​Amos wasn't a priest or a king. He was a shepherd and a fig farmer who lived near the border between northern Israel and southern Judah. At the time, Israel was experiencing incredible prosperity under King Jeroboam II. Military victories had brought wealth, influence, and success. From the outside, everything looked blessed.
But beneath the surface, the nation was rotting.
The wealthy exploited the poor. Justice was bought and sold. Idolatry had become normal, and God's people had slowly traded obedience for comfort.
Amos couldn't ignore it any longer. He sensed God calling him to travel north to Bethel, where Israel's largest temple stood, to deliver a message no one wanted to hear.
Unlike Jonah, Amos went.
Which naturally leads me to wonder...how did he know it was God?
The book of Amos is a collection of sermons, poems, and visions that reveal God's heart. Though He confronts humanity's sin, His ultimate purpose is restoration. Amos reminds us that genuine worship is inseparable from justice, righteousness, and loving our neighbor.
One verse has become the heartbeat of the entire book:
"Let justice roll on like a river, righteousness like a never-failing stream." (Amos 5:24)
Throughout Amos, God exposes empty religion. Israel still attended worship services. They still offered sacrifices. They looked faithful on the outside while neglecting the poor, embracing idols, and ignoring injustice.
God wasn't after religious performance.
He was after transformed hearts.
As I studied, one particular vision kept stopping me.
Amos sees Israel devastated by locusts, consumed by fire, and finally compared to overripe fruit.
When I first read it, I thought, that's an odd image.
Why fruit?
I couldn't move past it, so I started reading commentaries to better understand the passage.
Then it clicked.
Amos was a fig farmer.
He knew fruit.
He knew exactly when it was ready for harvest. He knew when it was too green. He knew when it had been left too long and had become overripe, past the point of usefulness.
God wasn't choosing random imagery.
He was speaking to Amos in a language Amos already understood.
That realization stopped me in my tracks.
Maybe hearing God's voice isn't always about dramatic moments.
Maybe it's about recognizing that God knows us so personally that He speaks through the very things that have shaped our lives.
If He spoke to a fig farmer through fruit...
How might He be speaking to you?
Or to me?
Because the truth is, I've been going through it.
I ended a relationship with someone I never wanted to lose. I believed there was something beautiful waiting on the other side of surrender, and walking away meant laying down not just the relationship, but the future I had quietly hoped God might write for us.
My home life is changing, and I don't know whether I'll be moving or staying.
I'm trying to become an author again while balancing work, leading a team I often feel unqualified to lead, training a dog who seems to have developed an entirely new personality, and loving two wonderful parents who are getting older with every passing year as an only child.
All of that while desperately trying to understand what God wants me to do without walking in disobedience.
But if I'm being completely honest...
I did walk in disobedience.
And I've been lying to myself about it for far too long.
I thought I was stronger than I really was.
I thought I could stand close to temptation without getting burned.
Turns out, you can't play with fire and expect not to smell like smoke.
The consequences humbled me in ways I didn't expect but desperately needed.
For the first time in a long time, I wasn't just acknowledging that I'm a sinner because it's good theology.
I was grieving my own choices.
I actively chose my flesh over obedience.
Not because I had to.
Because I chose to.
Do I regret it?
Oddly enough...no.
Not because sin is ever worth celebrating, but because God has used my failure to expose places in my heart that I didn't even realize needed healing.
He already knew I would fail.
He already knew I would chase comfort instead of holiness.
He already knew I would wrestle with shame afterward.
And yet He never stopped pursuing me.
So I prayed.
And prayed.
And prayed some more.
I cried.
I journaled.
I opened my Bible.
I hit my knees more times than I can count.
But I couldn't hear Him.
I knew He was there, but I felt a lot like Hagar in the wilderness—forgotten.
Then, less than an hour after reading about Amos and the basket of fruit, God answered me.
As many of you know, there's construction happening near my house because of the TerraFab project. It's the same project that may eventually force me to move.
The place where deer used to graze every morning has become piles of dirt.
The trees are gone.
Everything familiar feels like it's disappearing.
Something else you should know about me...
I love flowers.
They've always made me smile.
That morning, as I pulled out of my driveway, I looked toward our mailbox sitting in the middle of all that construction.
Surrounded by dirt...
Surrounded by destruction...
Growing from the smallest patch of green were the most beautiful little pink flowers directly beneath the mailbox. 
I immediately thought about Amos.
God used fruit because Amos would understand.
God used flowers because I would.
In that quiet moment, I didn't hear an audible voice.
I didn't see a burning bush.
But I felt the Holy Spirit whisper to my heart,
"I see you.
I hear you.
I have you."
Nothing about my circumstances changed.
The relationship was still over.
The future is still uncertain.
The construction is still happening.
But I was different.
Because I remembered something Amos teaches us from beginning to end:
God's heart is never destruction.
It's restoration.
Sometimes God allows the things we've built to crumble so He can rebuild something stronger.
Sometimes He humbles us so we'll finally depend on Him instead of ourselves.
Sometimes He speaks through fruit.
Sometimes He speaks through flowers.
The question isn't whether God is speaking.
The question is...
Are we paying attention?
How does God speak to you?
Maybe that's the beauty of walking with God. We spend so much of our lives waiting for Him to shout from heaven that we miss the quiet ways He's already speaking. He's in the Scripture that won't leave your mind, the conversation you didn't know you needed, the flower blooming in the middle of a construction site, and the people He places in your path at just the right moment.
Yesterday, one of my residents asked me about the special boy I had been seeing. When I told her it had ended and I was sad, she didn't rush past the conversation or offer cliché advice. She simply wrapped her arms around me and prayed over me right then and there. It was another reminder that God often answers our prayers through the people willing to be His hands and feet. Between the flowers at my mailbox and the unexpected prayer of someone who cared enough to stop, I realized God had been speaking all along.
He is always pursuing us, always reminding us that His mercy is greater than our failures and His plans are bigger than our disappointments. So if you're in a season where God feels silent, don't lose heart. Keep opening your Bible. Keep praying. Keep looking. The same God who spoke to a shepherd through fruit, comforted a broken-hearted woman through flowers, and wrapped His arms around her through the prayer of another believer is still speaking today. The question isn't whether He's near. The question is whether we'll slow down long enough to recognize Him.
Again I ask, how is God speaking to you?

I'm a flowers kind of girl.
I mean that romantically and quite literally.
There is something about fresh flowers that brings me an unexplainable amount of joy, whether they're given as a gift or blooming in my own garden. I don't have a particular favorite flower, but I can say I've always loved roses.
When you picture a rose, you probably think of one of two things: its beauty or its thorns.
It's one of the most beloved flowers in the world, yet it's also one of the few that people hesitate to grab because they know it might hurt them. If you walk into a flower shop, some people immediately reach for the roses. Others avoid them altogether, choosing daisies or zinnias because they don't come with the expectation of getting pricked.
I think that's a lot like life.
The way we see things often says more about our perspective than the situation itself.
I've always chosen to see the rose before I see the thorns. One of my close friends is the exact opposite. She can't stand roses because all she notices are the thorns. Neither of us is wrong. We simply see the same flower differently.
It reminds me of the age-old question: Is the glass half full or half empty?
Every day we are given the choice to focus on what is beautiful or what is broken.
That doesn't mean pretending hard things don't exist. Roses still have thorns. Glasses still lose water. Pain is still real.

But where we choose to rest our minds matters.
Philippians 4:8 says,
"Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things."
To me, that verse has always been an invitation to choose my perspective. It's not ignoring reality, it's deciding what deserves the most attention.
I wasn't raised around that mindset.
My mom has always been someone who naturally sees the glass half empty. She's quick to notice what's wrong before she notices what's right. My dad, on the other hand, has always been much more laid back. He tends to trust that things will work themselves out because he believes there's a greater plan.
Somehow, I landed somewhere in the middle, but leaning toward optimism. I've always romanticized life a little. That part of me only grew stronger as my relationship with Christ became more stable. The closer I grew to Him, the more I realized that my perspective shapes my peace. And when I drift back toward worldly thinking, I notice almost immediately that my outlook changes my mood and my mood affects the people around me.
It's an understatement to say that negativity bothers me now.
You could ask my mom.
At least once a week, we'll have a conversation where she'll say something she doesn't even realize sounds negative, and I'll gently point it out. The funny thing is that she's become so much more aware of it. Most of the time, she catches herself before I even have to explain. 
As I get older, I understand her more than ever though. She was raised in a home where negativity was normal. She learned to expect disappointment before hope ever had a chance.
But over the past few months, I've realized something.
Negativity has quietly found its way into my own heart.
Somewhere along the way, I reached for a rose, got pricked by one of its thorns, and became fixated on the pain instead of the beauty.
Metaphorically speaking, of course.
Those thorns settled beneath my skin. I tried to stay positive while quietly bleeding onto people who didn't deserve it. I grew frustrated with the very people who sat beside me, patiently trying to help me remove the splinters I couldn't reach on my own.
Perspective truly changes everything.
Romans 8:6 says,
"The mind governed by the flesh is death, but the mind governed by the Spirit is life and peace."
When I allow my flesh to govern my thoughts, I start seeing life the way the world does. I begin believing people always intend to hurt me. I convince myself that broken trust can never be restored. I question whether I deserve the blessings God wants to give me. Fear becomes louder than faith.
But when my mind is surrendered to the Spirit, I remember who God is.
My heart has been hurting lately for more reasons than I can count.
Instead of believing everything is falling apart, I'm choosing to believe God has invited me into a season He already knows I'm equipped to walk through.
Somewhere along the way, He decided I was equipped to love someone with an avoidant attachment style. Equipped to navigate multiple life changes at once. Equipped to step into new leadership roles at church while my career undergoes significant change. Equipped to let people walk away without allowing my heart to become hard.
That doesn't make any of it easy.
It simply means He trusts His strength within me more than I trust my own.
The way we view our circumstances often determines the way we heal from them.
We can choose to believe people are cruel, or we can remember that hurt people hurt people. We can choose bitterness, or we can choose prayer. We can trust that God is working all things together for His glory even in lives we don't understand.
One of my favorite verses is Romans 12:2:
"Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind."
I watched a reel recently where someone said, "We were born into an 'if they wanted to, they would' generation, but I think I was made for a 'fight for it, pray over it, and surrender the timing to God' generation."
That resonated with me deeply.
I want to believe the best in people.
I want to believe God still redeems and restores because I've watched Him do it over and over again.
I want to trust the people who have hurt me and surrender the ones I can't.
I want to lean not on my own understanding but trust in the Lord with all my heart.
Because I believe that's what love looks like.
Yes, boundaries are biblical. But authentic love is where it begins.
So when life tells me to choose the daisy because the rose has thorns, I hope I continue reaching for the rose anyway.
Not carelessly.
But carefully placing my fingers between the thorns, cutting the stem anyway, knowing that something beautiful is still worth pursuing despite the risk of getting hurt.
Because there is beauty in the ashes.
And, more often than not, healing begins with a choice.
Maybe that's why I'll always be a flowers kind of girl. Not because flowers are perfect, but because they remind me that beauty and pain have always existed side by side. Every rose has thorns, every garden has weeds, and every season has storms. But none of those things take away from the beauty God created in the first place. 
I don't want to spend my life avoiding roses because I'm afraid of getting hurt. I want to spend it believing that God's goodness is greater than my fears, choosing to see what is lovely, and trusting that even when I get pricked along the way, He is faithful to heal what the thorns cannot destroy. 
Maybe that's what it means to renew our minds. To keep choosing the rose, keep choosing hope, and to keep choosing Him.
In the end, He is all that matters and His garden is beautiful. ​

Much like Adam and Eve, we are embarrassed. Embarrassed that we allowed another human the ability to cause us pain in the first place. Embarrassed that it hurts more than we think it should. Embarrassed that despite "guarding our heart," we let them in, and they did exactly what we were terrified they would do in the first place.
In a perfect world, let's say we find all of those missing pieces. Yet once they are glued back into place, nothing feels the same, and there's still this gap that isn't being fulfilled. We feel like nothing we are doing is bringing us happiness again. We go through all the stages of grief when ending a friendship, a relationship, a "situationship", a marriage, or even experiencing the loss of a loved one. It alters everything in our world. We have to cope with the feelings attached to it, yet we try our best to mask them because vulnerability feels far more terrifying than the hurt itself.
The first is denial—we don't even let our minds begin to think it's actually over. There's this thought of, "It's just a dream." We live in the time before anything changed. In the happiness. We replay everything in our minds, asking ourselves where it went wrong, convincing ourselves there's no way this person is really walking out of our life right now.
The second is anger—asking ourselves how this could happen to us. Whether it was intentional, unexpected, or a gradual separation, we grow angry at the person. We are mad that they cannot meet the expectation we had for them. We are angered that they can't love us enough to fight for us.
Then we get to bargaining—asking if there's any possible way for them to stay in our life. Please, Lord, allow it to happen. We beg for one more chance. An opportunity to redo everything if it means keeping them in our life, even if we watch it slowly suck the life out of us.
Which leads to depression—being so low that we find other things to occupy the place of that person. Some of us turn to drugs or alcohol. Some turn to other humans and use them because they don't know how to handle hurt or sit alone in silence.
Somewhere down the line, when we do learn to sit alone, whether it's because we've finally hit the breaking point or we're done chasing the world, we arrive at acceptance. Acceptance that people hurt people, and we can never predict how someone is going to show up for us, but we can predict how we show up for them.
How so?
Because if you are rooted in Christ, you may go through these stages, but that God-sized hole is fulfilled. You know that no matter how bad it hurts, God is a good God, and He works all things together for His glory. The pain you feel in this moment is one prayer away from becoming a testimony.
God asks us for surrender. For us to die to ourselves and pick up our cross daily, yet we allow our emotions to stop us. We stop finding joy in the Lord because our focus is on the flesh, not the Father.
We're all sinners. We all mess up. We want people in our lives despite their actions because we aren't meant to walk this life alone. We are actually called to love others, yet when people hurt us, we allow it to change us instead of showing up the way we should.
We are all broken in some way, shape, or form. We all have our own past that constantly tries to prevent us from moving forward. We are all seeking to fill that God-sized hole because it is a daily choice to allow Him to fill it and help us through what we are walking through.
Lot's wife was asked not to look back, yet she did. What happened? She was turned into a pillar of salt. Not only does this show us that the past should remain in the past, but it is also a prime example of love being a choice. A choice to love others and, most importantly, a choice to love God.
If someone chose to walk away from you, lay it at God's feet. You can't change that.
If you chose to walk away from someone and you feel guilty, you may have unresolved feelings that one simple conversation could change.
If someone walked into your life completely unexpectedly, trust that God did that because He knew you needed them.
If you find you've hurt someone, extend the apology today. Ask yourself this: If they walk away from you and never speak to you again, are you going to be okay with that? If the answer is no, then strip away the pride, the confusion, the anger, the frustration, whatever it is that is stopping you from choosing to love them.
Die to your flesh and pick up your cross.
Jesus is coming back soon, and we should be rejoicing in the Lord each and every morning. We should not mask who God handcrafted us to be. Psalm 139:13 says, "For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb."
God didn't handcraft us to hurt people. God did not create us with the intention of us being alone. God wants us to restore relationships if they are worth restoring, and if they aren't, to trust that He has a plan for that too.
When someone hurts you, how are you going to show up for them?
We cannot control who stays, who leaves, or who hurts us, but we can control whether we allow that pain to harden our hearts or draw us closer to the One who heals them.

There’s a distinct memory that always comes to mind during seasons like this. It takes me back to middle school dodgeball. Two teams lined up on opposite sides of the gym. The whistle would blow, and everyone would scramble for as many balls as they could, immediately targeting one or two people.
I was usually that person.
No matter how fast I ran or how high I jumped, ball after ball seemed to find me. I was an easy target. Back then, I would just laugh because what else do you do? Either you laugh, or you spiral into self-pity. As a kid, you don’t really understand the why behind it. You just know you’re getting hit and then you’re out of the game.
As I’ve grown older, and grown in Christ, I’ve started to see that image as a metaphor for everyday life. Just when things begin to go right, life throws a punch. And once the punches start, they don’t usually stop at one. It can feel like a never-ending dodgeball game. No matter how fast you run, which direction you turn, or how hard you try to avoid it, the balls keep making contact, trying to knock you down and tag you out.
It’s easy to lose your line of sight when that happens.
But just like middle school dodgeball, every game eventually ends. And when it does, a new one begins.
It really is about perspective and where you choose to find joy.
James 1:2–3 says, “When troubles of any kind come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow.”
I see those troubles as the balls in a dodgeball game. Each hit is our faith being tested, and with every impact, our endurance has a chance to grow stronger.
The season of life I’m currently in has me questioning a lot of things, all in good spirit. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t heavy. I’ve had more conversations with God lately than I can count because I genuinely want to walk in obedience. I just sometimes struggle to understand what obedience looks like in real time.
It’s not that I don’t trust God. It’s that the punches keep coming, and I start wondering if I’m really the right person to handle them.
A few nights ago, God placed a word on my heart that hasn’t left me. I’ve seen it show up in my life, in conversations with friends, in moments with coworkers. The word is simple:
Equipped.
The trials we walk through, the punches life throws, the moments of doubt or unbelief, they are all opportunities for great joy, just as James says. They test our faith. They stretch our endurance. They grow us.
God would not place us where He has us if we were not equipped for it. And He certainly won’t abandon us when our flesh whispers that we can’t do it. When we question whether we’re strong enough, capable enough, or faithful enough, He remains steady.
If I’ve learned anything in my walk with Christ, it’s this: God uses the most ordinary people to accomplish the most extraordinary things for His glory.
When we say, “I can’t,” God gently reminds us, “You can, through Me.”
That’s hard to believe in the middle of the game. That’s why we have to write scripture on our hearts before the whistle blows. So when the moment comes, truth is already rooted inside us.
Philippians 4:13 says, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” Not because we are strong but because He is.
Lately, I’ve felt the weight of unbelief, doubt, and even the fear of change. I once heard someone say that when you feel that way, a simple prayer is enough:
“God, help me in my unbelief.”
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve prayed that in the last 90 days. And yet, every time, God has shown Himself to be a good Father. He meets me in it. He strengthens me in it.
What’s humbling is that God keeps showing up in the most ordinary ways. For a while, I wasn’t seeing Him because I assumed that if God was trying to get my attention, it would be loud. A moment I couldn’t possibly miss.
But this past weekend at a women’s conference, someone said something that shifted my perspective:
“I invite the glorious love of God into the mundane.”
That line stayed with me.
God doesn’t need fancy.
God doesn’t need perfection.
God doesn’t need you at your best.
God wants you where you are.
In dodgeball, we get hit. Our instinct is to shield ourselves, run, and lick our wounds. Ball after ball, we want to retreat. To accept defeat. To sit in self-pity.
But we have a choice in that moment.
We can say, “I trust You, God.”
And when we do, we begin to realize something powerful: the greatest gift is that He allows us to play the game at all. There isn’t a single ball coming that He doesn’t already see. There isn’t a curve He isn’t already ahead of. Nothing catches Him off guard.
As long as we’ve invited Him onto the court with us, no matter how many hits come, we can still find joy, not in the pain, but in His presence.
2 Corinthians 5:19 reminds us that we are ambassadors for Christ, called to encourage others to be reconciled to God. And the truth is, we cannot lead others somewhere we have never walked ourselves.
The trials.
The doubt.
The endurance.
The obedience.
They shape us for purpose.
Keeping Christ at the center, in the hits and in the healing,  reminds us who we are and why we’re here.
We are equipped.

For me, I was addicted to self-pleasing behaviors—porn and masturbation—and the sad part is, I didn’t even know it was a sin at the time. Even after I became a Christian, I convinced myself that because I wasn’t harming anyone else, it must be okay. I think a lot of us believe that when we don’t know Christ the way we were created to know Him. But while I wasn’t hurting anyone else, I was harming myself. Deep down, I knew what I was doing was wrong because guilt always lingered, yet the pleasure and the high were strong enough for me to ignore it. I began to crave desires meant for marriage, but because I didn’t know the Lord—or the gifts He created specifically for marriage—I didn’t understand that yet.

It started as an occasional mood booster, like most addictions do, and slowly became something I chased constantly—morning, night, and sometimes in between. This was not a small struggle. It lasted for years, and it progressed.

I knew internally it was wrong. It made me feel dirty. I constantly wondered, “How is your husband ever going to please you?” because I had convinced myself that a man could never satisfy me the way I could satisfy myself. I also believed I was broken, because the only way I could reach orgasm was with vibrating toys. I built this idea of adulthood around the belief that if I didn’t please myself, I would never be pleased.

Clearly, I needed Jesus. And I needed to learn that I shouldn’t desire these things outside of what God created them for. They had become an idol. I placed unrealistic expectations on a husband I haven’t even met yet, and I developed the mindset that my body existed only for my own pleasure—and in a very unhealthy way.

Ephesians 4:22 says, “Throw off your old sinful nature and your former way of life, which is corrupted by lust and deception.” I didn’t understand that verse until I finally told that fleshly desire goodbye.

Shortly after submitting my life to Christ, the conviction came—and it came fast. I started recognizing sins I had never realized were sins. Porn and masturbation were the first things God pulled from me. I honestly didn’t even notice they were gone until temptation tried creeping back in.

In those moments, I thought about Jesus—how He sees everything I do—and suddenly I couldn’t go through with it anymore. I felt ashamed that the God who created me could see how desperate I was to feel loved or to participate in the “sexual tendencies” that the world glorifies. I was ashamed of how deeply I desired that part of a relationship and how pathetic I felt for not having one.

This one struggle shaped my worldview more than I realized. Instead of desiring a family or preparing myself for marriage, I hardened a part of my heart and threw myself into creating a career I’m not even sure I’ll want forever. I love my job, and I’m thankful I get to do it every single day—but if God ever opened the door for marriage and motherhood, I would choose that in a heartbeat. 

Now I’m having to work through the walls I built. Whenever someone shows interest, I pull back. Just when I think I might let someone in, I reinforce another barrier because I’ve convinced myself, “I don’t need anyone. I’m fine alone. I can’t hurt myself. I don’t trust them. I am only responsible for me.” I’ve never allowed myself a fair chance to love someone the way God created me to.

I don’t know if marriage is in God’s plan for me, but if it is, then I have to be willing to let those walls crumble and trust Him with that part of my heart.

I was fortunate that God freed me from the addiction itself quickly once I chose Him. But even now—almost two years later—I still owned the toys I had depended on for so long.

You would think throwing them away would be easy, but I had so much shame surrounding them that I just kept them locked away, hidden in a box. I didn’t know how to dispose of them without feeling embarrassed.

Yesterday, I felt a strong urgency to get rid of them for good. The ones I could safely burn, I did—though it definitely wasn’t the safest idea. (I was outside, so don’t worry too much.) The electronic ones I wrapped discreetly and threw away before I could overthink it. Truthfully, if someone found them and somehow knew they were mine, so be it. They were mine. And just like any other garbage, they deserved to be thrown out. As I dropped them in the dumpster, I felt a weight tear away from me. This is a new beginning. A new chapter in becoming who God truly wants me to be.
When I burned the others, a thick, indescribable black smoke poured out so quickly—something I’d never seen before. After researching, I realized how toxic those materials are. In that moment, it felt symbolic, like watching the enemy be cast out of my life.

That part of me is gone.
The enemy no longer holds what I once ran to.
Even when temptation comes, the tools of the sin are gone.

God expects us to call our bodies into submission. He expects us to use our free will to choose Him.

Paul writes in Philippians 4:8, “And now, dear brothers and sisters, one final thing. Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise.”

And in 1 Corinthians 6:18–20 he says, “Run from sexual sin! No other sin so clearly affects the body as this one does. For sexual immorality is a sin against your own body.  Don’t you realize that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit, who lives in you and was given to you by God? You do not belong to yourself,  for God bought you with a high price. So you must honor God with your body.” 

Maybe I should have started with that context, but it ties everything together. When we pause and listen to who God is and what He is saying, our worldview shifts. Our purpose becomes clearer. Everything changes.

For two years, I’ve been able to abstain from sexual sin and from dishonoring my future husband by pleasing my own body. Now I know what it really means to save myself for marriage—to desire a partner to lean on, to be someone’s helpmate.

I want to trust someone else. I want to be responsible not just for myself, but for the family we create. I want to experience intimacy the way God designed it—to be fulfilled by my husband, not by a battery-powered substitute. I want to trust him with that part of my heart and trust God with this breakthrough.

But even more than that, I want to fully surrender myself to my Savior and honor Him with my body. I don’t want anything more than I want a relationship with Him. My joy comes from the Lord. My happiness is Jesus. My desires are fulfilled by God. Anything else He gives me is an undeserved blessing.

Do you have something you need to fully surrender to God?

Is there anything from your past that you know it’s time to release?
​
Father,
Thank You for being a God who sees every part of us and still calls us Yours. Thank You for the grace that meets us in the places we feel most ashamed and for the strength that helps us walk away from what once held us captive.
Lord, teach us to surrender the things we cling to—the desires, the habits, the fears, and the walls we’ve built for protection. Help us trust that when You ask us to let go, it’s because You are leading us into freedom.
Search our hearts, God. Reveal anything in us that keeps us from honoring You with our minds, bodies, and futures. Give us courage to release what no longer belongs in our lives and to step into the healing and identity You have already prepared for us.
For anyone reading this who is wrestling with hidden battles, remind them that they are not alone. Show them that nothing is too broken for You to restore.
Lord, make us people who choose purity, obedience, and surrender—not out of shame, but out of love for You. Let our lives be a testimony of Your power to redeem even the darkest corners of our story.
We place our desires, our bodies, and our futures in Your hands.
Make us who You created us to be.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.

We don’t always realize how much each decision we make impacts us. The Bible warns that what we sow, we will reap in return. When we’re negative, negativity finds its way back to us. When we’re positive, we often receive positivity in return. And when we show kindness to those who hurt us, sometimes they can’t help but respond with kindness too — because that’s God working on their heart.

When we display the fruits of the Spirit, we reflect what it means to be like Christ.
This week, my character felt like it was under attack — or at least that’s how it seemed. Today, a friend reminded me that it’s really the enemy using something I take honor in against me, because he knows it will weaken my defenses.

And for a few days, it did.

I let the enemy in.

I know my heart, and I know I would never intentionally hurt someone. Yet in this situation, I did hurt someone — in ways I hadn’t allowed myself to see until now. Once they explained their perspective, I could understand how my actions came across and how they were hurt by them.

The thing about emotions is that, because we’re human, we often let them consume us in the heat of a moment. Things get said that shouldn’t be said. We stop considering how the other person feels because we become defensive. The only one who ever handled this perfectly was Jesus — who felt deeply, yet still kept His emotions in check. And even He flipped tables.

It’s hard to walk away and say, “I need a moment,” so you don’t act out of emotion when someone hurts you. It’s hard to hear painful words and still return to a place of love for someone who views you as the enemy. It’s hard to be the one who takes the first step toward peace simply because you know that’s what God is calling you to do.
It’s hard to speak the Word of God — and even harder to live it.

I’ve grown a lot in my walk with Christ, but there are still things from my past that resurface because, as Scripture says, we reap what we sow. I used to get caught up in gossip. I was the person everyone told everything to — and I couldn’t wait to tell someone else. But then conviction came. Since then, I’ve done my best to shut gossip down before it starts. There are still moments I fail, or when temptation creeps in and looks appealing, but God has helped me grow through that.

Even so, people still associate that part of my past with my character. I could do a hundred things right, but if someone accuses me of gossiping — even when I haven’t — it’s easy for others to believe it. Why? Because I reap what I sow.

We can’t change our past, but each day we are washed clean in the blood of Jesus. We have a fresh start every single day. We know who we are in Christ — and that’s the identity we cling to when others question our character.

So how do we do that?

We have to pour into ourselves just as much as we pour into others. We have to invest in our relationship with Christ daily. We have to commit to His will and trust that everything works together for His greater purpose.

For the past few days, I kept saying, “I don’t know how to move forward.” When I told my friend this, she helped me see what I couldn’t — because the devil had placed a stronghold on the situation.

Now, I know what I need to do.

I have to put on the full armor of God and rebuke the enemy in Jesus’ name.

Moving forward in this relationship means choosing to reap what I sow — to sow kindness and love. I pray for the other person, and I pray for myself. I ask God to give us both the wisdom we need to heal, to move forward, and to remember who we are as people — not just the circumstances that hurt us.

I can’t control how the other person will respond, but I can control my own actions and emotions. I can display the fruits of the Spirit and show what it means to be like Christ, even in the uncomfortable moments.

What seeds are you sowing in this season of your life?
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How do you handle it when your character feels misunderstood or under attack?

God never holds our mistakes over us — He redeems them, shaping them into lessons that lead us closer to His purpose. The harvest He’s promised is on its way.

John 15: 13-14
"There is no greater love than to lay down one's life for one's friends. You are my friends if you do what I command." 

For a long time, I’ve been caught in this mindset that I need to “find” a husband—that if I could just become a better version of myself, maybe then someone would choose me. I believed that if I worked hard enough, prayed hard enough, and acted “good enough,” I could somehow earn a husband. But that’s not how God works. A husband is not a prize we achieve after collecting enough “good person” points. A husband—like every other blessing—is a gift from God.
The truth is, I didn’t always want to be married. But when I was baptized, my entire outlook on life changed. Suddenly, I understood that my ultimate purpose on this earth is to glorify God. Everything I do—every word, every action—should point back to Him.
Looking back, I think I resisted marriage because deep down, I didn’t believe I was good enough for it. And even now, the enemy sometimes slips in and whispers that same lie—that I’m not enough and never will be. Other times, I realize that maybe I’ve kept myself so busy, or so guarded, that I haven’t left room for a relationship to grow in the first place.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve been growing a lot spiritually. Last night, I heard something on a TV show that struck me: the character said they wanted to be in a relationship, but it was their choice whether to make space for someone or not. That hit me deeply—but not just in the sense of human relationships.
Because that’s true of our relationship with God, too.
Every single day, we choose how much space we make for Him.
We choose whether we start our day with Him.
We choose whether we pray—morning, night, or in between.
We choose whether we let Him in during our moments of weakness, or whether we shut Him out and dwell in fear, temptation, or anxiety.
Our relationship with the Lord grows or fades based on the space we choose to give Him.
This morning, I was reading in John 15:14-16, where Jesus says that He calls us friends. That verse reminded me that even Abraham and Moses were called friends of God. And because Jesus came to earth, died for our sins, and rose again, we now get to share in that same friendship. But friendship requires participation—it’s on us to nurture it and make room for it and for us to realize that Jesus chooses his friends who demonstrate their friendship by obeying him.
When I think about marriage now, I think about what it looks like to make space for a spouse while still keeping Jesus at the center. Before my relationship with the Lord, I never would’ve thought like that. But now I desire a marriage where both of us are running together toward the Kingdom of God. I dream of raising children who love and serve the Lord, of breaking generational patterns, of building a home where Christ is not just mentioned but present.
That desire is still there, and yes—it’s a daily battle. The enemy loves to attack where we’re vulnerable. But I believe that God hears the desires of my heart. I believe that in His perfect timing, it will happen. And I believe that just as we choose to make space for a person, we also choose daily whether we make space for God.
Because Jesus loves us.
God so loved the world that He sent His only Son, who died so that we could be washed white as snow and forgiven for our sins. Through His resurrection, the Holy Spirit now dwells within us—if we choose Him as our Lord and Savior.
So, I’ll ask you this:
Are you choosing God today?
Are you choosing a relationship with Him—a friendship?
And in that friendship, are you walking in obedience to what He’s called you to do?
Recently, I truly believed that God had revealed who my future husband was. And I got so caught up in that idea that my focus began to shift—from God Himself to what I thought He was doing. I started idolizing the promise instead of the Promise Keeper.
Then one evening, I went to church. Honestly, I almost didn’t go. But two different people encouraged me to, so I did. And that night, I saw the person I believed was my future husband…walk in with his girlfriend.
My heart sank.
I felt guilt, shame, and this deep sense that I had somehow disappointed God. I went home and cried because I realized that my focus had drifted. I had made this relationship—this idea—an idol.
But even in that, God was merciful.
I realized that my prayers for that person weren’t wasted. Maybe I was meant to intercede for him, even if he wasn’t meant for me. Maybe God was showing me that prayer changes people—even when it’s not about getting what we want.
Still, I had to face the truth: I had put my hope in the wrong thing. I had trusted my own understanding instead of waiting on God’s timing. And yes, I felt foolish—but I’m learning that obedience sometimes looks like sitting in the uncomfortable, trusting that God knows what He’s doing.
Because at the end of the day, I don’t choose marriage. I don’t choose children. I don’t choose my future.
I choose God.
And every single day, I have to choose to make room for Him—again and again.
So, if you’re reading this today, I pray that you make room for God in your life. That you open your heart fully to Him. That you walk with Him, trust Him, and allow Him to reveal your purpose in His perfect timing.
If you haven’t yet, I pray you turn your life over to Jesus. Ask Him for forgiveness. Invite Him in. Say, “Jesus, I accept You as my Lord and Savior.”
And if you ever find yourself longing for friendship, remember this—Jesus is already choosing you. All you have to do is say yes. And when you do, I promise: you will never be alone.
Until next 

Looking back, though, I can see the thread that ties it all together—and it isn’t really about the car wash at all.
When I got my first truck, my dad taught me how to hand wash it at a self-service car wash. I prayed I had enough quarters and that I could finish in time, and those moments became special—a way to spend time together. Later, washing my truck became an errand I shared with my best friend on weekends. Back then, it was fun, not frightening, because she was with me.
As I grew older, I switched to automatic car washes. The errand became less frequent as my friend had other plans, and I found myself avoiding it.
In 2023, I bought a brand-new truck. Never in my life did I think I could afford one, and I am so thankful that God made a way. I told myself I had to wash it often—not just because it’s dark grey and shows every speck of dirt, but because it’s a blessing from the Lord. Colossians 3:23-24 says, “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters…”
It might sound silly to say that about a truck, but while it’s in my care, it’s my responsibility to honor God by taking care of it. I even got a car wash membership and promised myself I’d wash it weekly. Did that happen? Not immediately.
Only recently did I start to understand why this mattered so much.
I’m in a season of growth and waiting, and it’s been challenging. I lost a close friend who didn’t share my faith—a friend I had depended on for years. That loss forced me to confront my codependency. I realized I had rarely made plans on my own, allowed someone else’s worldview to influence many decisions, and leaned on a friendship that wasn’t equally yoked in faith. I love her dearly, but this season has shown me how necessary independence and God-centered relationships are.
Though my faith has always been part of my life, it wasn’t until my baptism in 2023 that I truly began to understand the depth of a personal relationship with Jesus. Looking back, I see that my fear of the car wash reflected a deeper fear of letting go. I would only go if she was in the truck with me or on the phone to coach me through it. Now I realize that my anxiety stemmed from depending on someone else instead of placing my trust fully in God.
Spending time alone has taught me that I am never truly alone. I talk to Jesus constantly, seeking His guidance rather than worldly opinions. I’m learning to make decisions and face fears with Him by my side.
This season of waiting extends to my personal life as well. I’m almost 29 and have no suitors, but for the first time, I feel ready to date with the goal of marriage. God has opened my eyes to what a godly marriage might look like and how to discern a partner wisely. I’ve learned that if marriage is in my future, I must submit to God’s design for the roles of husband and wife—something I now see in the example of my parents.
Through all of this, I feel growth—like seeds taking root and beginning to sprout. Last week, I drove my truck through a car wash alone for the first time. I prayed aloud, spent twenty minutes vacuuming and detailing, and felt a peace and contentment I hadn’t experienced before. It was actually fun!
Codependency with someone not equally yoked can hold you back, but seasons of separation can teach you more about yourself and God’s plan than you ever imagined.
I’m starting this blog to share my journey in faith and to encourage you to share yours as well.
Have you ever been codependent on someone you shouldn’t have been? Or struggled with a fear you couldn’t understand? How did God help you through it?
What is your car wash story?