    “Do not be anxious about anything, in everything by supplication and prayer with thanksgiving, make your request be made known and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” —Philippians 4:6-7 (ESV)

    No More Hiding

    This journey isn’t about me being perfect. This journey is about me being honest—with myself, with others, and most importantly, with God.

    I’m still learning, I’m still healing, but now I’m doing it His way.

    Reflection:

    Looking back, I’ve realized something powerful—when you love something so much that you’ll go to any length just to keep it, it has become an idol in your life.

    “You shall have no other gods before me.” —Exodus 20:3 (NIV)

    Everything I was doing was rooted in pride and selfishness. I lost sight of what was most important. When it’s all said and done, my children are what’s important to me. Whether they’re here with me or not.

    A Message to You:

    If you’re reading this and you’ve ever felt ashamed of your struggles—if you’ve ever hidden behind pride or felt too far gone to turn back to God—I want you to know you’re not alone. I’ve been there. I’m still walking through it. But there’s hope even in the mess.

    God isn’t waiting for you to have it all together; He’s waiting for you to invite Him into the broken pieces. You don’t have to pretend to be strong—real strength is found in surrender. 

    So let go of the shame. Let go of the pride. And know that He is near, ready to walk with you, heal you, and bring peace that doesn’t even make sense in the midst of your storm.

    A Prayer For You to Keep

    Lord, we come to You, honest and humbled, asking for your forgiveness for letting pride keep us hiding and shame keep us silent.

    Lord, sometimes pride makes us pretend we’re fine, and shame tells us we’re not enough. But we need You. Remind us that You are near to the brokenhearted, that Your strength is made perfect in our weakness, and that Your love is greater than our fear.

    Help us let go of the need to prove ourselves. Teach us to be honest—with You, with others, and with ourselves. Let Your peace, which surpasses all understanding, guard our heart and mind.

    And please, Lord, take my story—no matter how messy—and use it for Your glory. Show me that nothing in my life is too broken for You to heal. Thank You for never giving up on us.

    In your Holy name, Jesus,

    Amen.

    If this post resonated with you, I’d love to hear your story. You can always stay anonymous, this is a safe space and judgment free zone.

    Remember healing is a journey, not a destination and you’re not walking this healing journey alone.

    New blog posts drop every Wednesday at 12 PM! Come back weekly for encouragement, faith-building truths, and real stories of healing and hope.

  • God Pulled Me Out of My Shell

    God Pulled Me Out of My Shell

    “When I stopped shrinking, I started healing.” —LT

    I didn’t mean to start my blog so soon.

    Honestly, I had everything drafted and scheduled, but I still wasn’t ready to release it yet. I just needed someone to tell me it was “good enough” and then I’d publish it. But somehow I forgot about the schedule, and it posted without me realizing it.

    I panicked.

    And I almost deleted it.

    Almost.

    But something whispered,

    “You never know what God will do.”

    That moment changed everything.

    Week by week, blog after blog, I’ve been writing through stories I thought I had already healed from… wounds I assumed were closed. But with each post, God has been peeling back layers I didn’t know were still there. Each blog has become a mirror, forcing me to sit with myself, reflect, and finally bring things to Him that I once tried to handle alone.

    ⸻

    A Question That Broke Me Open

    Last week, someone sent me a set of reflection questions, and one of them stopped me in my tracks:

    “How do I respond when I feel rejected, unseen, or misunderstood?

    Am I able to process those feelings without spiraling or attaching the treatment to my identity?”

    Mmm… man, did that hit deep. Especially the first question.

    Because the truth is, I’d always gone inward, like a crab in its shell or a turtle hiding inside itself.

    So I didn’t even recognize when I felt misunderstood or unseen, I naturally drew inward. I just did it. It felt comforting. A lot easier than expressing myself. I didn’t know how to sit with those emotions without spiraling. I didn’t know how to stop myself from questioning my worth. Instead, I would shut down or start pushing people away, because I didn’t know how to communicate my needs in a healthy way. It felt easier not to deal with it at all.

    In that moment, I realized something:

    I wasn’t just answering a question.

    I was being healed.

    ⸻

    When God Shows You You

    God was using reflection to show me how deeply I longed to be seen. Not just acknowledged, but truly known. And not just by people, but by Him.

    “You have searched me, Lord, and you know me.”

    — Psalm 139:1 (NIV)

    That one moment unraveled something in me. It exposed how much of my life had been shaped by a hidden ache to be understood, to be heard, to be noticed without having to beg for it.

    It brought up memories of times when I was intentionally being mischievous just to be seen. It reminded me of the moments I shrunk myself just to feel accepted.

    But God never asked me to shrink.

    He asks me to trust.

    And then… through someone’s simple act of kindness, someone who had no idea what I was walking through, God reminded me what I needed most:

    Safety. Affirmation. Gentleness.

    Not performance. Not perfection.

    Just presence.

    “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

    — Psalm 34:18 (NIV)

    ⸻

    The Weight of Feeling Unseen

    It’s wild how one question can pull up decades of emotion.

    I realized that this feeling of being unseen had impacted how I show up in every space, family, friendships, relationships, and even in my faith. I’ve spent so much of my life trying to prove I was worth seeing, hoping someone would look past my facade of strength and see my heart.

    My real heart.

    The one that’s tender. Pure. Intentional. Not perfect, but full of desire for hope and healing.

    In the middle of that unraveling, God started showing me… me.

    Not the strong version I carry.

    Not the “put-together” one I wear for the world.

    But the buried version.

    The little girl who just wanted to be known and needed to feel safe.

    And He didn’t come through a sermon.

    He didn’t send some loud sign.

    He came through reflection. Through writing.

    Through a blog I didn’t even mean to start yet.

    Because He knew that’s what it would take to reach me.

    ⸻

    The Power of Being Seen by God

    “Even the hairs of your head are all numbered. So do not be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.”

    — Luke 12:7 (NIV)

    Being seen by God doesn’t just comfort me, it’s changing me from the inside out.

    Because when He sees me, I begin to see myself clearly too.

    Not through the lenses of people’s perception of me, but through the truth of His love.

    He’s not just healing me.

             He’s revealing me.

    He’s lifting the weight I didn’t know I was still carrying.

    And in return, He’s giving me identity.

    Wholeness.

    Peace.

    ⸻

    Philippians 1:6 — The Thread Through It All

    I didn’t realize it at the time, but when that first blog post went live, God was initiating something holy:

    “And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.”

    ‭‭—Philippians‬ ‭1‬:‭6‬ ‭(ESV‬‬)

    This blog isn’t just a platform.

    It’s a place where God is finishing what He started.

    He’s digging up the buried parts of me, dusting them off, and reminding me:

    You’re not invisible. You never were.

    ⸻

    Three Scriptures for the Unseen

    Psalm 139:1–2 (NIV)

    “You have searched me, Lord, and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar.”

    (God sees the real you… even the parts you’ve hidden from yourself.)

    Isaiah 43:1 (NLT)

    “Do not be afraid, for I have ransomed you. I have called you by name; you are mine.”

    (You’re not a burden or a mistake… you are His. Fully claimed and deeply loved.)

    Romans 8:26 (NLT)

    “The Holy Spirit helps us in our weakness… the Spirit prays for us with groanings that cannot be expressed in words.”

    (Even when you don’t know how to express your pain, God hears the cry of your heart.)

    ⸻

    You Are Worth Being Seen

    If you’ve ever felt unseen… by family, by friends, even in your faith walk, I want you to know:

    You are not invisible.

    You are not too much.

    You are not forgotten.

    You are chosen.

    You are known.

    You are worth being seen.

    And here’s what I want you to know too:

    God’s transformation in me hasn’t just healed me, I’ve been renewed.

    I used to have no fight in me. I’d shut down.

    But now? I run to Him with my pain, my confusion, my cries for help. I don’t retreat, I lean in.

    And I look forward to the tests, because I know breakthrough lives on the other side of them.

    Where I once saw no light, I now see hope.

    Where my foundation used to crumble, I now stand on solid Rock.

    This space I’m in?

    It’s sacred.

    And I want to stay here.

    God has made me more loving, more patient, more caring.

    He’s not just doing a good work in me, He’s doing a beautiful one.

    And that’s the kind of love that spills over into everything I do.

    So I’ll keep writing.

    Keep healing.

    Keep fighting.

    Because the woman He’s raising up in me…

    She’s no longer unseen.

    She’s chosen by grace. Equipped by the Father. And deeply loved by Him.

    ⸻

    A Prayer For The One Who’s Hurting

    Heavenly Father,

    I lift up every heart that feels unseen, misunderstood, or broken. Remind them that they are fully known and deeply loved by You.

    In their pain, may they feel Your presence like never before. Give them the courage to lay their burdens at Your feet and the faith to believe You are working even in the silence.

    Heal what’s hurting, speak peace over the chaos in their lives, and surround them with Your love. Remind them that their story is not over. You are still writing it.

    In Jesus’ name,

    Amen.

    ⸻

    If this post resonated with you, I’d love to hear your story.

    Remember healing is a journey, not a destination and you’re not walking this healing journey alone.

    You can read more or subscribe at A Rising Remnant.

  • Trust Was Broken Before I Knew His Name

    Trust Was Broken Before I Knew His Name

    “Healing the Wounds That Kept Me From Trusting God”

    When Trust Breaks, Faith Wavers

    Faith—the belief in something unseen or not yet experienced—is rooted in hope and conviction.

    Trust, on the other hand, is more relational. It’s developed over time through experience, consistency, and reliability.

    If you’re struggling to have faith, ask yourself: Why?

    Is it because deep down, you don’t really believe God will show up for you?

    Have you convinced yourself, maybe subconsciously, that you don’t deserve for Him to intervene in your life?

    Or have you built a wall so high to protect yourself that you’ve unknowingly reduced God to the same level as the people who hurt you—guarding your heart from even Him?

    Whatever your “why” is, I invite you to be curious. Ask God to show you the true issues of your heart. That’s what I had to do. And it started by letting Him take me all the way back to when my trust first began to break.

    “Search me, O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts! See if there be any grievous way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”—Psalm 139:23–24

    Where My Trust Issues Began

    When you’re a child, you don’t know what trust is—you just give it. Innocently. Freely. You believe the people in your life will protect you, love you, and keep you safe. Until one day, they don’t.

    For me, that breaking started early.

    When I was between 6 and 7, someone close to me tried to take my innocence. By the grace of God, they didn’t succeed.

    At 9, a neighbor tried the same thing. Again, they didn’t fully succeed.

    But when I was in high school—it happened.

    And later, after I moved away from my hometown to where I now live, it happened again.

    All of that, amongst other things, on top of not having my father in my life consistently, not being close to my mom, and clinging to unhealthy friendships and relationships, built a wall of broken trust around me. I carried a mentality that said, The world is full of people you can’t trust.

    Survival Mode Became My Normal

    I learned to survive by expecting the worst. I didn’t call it that then, but that’s what it was.

    I just wanted someone I could count on. Someone who wouldn’t use my vulnerability against me. But time after time, people proved untrustworthy, and so I adapted—I began to settle.

    I looked for reasons to overlook red flags in people just to convince myself I wasn’t expecting too much. Even in myself, if I didn’t expect much, then I wouldn’t feel the weight of disappointed as much.

    That’s how I learned to cope: by shrinking my expectations and pretending it didn’t hurt when people let me down, then blaming myself when it did. 

    This mindset followed me for years. Into friendships. Into romantic relationships. And, painfully, into my relationship with God.

    Struggling to Trust God’s Heart for Me

    Even after giving my life to Christ, as committed as I was to my relationship with God—I still struggled to believe that He would truly show up for me in the way I’d read about and seen Him show up for others.

    I thought maybe I wrestled too much with doubt, maybe I believed too little.

    Maybe that’s why He stayed silent sometimes. Maybe I was the problem.

    And the overthinking… my goodness, it drained me. It made me question everything, even my worth.

    And if I’m being honest, there are still days when I feel that way.

    I’m almost embarrassed to admit it, especially considering how kind and gracious God has been to me. I’m experiencing true healing. He’s brought me to a place emotionally and spiritually that I used to only dream of.

    So why do I still struggle to trust His heart for me?

    Why is it so hard to remember at times all He’s brought me through?

    My Peter Moment

    I think of Peter stepping out of the boat toward Jesus. As long as his eyes were on the Lord, he was steady. But the moment he focused on the wind and the waves, he sank.

    That’s exactly how I feel sometimes.

    When life is calm, I’m good. But when things get shaky, panic sets in. My flight response kicks in.

    Instead of remembering God’s faithfulness, I sink into fear and doubt.

    I made up in my mind that I wasn’t gonna live like that anymore.

    “You will keep in perfect peace all who trust in You, all whose thoughts are fixed on You.” —Isaiah 26:3 (NLT)

    I want my faith so deeply rooted, that even when doubt whispers in my ear, I know His presence is still near.

    Take It to Him

    One of the most powerful things I’ve learned in this season is that I can bring everything to God. I can bring my past to Him and He’ll help me release the memories and truly forgive.

    He’s not surprised by my struggles. He already knows, and yet He doesn’t reject me.

    Instead He invites me to bring my burdens and in return, He gives me rest.

    When I start to feel like I’m too much or not enough, I remember that I have a Savior who understands my weaknesses.

    “This High Priest of ours understands our weaknesses, for He faced all of the same testings we do, yet He did not sin. So let us come boldly to the throne of our gracious God. There we will receive His mercy, and we will find grace to help us when we need it most.” —Hebrews 4:15–16 (NLT)

    Even when I feel faithless—He remains faithful.

    “If we are faithless, He remains faithful, for He cannot disown Himself.” —2 Timothy 2:13 (NIV)

    Anxiety, Meet Prayer

    When anxiety tries to grip my heart, I don’t push it down—I bring it to God. I pour it all out. I talk to Him like the loving Father He is.

    I thank Him for what He’s already done, and I trust Him for what’s ahead.

    And somehow, even when nothing around me changes—I do.

    “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” —Philippians 4:6–7 (ESV)

    A Prayer for the One Struggling With Their Faith

    Father,

    I come to You with a heart that’s heavy and honest. You already know the depths of my doubts. You know how often I question, how quickly I fear, how much I worry that I’ve disappointed You.

    Sometimes I wonder if I’ve doubted too much, if my lack of trust has pushed me too far away. And I hate that I even feel that way, because You’ve been nothing but faithful. You’ve been kind to me. You’ve been patient. You’ve carried me further than I ever imagined I could go.

    Forgive me, Lord, when I struggle. I want to believe without hesitation. I want to trust without fear. I want to rest in Your promises without trying to control the outcome. And so I ask You—help me.

    Help my unbelief.

    Strengthen the parts of me that still wrestle with doubt.

    Silence the voice that tells me I’ve gone too far, questioned too much, or failed You one too many times.

    Remind me that I’m still Yours. That Your love is stronger than my weakness. That Your grace didn’t come with conditions.

    And that even now, especially now, You haven’t let me go.

    Embrace me when I feel weak, Lord. Teach me to trust You in the storm and in the stillness.

    Grow my faith until it’s not built on how I feel, but on who You are.

    And when I forget, remind me again

    I am Yours. Always.

    In Jesus’ Mighty and Matchless name, Amen.

    Stay Connected…

    New blog posts drop every Wednesday at 12 PM! Come back weekly for encouragement, faith-building truths, and real stories of healing and hope.

  • Steadfast Love

    Steadfast Love

    Lamentations 3:22–23 (EVS)

    “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”

    The Void

    There was a time in my life when I felt completely empty. Surrounded by people, active in life, but still aching deep inside. I couldn’t explain it, I just knew something was wasn’t right.

    So I tried to fill it with temporary things that promised instant comfort, but delivered more brokenness. I chased validation in work, friendships, and potential romantic relationships, thinking that if I could just be enough for someone, maybe I’d finally feel worthy.

    I looked for healing in sex, alcohol, chasing money, and even new age spiritual practices. I ran after anything that could make the ache go away. I always felt like I was in survival mode 24/7 because nothing ever clung. Nothing ever lasted. It felt like I was trying desperately to hold on to anything that felt promising just to keep the feeling alive.

    When I was married years ago, that lingering void was there. Even when I had my children. I thought having a family of my own would satisfy that longing. But it didn’t. The emptiness followed me. Eventually, I made the painful decision to leave the marriage, hoping I’d find freedom and peace on my own. Instead, things got darker. The pain grew louder. And that’s when I started reaching for unhealthy coping mechanisms just to get by.

    My heart felt painfully raw—impossible to heal. But God stepped in and made me believe that healing was possible.

    In a previous post, The Lies We Believe, I shared how trauma and past experiences shaped my thinking—how I unknowingly built an identity around pain, rejection, and fear. I had convinced myself that I was unworthy of real love, that everything I had done was just my karma, that I had to earn value, that brokenness was just my normal.

    But when God’s love entered in, it began to tear down every lie I had believed about who I was—and who He was. His steadfast love didn’t just comfort me—it transformed me.

    The love I had been missing was never meant to be found in people, money, or spiritual trends. It was always meant to be found in Him. And for the first time, I wasn’t just surviving—I was starting to heal.

    The Anchor I Didn’t Know I Needed

    For so long, I believed love had to be earned. That if I didn’t do everything right, I would lose it. I carried that belief into every relationship—including the way I first viewed God.

    Deep down, I thought He would get tired of me too. That maybe, if He really saw how broken I was, He’d walk away like others had. Part of me expected Him to give up on me.

    But He didn’t.

    God’s love didn’t flinch when He saw the ugliest parts of my heart.

    It didn’t waver on the days I doubted or when I slipped back into old patterns.

    It didn’t grow cold when I wrestled with anger, fear, and shame.

    His love stayed.

    Through the confusion, through the healing, through every tear I didn’t think anyone saw—He stayed. His love became the one thing in my life that didn’t shift with my circumstances. It became the steady ground beneath my shaking feet.

    It’s His steadfast love that held me when I thought I was too far gone. It’s His steadfast love that whispered, “You’re still mine. I’m not letting go.”

    It’s His steadfast love that gave me the courage to believe that healing wasn’t just possible—it was promised. I’m not perfect. I’m still in process, but I don’t have to prove myself to God. I don’t have to pretend I’m not broken. I just have to let Him love me—and that’s where everything is being made new.

    To the One Still Searching

    If you’re still chasing something to fill the emptiness, I get it. I’ve been there. I know what it’s like to try and quiet the pain with people, chasing money, or distractions—only to feel even more lost.

    But here’s what I’ve learned: healing is possible.

    And it starts when you stop running and let God in.

    You don’t have to fix yourself first.

    You don’t have to pretend you’re okay.

    You just have to be willing to surrender.

    God’s love isn’t scared of your mess.

    It stays. It heals. It transforms.

    You’re not too far. You’re not too broken.

    His steadfast love is still reaching for you.

    “The Lord appeared to him from far away. I have loved you with an everlasting love; therefore I have continued my faithfulness to you.”

    —Jeremiah 31:3 (ESV)

    Prayer:

    God,

    For the one reading this who feels empty, worn out, or far from You—I ask that You meet them right where they are. Show them that Your love isn’t distant or conditional. Remind them that You see every broken place, and You still choose to stay.

    Let Your steadfast love be their anchor. Break through the lies they’ve believed and speak truth into the places they’ve tried to hide. Heal what they thought was impossible to heal.

    Draw them near, and don’t let go.

    Thank You for never giving up on us. Thank You for being the kind of love that transforms us from the inside out.

    In Jesus’ name, Amen.

  • The Beauty In Community: Where God Uses People to Remind You: You Still Belong

    The Beauty In Community: Where God Uses People to Remind You: You Still Belong

    You’re not alone.

    The beauty of having the right community is that God gets all the glory and the enemy becomes powerless. The right people in your corner can help heal old wounds, offer real support, and speak life into places that once felt numb or hopeless.

    Proverbs 11:14 reminds us:

    “Where no counsel is, the people fall: but in the multitude of counsellors there is safety.”

    There is something truly healing about a safe, Christ-centered community. It brings comfort, peace, and a sense of belonging. It becomes a space full of compassion, where you feel safe to be vulnerable and transparent… when you otherwise wouldn’t.

    Doing life alone? It’s dangerous. It’s damaging to your mental and spiritual health. It creates a false perception that you’re all alone, that no one will understand you, and that isolation is safer than intimacy.

    But God.

    Two simple words, yet they carry so much power. “But God” is that holy interruption. That divine plot twist. That gentle reminder that no matter what it looks like, He is still working.

    Even in community, even in your loneliness… God is there.

    2 Corinthians 12:9 says,

    “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

    That truth gives us hope. You don’t have to carry it all alone. In your mess, in your brokenness, in your worry, doubt, or anxiety, you can lean into the strength of community and trust that God will send what you need, right when you need it.

    When You’ve Been Hurt by People

    I know what it’s like to have the very people you thought would protect you end up being the ones who hurt you the most. I know what it’s like to show up for people who vanish the moment you need them. And I know what it’s like to sit in a crowded room and still feel invisible, like no one really sees you.

    So when I talk about the beauty of community, I’m not ignoring the truth that people can be messy. They can be inconsistent. They can break promises, abuse your trust, or walk away without explanation.

    But here’s what I’m learning: God never meant for us to give up on connection just because we’ve been hurt by it.

    He knows the wounds others have left. He sees the way you flinch at the idea of being known again. And He’s not mad at you for that.

    He’s patient with your healing. He’s gentle with your scars. And in His kindness, He’s preparing the right people, people who will honor your presence, protect your heart, and sit with you in the places that still ache.

    You don’t have to pretend. You don’t have to have it all together. You just have to be willing to believe that maybe… just maybe… God is still writing a story that includes healing, connection, and safe love.

    And when that kind of community begins to show up? You’ll recognize it by the peace it brings. By how it reminds you that your presence matters. That you don’t have to shrink or explain or overcompensate just to be accepted.

    God is still in the business of redeeming what people tried to ruin.

    You are not too broken for belonging.

    A Prayer for the One Who Feels Alone

    Father,

    For the one reading this who feels unseen, unheard, and alone, I lift them to You now.

    You see every tear. Every ache. Every wall they’ve built to protect a heart that’s been wounded too many times.

    They want to trust again, but fear whispers lies. They want to believe in You, but doubt clouds their view.

    God, would You meet them in this place?

    Not with pressure, but with peace.

    Not with judgment, but with gentle love.

    Show them that You are not like the ones who left, the ones who broke promises, the ones who made love feel unsafe.

    Wrap them in Your presence.

    Speak to the deep places they keep hidden.

    Heal what was shattered.

    Restore what was stolen.

    And as they take small steps toward trust, be the One who holds their heart steady and secure.

    You are faithful, even when faith feels hard.

    You are near, even when we can’t feel You.

    Let them know: they are never, ever alone.

    In Jesus’ name, Amen.

    I love you.

    And more importantly, God sees you.

    You are held.