Once upon a time, there was a woman I used to know very well.

She ran on six hours of sleep (barely) and called it discipline. She worked a full-time job with overtime shifts sprinkled in on the days she wasn’t sitting in a college classroom three nights a week, two hours a session, trying to build a future while barely surviving the present.

She sang in the choir every other Sunday or more, sometimes all three services. She led women’s Bible study every Wednesday night. She volunteered at church like her salvation depended on it. She ran an Avon business on the side while partnering with the local women’s gyms, because apparently one hustle was never enough.

And on the weekends? She found time to party two nights or spend time with friends, because if she stopped moving, she might have to feel something. And feeling something was not on the schedule.

She struggled through relationships that kept stalling, two of which absorbed every ounce of her emotional bandwidth. She felt abandoned by them. She went looking for love to replace the hurt, only to land in another narcissistic relationship that took more than it gave. She was laid off six times during the first twenty years of her adulthood. Six times. Each one a fresh wound on top of an old one.

And she never once said ‘no’ without feeling guilty about it for days.

She meal-prepped on Sundays when she had enough strength or money to pull together something for the week. She tried to keep up with the bills and rent so she wouldn’t be evicted. (There’s a story behind where she was living and the favor she was given for being honest about her financial situation. That’s another story for another day.)

She listened to Dr. Charles Stanley every morning at 7:30am because she was moving too fast to take time, other than women’s Bible study, to really dive into the Word. It was the one thread of connection she could grab while running full speed. And still she was tired. But she kept pushing forward.

She cried alone on her living room sofa. No audience. No comfort. No one to hand her a tissue or say, “You don’t have to carry this.”

She was single. She was alone. Too embarrassed to let anyone know the truth about how she was really feeling. Too afraid to ask for help, because she was the one who was strong for everyone else.

She was the shoulder. The prayer warrior. The fixer. The one who showed up.

And it was just too much for someone who lived alone, feeling isolated emotionally and physically, still trying to push through because that was all she knew how to do.

That woman was me.

And I couldn’t stop. Not because I didn’t want to. Because I didn’t know how.

Rest wasn’t just hard for me. It felt impossible. Like asking my lungs to stop breathing or my mind to stop racing. The engine didn’t have an off switch. It only had faster.

“Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed — or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”

— Luke 10:41–42

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When Your Feelings Tell You Otherwise...

If you’re that woman who can’t stop, the noise in your head probably sounds like this:

▫️“If I stop, who’s going to do it?”

▫️“Resting makes me feel lazy, not refreshed.”

▫️“I’ve tried to slow down. It just makes me anxious.”

▫️“I don’t even know what rest looks like for me.”

▫️“Stillness feels more exhausting than busyness.”

I’ve lived inside every single one of those thoughts. And here’s what I’ve learned: the inability to rest is not a productivity problem. It’s a trust problem.

When we can’t stop, it’s usually because we believe, deep down, that the world needs us to keep it spinning. That everything depends on us. That if we slow down, something, someone, everything will fall apart.

And that belief? It’s exhausting. Because it puts us in God’s seat. And we were never built for that chair.

The Deeper Truth

Martha was busy. She was serving. She was doing good, important work. And Jesus didn’t shame her for working. He pointed out what she was missing.

“You are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed or indeed only one.”

Few things are needed.

• Not all the things.

• Not every committee.

• Not every responsibility.

• Not every expectation you’ve piled on yourself or that others have piled on you.

Few things. Maybe only one.

Mary chose to sit at Jesus’ feet. Not because she was lazy. Because she understood that presence is more valuable than performance.

Here’s what years of being Martha taught me: busyness was my hiding place. In the constant doing, I didn’t have to sit with my thoughts. I didn’t have to face my fears. I didn’t have to ask hard questions about what was really driving my need to be needed. I didn’t have to provide an answer to those who thought I was too busy to ask.

Stillness was scary because it was honest. And honest was uncomfortable.

But here’s what Mary knew: the presence of Jesus is worth more than all the serving in the world. And sometimes the most productive thing you can do is absolutely nothing except sit at His feet and breathe.

I know, because I spent years doing everything but that. I was singing in the choir, leading Bible study, running a business, maintaining relationships that were draining me dry, and listening to Dr. Stanley on the car radio because it was the only stillness I could manage while driving 65 miles an hour, while my mind was constantly working at 100+ miles an hour. I was doing things FOR God while running FROM the stillness He was calling me to.

And the whole time, He was whispering what He whispered to Martha:

“Only one thing is needed.”

What This Means for You

If rest feels impossible for you, I want you to know: you’re not broken. You’ve just been running so long that your nervous system has forgotten how to be still.

Here are some things that helped me learn to rest when rest felt impossible:

1. I started small. Five minutes of sitting with no phone, no agenda, no noise. Just breathing. It was excruciating at first. Then it became the best five minutes of my day.

2. I named my anxiety. When stillness made me anxious, I asked, “What am I afraid will happen if I stop?” Writing the answer down took the power out of it.

3. I gave myself permission to be bad at resting. Just like any new skill, it takes practice. I didn’t beat myself up for the racing thoughts. I just kept showing up to the stillness.

I remembered that rest is obedience. When my guilt said “You should be doing something,” I reminded myself: “I AM doing something. I’m obeying God’s command to rest.”

“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.”

— 2 Corinthians 12:9

His grace is sufficient. Not your energy. Not your willpower. Not your ability to push through one more day on four hours of sleep and a prayer. His grace. And that grace shows up strongest in the very place where your strength runs out.

Remember This Truth

If you can’t stop, it’s not because you’re too strong. It might be because you’re too afraid. Trust me when I say that. Remember when I said my mind activity was at 100+ miles an hour?

Maybe you’re afraid of what you’ll feel. Afraid of what you’ll face. Afraid of what will happen if you’re not the one holding it all together.

But God is holding it together for you. He always has been. And He’s inviting you to sit down, breathe, and let Him.

Rest is not the absence of doing. It’s the presence of trust. And learning to trust is the bravest, hardest, most worthwhile work you’ll ever do.

🌿Click For Your Free Self-Assessment 🌿

An Invitation🌿

This week, I want to invite you to try the five-minute sit.

🔸Set a timer.

🔸Put your phone face down or close your laptop.

🔸Close your eyes. And just breathe. Inhale for 4. Hold for 4. Exhale for 4. Repeat as necessary.

🔸Ask the Lord for forgiveness. Repent.

🔸Move forward and breathe. Inhale for 4. Hold for 4. Exhale for 4.

🔸Thank you Lord for being there for you.

No prayer list. No worship music. No agenda. Release it. Just you and God and five minutes of doing absolutely nothing.

If anxiety shows up, let it. Name it. Then let it pass.

You’ve got this! I have faith in you.🌿

📣What happens when you try to be still? Is it peaceful or panic-inducing? Reply or comment below. No judgment, just honesty. I’d love to hear your honest answer.

-Blessings and joy, Tina💖

Share Joy God’s Way™

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I can’t believe I’m about to share this story, but here we go. I had a flashback regarding a brilliant idea on how I was going to ‘fix’ my exhaustion, by scheduling a relaxing spa day.

I booked the massage. Got the facial. Sat in the sauna until my skin radiated a healthy glow. You know what? I could have saved some money by sitting outside in the hot and humid Florida sunshine. There I go again, chasing squirrels while sharing. Back to my time at the spa.

While there, I found unfamiliar peace while drinking cucumber water out of a glass with a real lime and mint leaves in it, because apparently that’s what rested people do. Then I went to the softly lit ‘resting’ room, found a nice spa bed in the corner, with the scent of lavendar permeating throughout the room. I laid down and closed my eyes.

That spa experience took about four hours, I felt amazing.

Upon returning to my car, I checked my phone, and within twelve minutes I was right back where I started. Heart racing. Mind spinning. That familiar knot in my stomach tightening like it had never left. I was supposed to feel better…longer! Why can’t I get a break?

Because the spa didn’t fix the problem. It just gave me a really expensive nap. I wish I could laugh about it, but it’s the honest truth.

The real issue wasn’t that I needed relaxation. It was that my entire life was built on a pace I was never designed to sustain.

“Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is — his good, pleasing and perfect will.”

— Romans 12:2

When Your Feelings Tell You Otherwise...

When we think about relief from exhaustion, we usually think big:

“If I could just get a vacation, I’d be fine.”

“Once this season is over, things will slow down.”

“I need a complete life overhaul.”

“Nothing will change unless everything changes.”

I believed all of these. And they kept me stuck. Because when relief feels massive, we never start. The mountain looks too big to climb, so we sit at the bottom and keep burning out.

Talk about burn out…I had worked almost 20 years before I had taken my first ‘real’ vacation. Ugh!

But here’s what I’ve learned the hard way: it’s not the big changes that save us. It’s the small shifts.

The Deeper Truth

Romans 12:2 doesn’t say “be transformed by a complete life overhaul.” It says “be transformed by the renewing of your mind.” Renewing. Present tense. Ongoing. A little at a time.

Think about how God works in Scripture. He didn’t part the Red Sea and then teleport the Israelites to the Promised Land. They walked. Step by step. Day by day. Manna came one morning at a time.

He didn’t heal Naaman with a dramatic miracle. He told him to go wash in a river. Seven times. One dip at a time.

And Jesus? He didn’t feed the 5,000 with a catered banquet. He took what was small, five loaves and two fish, and multiplied it.

God specializes in small things becoming big things. And that’s exactly how relief from exhaustion works.

Here are the small shifts that changed everything for me:

I started saying “let me think about it” instead of “yes” on the spot. Just buying myself 24 hours before committing to anything transformed my calendar.

I set a phone curfew. Nothing after 9pm. My friends and family were like “what if there’s an emergency?” My response…please call 911, I would have to do that anyway. The world will survive without me during that time.

I built in 10-minute buffers between meetings and commitments so I wasn’t constantly rushing from one thing to the next.

I started asking myself one question before adding anything to my plate: “Does this bring life, or does it drain it?”

I gave myself permission to leave things unfinished at the end of the day. The to-do list will be there tomorrow. And tomorrow is not my enemy.

None of these were dramatic. None required a sabbatical or a move to the countryside or a complete identity shift. They were small. Doable. Sustainable.

And together, over time, they changed my life.

What This Means for You

Sweet friend, you don’t need a whole new life. You need a few new rhythms.

What’s one small shift you could make this week? Just one. Not five. Not a whole system. One thing that protects your energy instead of spending it.

Maybe it’s saying no to one optional commitment. Maybe it’s going to bed 30 minutes earlier. Maybe it’s taking a walk at lunch instead of eating at your desk.

Start small. Stay consistent. And watch God multiply what seems insignificant into something that changes everything.

“Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin.” — Zechariah 4:10 (NLT)

Remember This Truth

You don’t need a complete overhaul. You need a next right step.

Small shifts lead to big relief. One boundary at a time. One “no” at a time. One deep breath at a time.

And the God who takes five loaves and two fish and feeds thousands? He can take your one small shift and build a whole new rhythm out of it.

Start today. Start small. Start believing that you don’t have to change everything to change something.

An Invitation

Before you scroll away, I want you to name it:

What’s one small shift you can make this week?

Maybe it’s a phone curfew. Maybe it’s the 24-hour “let me think about it” rule. Maybe it’s leaving the dishes in the sink and going to bed on time.

Reply or leave a comment and tell me your one shift. I’ll be cheering you on. Because small steps, taken together, lead somewhere beautiful.

Joyfully yours,

Tina 💛

📣 What’s one small shift you’re making this week? Reply or comment below. Small steps, big relief.

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You’re tired. But not the kind of tired that a good night’s sleep can fix.

This is the kind of tired that has settled into your bones, your spirit, and the quiet spaces where joy used to live. And if you’re being honest, you’ve been carrying it for a long time.

But here’s something most people won’t tell you, exhaustion doesn’t wear just one face:

• It shows up as the body that never feels rested no matter how much sleep you get.

• It shows up as the emotions that have gone flat, the tears that come from nowhere, the numbness you can’t explain.

• It shows up as the distance between you and God that keeps growing even though you know it shouldn’t.

• It shows up as the hundred decisions you make for everyone else every single day until you can’t face one more.

• It shows up as the compassion you’ve poured out so generously that there’s nothing left for yourself.

• It shows up as the caregiving that never ends, for aging parents, for growing children, for everyone but you.

• It shows up as the soul that has been running on empty for so long that you’ve forgotten what full even feels like.

Seven faces. And most of us are wearing more than one.

So which face of exhaustion is running your life?

I created a free self-assessment to help you find out. Not to diagnose you. Not to add one more thing to your list. But to help you finally name what you’ve been carrying so you can begin to set it down.

It takes just 5 to 10 minutes. It’s printable. And it might be the first time someone has asked you to look at your own exhaustion with honesty and without guilt.

This is your first step transforming from exhaustion to joy, God’s way!💛

👉 Download Your Free Assessment: The 7 Faces of Exhaustion™

Sweet sister, you were never meant to carry it all alone. Let’s find out what you’ve been carrying, and then let’s walk toward something lighter, together.

-Blessings and joy,

Share Joy God’s Way™

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For years, I treated my exhaustion like an inconvenience. You know the “why do I have to feel like this, right now, in this moment?”

Something to push past. Something to manage. Something to medicate with coffee, willpower, and one more worship song on repeat.

I’d wake up tired and think, “What’s wrong with me?” I’d drag through the afternoon and think, “Why can’t I just be normal?” I’d collapse into bed at night and think, “Tomorrow will be different.”

It never was. How was I ever going to make it through the day? Why does this keep happening to me?

Until one day, instead of asking “What’s wrong with me?” I asked a different question:

“What is my exhaustion trying to tell me?”

That question changed everything.

“Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”

— Psalm 139:23–24

When Your Feelings Tell You Otherwise...

When exhaustion knocks, here’s what most of us hear:

“Just push through. You’ll feel better once you get moving.”

“It’s just a busy season. This too shall pass.”

“Everyone’s tired. Stop making it a big deal.”

“You just need more coffee. Or more faith. Or more discipline.”

“Listening to your body is indulgent.”

I said all of these to myself, sometimes in the same morning. And each one did the same thing: it told me to ignore the message my body and soul were desperately trying to deliver.

But here’s what I’ve come to understand: exhaustion is not the problem. It’s the symptom. It’s the check engine light on the dashboard of your life. And ignoring it doesn’t make the engine run better. It just guarantees a breakdown.

The Deeper Truth

When I finally stopped long enough to listen, here’s what my exhaustion was telling me:

• My body was saying: “You’re sleeping six hours a night and calling it enough. It’s not.”

• My emotions were saying: “You’ve been carrying grief you haven’t processed. It’s leaking out as irritability and numbness.”

• My mind was saying: “You’ve said yes to so many things that you’ve lost track of what actually matters to you.”

• My spirit was saying: “You’ve been so busy doing things FOR God that you’ve stopped being WITH God.”

Each one was a different message. Each one required a different response. And none of them could be fixed by just “pushing through.”

“Be still, and know that I am God.” — Psalm 46:10

“Be still” isn’t just a suggestion for quiet time. It’s an invitation to stop running long enough to hear what God (and your own body) have been trying to say.

Think about Elijah after Mount Carmel. God didn’t speak to him in the earthquake, the wind, or the fire. He spoke in the still, small voice. But Elijah had to stop running, stop performing, and stop proving before he could hear it.

Your exhaustion might be God’s way of getting you to stop. Not to punish you, but to speak to you.

What if the very thing you’ve been fighting is actually fighting for you?

What This Means for You

Please hear me out, my dear friend. Your exhaustion is not your enemy. It’s your body’s way of waving a white flag and saying, “Something needs to change.”

Instead of pushing past it, what if you paused and asked it a few questions?

• What am I doing that I need to stop doing?

• What am I avoiding that I need to face?

• What am I carrying that isn’t mine to carry?

• Where have I been running from God instead of toward Him?

These aren’t comfortable questions. But they’re the ones that lead to freedom.

You don’t have to answer them all today. But start with one. Just one honest conversation between you and God about what’s really going on under the surface of your tired.

Remember This Truth

Your exhaustion is not a character flaw. It’s a conversation.

Your body is not betraying you. It’s protecting you. That’s your brain telling your body to keep you safe.

And the God who created you with limits is not disappointed when you reach them. He’s been waiting there all along, ready to meet you in the place where your strength runs out and His begins.

Listen to your ‘tired.’ It has something important to say.

And the One who searches hearts and knows anxious thoughts? He’s listening too. He’s not waiting with judgment. He’s waiting with bread and water and a gentle voice that says, “Rest. I’ve got this. I’ve got you!”

An Invitation

This week, I want to invite you to try something different.

Instead of pushing through your tired, pause and ask it:

“What are you trying to tell me?”

Sit with the answer. Write it down if you can. Bring it to God in prayer. And see what He reveals.

You might discover that your exhaustion has been carrying a message you’ve been too busy to hear. And that message might just be the key to the rest you’ve been searching for.

Reply or leave a comment and tell me: what is your exhaustion trying to tell you? I’d love to hear what you discover.

Joyfully yours,

Tina 💖

📣What is your exhaustion trying to tell you? Hit reply or comment below. Sometimes naming it out loud is the first step toward hearing God’s answer.

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“She’s so strong.” “I don’t know how she does it.” “You’re the strongest woman I know.”

I collected those words like trophies. Every compliment about my strength went straight to the shelf where I kept my identity. I was the one who held it together. The one who didn’t crumble. The one everyone could count on.

Until the day I realized that the “strong” or “strong enough” labels I had worn like a crown, had become a prison to my soul.

Because somewhere along the way, being strong stopped being a character trait and became a contract. An unwritten agreement between me and the world that said: you will never need help, you will never fall apart, and you will never, ever admit that you’re drowning.

And I kept that contract. For years. While my soul quietly suffocated under the weight of it.

“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.” — 2 Corinthians 12:9

Here’s What Your Feelings Tell You Otherwise...

The “strong enough” lie sounds like this:

“If I ask for help, I’m admitting defeat.”

“People are counting on me. I can’t let them down.”

“If they saw the real me, they’d be disappointed.”

“God gave me this load because He knows I can carry it.”

“Who will hold things together if I fall apart?”

I believed every single one of those for longer than I’d like to admit.

The truth? I wasn’t being strong. I was performing strength. There’s a difference.

Real strength knows when to ask for help. Real strength says, “I’m not okay right now.” Real strength puts down the cape and picks up the phone.

But performance strength? That just keeps smiling. Keeps serving. Keeps saying “I’m fine” while the walls close in.

The Deeper Story

Paul didn’t say he overcame his weakness. He didn’t say he pushed through it. He said he boasted in it.

Boasted. In. Weakness.

That’s the opposite of everything we’ve been taught. The world says hide your weakness. The culture says power through. Even some church circles say “just have more faith” as if admitting exhaustion means admitting doubt.

But Paul understood something that took me decades to learn: God’s power doesn’t show up in our self-sufficiency. It shows up in our surrender.

When we finally stop pretending we’re strong enough on our own, we create space for His strength to actually do what ours never could.

“The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him, and he helps me.” — Psalm 28:7

Notice: “The Lord is my strength.” Not “I am my strength.” Not “My willpower is my strength.” Not “My ability to hold it all together is my strength.”

He is.

And here’s the beautiful paradox: admitting you’re not strong enough is actually the strongest thing you can do. Because it shifts the weight from your shoulders to His. And His shoulders? They never get tired.

Think about the women in Scripture who modeled this. Ruth admitted she had nothing and gleaned from someone else’s field. Hannah poured out her grief so raw that the priest thought she was drunk. The woman at the well told Jesus her whole messy story. None of them performed strength. They showed up honest. And God met them there.

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What This Means for You

Sweet friend, if you’ve been carrying the title of “the strong one,” can I ask you something?

Who carries you?

Who do you call when you’re the one falling apart? Who holds the space for your tears, your fears, your “I can’t do this anymore” moments?

If you can’t name anyone, that’s not a badge of honor. That’s a warning sign.

You were never meant to carry it all alone. Not the family. Not the ministry. Not the emotional weight of everyone around you. God designed us for interdependence, not independence.

“Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.” - Galatians 6:2

Each OTHER’s. That means someone should be carrying yours too.

Remember This Truth

Being strong is not the same as being okay.

Asking for help is not giving up. It’s growing up.

And admitting you’re not “strong enough”? That’s not weakness. That’s the beginning of real freedom.

You don’t have to be the strong one anymore. You just have to be the honest one. And let the God whose power is made perfect in weakness do what He does best.

Put down the crown, sweet friend. Pick up the rest.

An Invitation

I want to ask you something, and I want you to answer honestly:

What are you carrying right now that you were never meant to carry alone?

Maybe it’s a role. Maybe it’s a relationship. Maybe it’s an expectation you placed on yourself so long ago you forgot it was optional.

Name it. Say it out loud or write it down. And then ask yourself: what would it look like to set this down?

Reply or leave a comment and share with me. You might be surprised how many other women are carrying the same thing. And there’s freedom in knowing you’re not the only one.

Joyfully yours,

Tina 💛

📣What “strong enough” lie are you ready to let go of? Reply or comment below. Let’s lay it down together.

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I used to think rest was something I had to earn.

This mindset stemmed from the corporate culture of the 1990s, where meeting Wall Street expectations drove everything. Companies were expanding globally, downsizing locally, and demanding more from fewer people. Loyalty to the organization was expected but rarely returned. I was laid off five times in that decade alone, so trust me when I say: I know how real this was.

With this came the push to: Finish the project, then rest. Clear the inbox, then rest. Get through this busy season, then rest. But the rest never came and work kept coming and coming and coming.

Rest was always waiting on the other side of productivity. A reward for the deserving. A break for those who had completed enough to justify taking one. At the time, I felt like a hamster on a wheel, trying for the right moment to jump off to rest.

But last week, while studying creation account in Genesis, something stopped me cold.

God rested on the seventh day. But Adam and Eve? They were created on the sixth day. Which means the very first full day of human existence was a day of rest.

They hadn’t earned anything. They hadn’t completed a single project or checked off a single to-do list. They had literally just been made.

And God said: Rest.

Not “work first, then rest.” Just... rest.

“By the seventh day God had finished the work he had been doing; so on the seventh day he rested from all his work. Then God blessed the seventh day and made it holy.”

— Genesis 2:2–3

When Your Mind Tells You Otherwise...

I know what you might be thinking, because I’ve thought it too:

“I haven’t done enough to deserve a break.”

“Resting now means falling behind.”

“Other people manage more than me without stopping.”

“God helps those who help themselves.” (That’s not even in the Bible, by the way.)

“If I rest, everything will fall apart.”

I lived by these lies for years. I wore my exhaustion like a medal. I mistook burnout for dedication and collapse for commitment. I told myself that resting was for people who didn’t care as much as I did.

Again, that was the corporate culture I had accepted, eventually spilling over into other areas of my life.

But here’s what I was really saying: “I don’t trust God to hold things together if I stop.”

Ouch. That one still stings.

The Deeper Truth

Here’s what I never noticed before: God gave Adam and Eve rest BEFORE He gave them work.

Genesis 1:28 contains the command to fill the earth and subdue it. Genesis 2:15 puts Adam in the garden to work it and take care of it. But Genesis 2:2–3? The Sabbath is established first.

Rest wasn’t the reward for completing the mission. Rest was the foundation for beginning it.

What if we’ve had it backwards all along?

What if rest isn’t something we earn after we’ve done enough, but something we receive so we CAN do anything at all?

“Remember the Sabbath day by keeping it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is a sabbath to the Lord your God.”

—Exodus 20:8–10

It’s literally one of the Ten Commandments. Right up there with “don’t murder” and “don’t steal.”

Yet somehow, we treat Sabbath like a suggestion. A nice idea for people with less demanding lives. An optional extra for those who have the luxury.

But God didn’t say “Rest if you can fit it in.”

He didn’t say “Rest when you’re caught up.”

He said “Remember.” As in: you’re going to forget. Life is going to crowd it out. Busyness will feel more urgent than rest. So remember. Keep it holy. Protect it.

Why would God command rest?

Because He knew we’d never choose it on our own. Not because we’re lazy, but because we’re wired to perform. To prove. To push. And left to our own devices, we will run ourselves into the ground and call it faithfulness.

What This Means for You

If you’ve been waiting until you’ve earned the right to rest, I need you to hear this:

You already have it.

Not because you’ve been productive enough. Not because you’ve served enough. Not because you’ve suffered enough.

Because God designed it for you before you ever lifted a finger.

Rest is not the finish line. It’s the starting block.

What would it look like to stop treating rest as a reward and start receiving it as a gift?

What would shift in your week if you protected one day, one afternoon, even one hour as sacred, set-apart time to simply be?

You don’t have to figure it all out today. But you can start by letting go of the lie that you haven’t done enough to deserve a break.

You were made to rest. It’s in your design. It was God’s idea before it was ever yours.

Remember This Truth

Rest is not laziness. It’s obedience.

Sabbath is not optional. It’s an invitation.

And slowing down doesn’t mean you’re falling behind. It means you’re finally trusting the One who never stops working on your behalf.

The God who created the universe in six days and rested on the seventh is the same God who holds your world together while you sleep. He doesn’t need your hustle. He wants your trust.

So rest, sweet friend. Not because you’ve earned it. Because He gave it.

An Invitation

Before you scroll away, I want to ask you something:

What would it look like for you to receive rest as a gift this week?

Maybe it’s protecting Sunday afternoon from the to-do list. Maybe it’s putting your phone down or closing your laptop for an hour to stop ‘doom scrolling’ and just breathing. Maybe it’s saying no to one commitment so you can say yes to stillness.

Whatever it looks like, start small. And start believing that you don’t have to earn what God freely gives. Remember He loves you unconditionally. God loves when you spend time with Him.

Reply or leave a comment and tell me: what’s one way you can receive the gift of rest this week? I’d love to hear from you.

Joyfully yours,

Tina 💖

📣What would change if you stopped trying to earn rest and started receiving it? Hit reply or comment below. Let’s talk about it.

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✨Get Your Free The 7 Faces of Exhaustion™ Self-Assessment✨

Last week, Ihad a break in my schedule so I called a friend. She answered the phone. Once we go past the initial excitement of hearing one another’s voice, I asked her ‘how are y ou doing?”

“Tired, what else is, right?” she replied.

But then I asked her something that stopped her:

“What kind of tired?”

She chuckled nervously. “I don’t know... just... tired?”

After a pregnant pause moment, I responded to her uncertainty. “Honey, there’s more than one type of tired. And the remedy depends on which one you’re dealing with.”

That conversation changed something in her.

I shared that not all exhaustion looks the same or feels the same. And if she was going to find her way from exhaustion to joy, she needed to understand what she was actually dealing with.

And the same may hold true for you.

Subscribe now

“Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts.”

— Psalm 139:23

The Psalmist knew something we often forget: we need God’s help to understand what’s really going on inside us. Our hearts are complex. Our exhaustion is layered. And His wisdom can help us untangle it all.

The 7 Faces of Exhaustion (Beyond Tired)

As I’ve walked this journey, and talked with countless women along the way, I’ve come to recognize seven different types of exhaustion. See if any of these sound familiar:

1. Physical Exhaustion

This is the one we recognize first: the body crying out for rest. Sleep deprivation. Chronic illness. Hormonal changes. The sheer physical toll of doing too much for too long.

Signs: Fatigue that sleep doesn’t fix. Body aches. Brain fog. Getting sick more often.

2. Emotional Exhaustion

When you’ve felt too much for too long. The caregiver who’s always giving. The listener who never gets heard. The one who holds it all together so everyone else can fall apart.

Signs: Feeling numb. Crying easily (or not being able to cry at all). Emotional detachment from things you used to care about.

3. Mental Exhaustion

Decision fatigue. Information overload. The weight of holding all the family calendars, appointments, deadlines, and details in your head. (They call it the “mental load” for a reason.)

Signs: Difficulty concentrating. Forgetting things. Feeling overwhelmed by simple decisions.

4. Spiritual Exhaustion

When your soul feels dry. When prayer feels like talking to the ceiling. When you’re going through the motions of faith but not feeling the connection. This is the one we often hide, even from ourselves.

Signs: Feeling distant from God. Doubt creeping in. Bible reading feels like a chore. Wondering if He even hears you.

5. Social Exhaustion

People-pleasing takes a toll. So does loneliness. Sometimes we’re drained by too many relationships demanding our energy. Sometimes we’re drained by not having the deep connections we crave.

Signs: Dreading social events. Feeling lonely in a crowd. Needing to recover after being with people. Isolating yourself for extended periods of time.

6. Compassion Fatigue

For the helpers. The fixers. The ones who carry other people’s burdens alongside their own. The perpetual empath. This is the exhaustion that comes from caring so deeply for so long that you have nothing left to give.

Signs: Feeling resentful toward people you’re helping. Loss of empathy. Wondering if your efforts even matter.

7. Purpose Exhaustion

The deep weariness that comes from questioning whether what you’re doing even matters. Feeling stuck in the same routine without meaning. Wondering if this is really what God created you for.

Signs: Existential questions. Feeling “stuck.” Going through motions without passion. Asking “Is this all there is?”

✨Get Your Free Self-Assessment Today!✨

My Truth

After taking a look at this list and sharing it with her, I realized I wanted to circle just one, myself. That would be manageable. Fixable.

But honestly, most seasons of my own deepest exhaustion have involved at least three or four of these at once. They layer on top of each other. They feed each other. It all depends on the season of life I’m in.

Physical exhaustion makes me emotionally fragile. Emotional depletion disconnects me from God. Spiritual dryness makes everything feel meaningless.

As a perpetual empath, I hide behind the proverbial curtain. Kind of like the Wizard of Oz in that scene where he’s been giving commands from behind the curtain. He gets exposed and turns out to be a coward, but he means well. And around and around it goes.

But here’s the good news: naming it is the first step toward healing it.

“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”

— Psalm 147:3

God doesn’t just offer blanket remedies. He sees the specific places where you’re wounded. He knows which type of tired is keeping you up at night. And He meets you there, in the exact place of your need.

Over the coming weeks, we’re going to explore this together. We’ll talk about rest that actually restores. Boundaries that actually protect. And joy that can show up even when you’re still in the middle of the tired.

Remember This Truth

Your exhaustion isn’t a character flaw. It’s information.

It’s your body, mind, heart, or soul telling you something needs to change. Something needs attention. Something needs healing.

And the God who created you, every complex, beautiful, layered part of you, He’s not surprised by any of it. He’s not disappointed. He’s ready to meet you right where you are. You are His masterpiece, and that means you are very special.

God’s Invitation

Take a moment, just a quiet moment, and ask God: “Search me. Show me which kind of tired I’m carrying.”

No judgment. No fixing required. Just honest awareness.

Because you can’t address what you won’t acknowledge. And this journey from exhaustion to joy? It starts with telling the truth about where we really are.

Joyfully yours,

Tina 💖

📣 Which face(s) of exhaustion resonated most with you? Reply or comment below. Sometimes just naming it brings relief. And remember, you’re not alone in this. I’m grateful to walk this journey with you.

God isn’t done with us yet!🙌🏼

Leave a comment

“From my heart to yours, thank you for reading. 💖

I’d love to have you join the Joy God’s Way™ community, so we can keep moving from exhaustion into joy together, God’s way! 🌿

Subscribe now

I recently asked a friend a question that stopped her mid-sentence.

She’d answered the phone with her usual energy, but when I asked how she was doing, she sighed. “Tired. What else is new, right?”

So I asked her something she wasn’t expecting: “What kind of tired?”

She chuckled nervously. “I don’t know... just... tired?”

After a long pause, I said, “Honey, there’s more than one type of tired. And the remedy depends on which one you’re dealing with.”

At that moment, the tone of the conversation changed. She began to share one event in her life that took place at work.

“A coworker was having a medical episode and collapsed onto the floor from his desk. I did my best to revive him by providing CPR, but he succumbed to the medical episode. Being there with someone dying right in front of me, someone I did my best to save, has weighed heavy on my heart and my mind.”

There was an awkward silence. This wasn’t a moment for remedies. It was a moment to listen. To sit with her in the weight of what she was carrying.

As we continued the conversation, I let her know that I understood, to the extent that I could, what she meant by being... just... tired. She carried a lot on her shoulders and was the “strong one” in everything, no matter what she had to deal with professionally or personally. She was the friend we all went to. The one we confided in.

I’m Tina, and I’ve spent over 35 years walking alongside women who were carrying more than they were ever meant to hold alone. Believe me when I say I understand how that feels.

I too have been the one friends, family, and even strangers would lean on for support. The trusted one with the answers. The one who showed up emotionally for everyone else. Always appearing to handle adversity as though it wasn’t a challenge.

But deep inside, it was wearing me down.

I still had my own life to navigate. Losing loved ones. Divorce. Being laid off nine times. Hearing the gun go off when my landlord of twenty years committed suicide. Tough financial decisions. Navigating narcissistic relationships. And the list goes on.

Through women’s ministry, stewardship ministry, corporate environments, thousands of honest conversations, and I can’t leave out therapy, I’ve learned something: most women don’t need another lecture on self-care. They need someone to help them understand why the self-care isn’t working.

This framework came from my own journey and from walking with women just like you. Women of faith who love God, serve others, and quietly wonder why they’re still so tired.

“Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts.”

— Psalm 139:23

The Psalmist knew something we often forget: we need God’s help to understand what’s really going on inside us. Our hearts are complex. Our exhaustion is layered. And His wisdom can help us untangle it all.

The 7 Faces of Exhaustion (Beyond Tired)

As I’ve walked this journey, and talked with countless women along the way, I’ve come to recognize seven different types of exhaustion. See if any of these sound familiar:

1. Physical Exhaustion

This is the one we recognize first: the body crying out for rest. Sleep deprivation. Chronic illness. Hormonal changes. The sheer physical toll of doing too much for too long.

Signs: Fatigue that sleep doesn’t fix. Body aches. Brain fog. Getting sick more often.

You tell yourself, “If I could just get one good night’s sleep, I’d be fine.” But that night never seems to come.

2. Emotional Exhaustion

When you’ve felt too much for too long. The caregiver who’s always giving. The listener who never gets heard. The one who holds it all together so everyone else can fall apart.

Signs: Feeling numb. Crying easily (or not being able to cry at all). Emotional detachment from things you used to care about.

You can’t remember the last time someone asked how you were doing and actually waited for the real answer.

3. Mental Exhaustion

Decision fatigue. Information overload. The weight of holding all the family calendars, appointments, deadlines, and details in your head. (They call it the “mental load” for a reason.)

Signs: Difficulty concentrating. Forgetting things. Feeling overwhelmed by simple decisions.

You stood in the grocery store for ten minutes trying to decide between two brands of pasta. And then you left without buying either.

4. Spiritual Exhaustion

When your soul feels dry. When prayer feels like talking to the ceiling. When you’re going through the motions of faith but not feeling the connection. This is the one we often hide, even from ourselves.

Signs: Feeling distant from God. Doubt creeping in. Bible reading feels like a chore. Wondering if He even hears you.

You still believe. You just can’t feel it anymore. And admitting that out loud feels like a betrayal.

5. Social Exhaustion

People-pleasing takes a toll. So does loneliness. Sometimes we’re drained by too many relationships demanding our energy. Sometimes we’re drained by not having the deep connections we crave.

Signs: Dreading social events. Feeling lonely in a crowd. Needing to recover after being with people. Isolating yourself for extended periods of time.

Your phone rings and your first instinct is to let it go to voicemail. Not because you don’t love them. Because you just don’t have anything left to give.

6. Compassion Fatigue

For the helpers. The fixers. The ones who carry other people’s burdens alongside their own. The perpetual empath. This is the exhaustion that comes from caring so deeply for so long that you have nothing left to give.

Signs: Feeling resentful toward people you’re helping. Loss of empathy. Wondering if your efforts even matter.

You used to be the first one to show up. Now you secretly hope someone else will volunteer, and then you feel guilty for thinking it.

7. Purpose Exhaustion

The deep weariness that comes from questioning whether what you’re doing even matters. Feeling stuck in the same routine without meaning. Wondering if this is really what God created you for.

Signs: Existential questions. Feeling “stuck.” Going through motions without passion. Asking “Is this all there is?”

You look at your life and think, “This is fine. Everything is fine.” But “fine” has started to feel like a prison.

Here’s What I Know to Be True

When I first sat with this list, I wanted to circle just one. That would be manageable. Fixable.

But honestly? Most seasons of my own deepest exhaustion have involved at least three or four of these at once. They layer on top of each other. They feed each other.

Physical exhaustion makes me emotionally fragile. Emotional depletion disconnects me from God. Spiritual dryness makes everything feel meaningless. And around and around it goes.

If you’re being honest with yourself right now, you might be carrying more than one of these too.

And here’s the good news: naming it is the first step toward healing it.

“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”

— Psalm 147:3

God doesn’t just offer blanket remedies. He sees the specific places where you’re wounded. He knows which type of tired is keeping you up at night. And He meets you there, in the exact place of your need.

Remember This Truth

Your exhaustion isn’t a character flaw. It’s information.

It’s your body, mind, heart, or soul telling you something needs to change. Something needs attention. Something needs healing.

And the God who created you, every complex, beautiful, layered part of you, He’s not surprised by any of it. He’s not disappointed. He’s ready to meet you right where you are. You are His masterpiece, and that means you are very special.

God’s Invitation

Take a moment, just a quiet moment, and ask God: “Search me. Show me which kind of tired I’m carrying.”

No judgment. No fixing required. Just honest awareness.

Because you can’t address what you won’t acknowledge. And this journey from exhaustion to joy? It starts with telling the truth about where we really are.

If This Resonated, You Belong Here

Joy God’s Way™ is a space I created for women just like you. Women of faith who love God and serve others, but who have been quietly running on empty for longer than they’d like to admit.

Every Thursday, I share a devotional right here on Substack. Rooted in Scripture, written from real life, and designed to meet you wherever you are that week. These aren’t lectures. They’re letters from a friend who has walked through the fire and found God waiting on the other side to transform her.

Throughout the week, I share daily Notes: short encouragements, reflections, and truths to carry with you. Think of them as little exhales tucked into your day.

This space is built on four foundations: obedience, surrender, gratitude, and joy. Not joy as the world defines it. Joy as God designed it. Rooted in Scripture, renewed in Spirit. restored in joy!🌿

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Subscribing is free, and it means my Thursday devotionals and daily Notes will land right in your inbox. No algorithms. No performing. Just truth, grace, and a community of women who are learning to trade their masks for something real.

And if you want to go deeper, paid subscribers receive extended devotional content, behind-the-scenes reflections, and first access to upcoming e-books and resources. It’s a small investment in a space that was built to pour into you.

Where to Start

If you’re new here, welcome. Here are three posts that will give you a feel for what Joy God’s Way is all about:

• What Is Joy? — Understanding the difference between biblical joy and worldly happiness, and why it matters for your daily life.

• When ‘Yes’ Was the Wrong Answer — For every woman who has said yes to everyone else and forgotten to ask God what He was saying.

• Why You Have Permission to Be Tired — Because sometimes the bravest thing you can do is stop pretending you’re fine.

With love and so much joy,

Founder, Joy God’s Way™

📣 Which face(s) of exhaustion resonated most with you? Reply or comment below. Sometimes just naming it brings relief. And remember, you’re not alone in this. I’m grateful to walk this journey with you.

God isn’t done with us yet.🙌🏼

Leave a comment

“From my heart to yours, thank you for reading. 💖

Also, I’d like to thank those who are free or paid subscribers to my Joy God’s Way™ newsletter.

Joy God’s Way™ is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

I’d love to have you join the Joy God’s Way™ community, so we can keep moving from exhaustion to joy together, God’s way! 🌿

Subscribe now

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I’m Still Tired (And That’s Okay)

It’s been a few weeks since Easter.

And you know what?

I’m still tired. Yes, I know it seems that I keep bringing this up, but there’s a good reason for it…I can’t be the only one who is feeling like this?

So let me explain.

It’s not just the “I could use a nap” tired. What I mean is:

The kind of tired that makes you forget why you walked into the kitchen. However, at 64 years old, I would usually attribute it to age, but that’s another story for another day. Now where were we… oh yeah:

The kind of tired that has you staring at the laundry basket like it personally wronged you.

The kind of tired where your favorite friend or family member calls and you let it go to voicemail.

The kind of tired that makes even rest feel exhausting.

Not so much physically, but mentally. And the thing about mental fatigue is that it tricks your body into feeling heavy too.

And then it hit me: when the Easter season finally wrapped and we celebrated “It is Finished,” I realized something — now I get to focus on all the events of spring and summer.

You know the ones. Asking the boss for time off for summer vacation. How to keep the kids busy during the summer. Graduations. Weddings. Summer holidays. More birthdays. Mid-year doctor’s appointments.

And the list goes on with the ‘life’ stuff, daily noise of the news media, politics, wars, financial crisis and all the other ‘gloom and doom’ the world tries to throw at us. It’s enough to make you want to scream!

Well, last week I gave myself permission to crash. I put on my favorite Target Bullseye fuzzy pants. Bought Italian subs, so no cooking. Closed my eyes by 4pm for a nap, to give me enough ‘get up and go’ until bedtime.

But here’s what I didn’t expect: waking up the next day... I was still tired.

And the day after that.

And this morning.

What got to me the most? I started to feel guilty about it. Started feeling like a hamster on a wheel — the never-ending cycle.

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures.” - Psalm 23:1-2

Did you catch that? He makes me lie down.

Not suggests. Not recommends. Not hints.

“He makes me.”

Because sometimes, the Shepherd knows we won’t rest unless we’re led to it. Sometimes our bodies give out before our minds give in. Sometimes we need more than a single Sunday afternoon of fuzzy pants to recover from years of running on fumes.

And that’s not weakness. That’s wisdom starting to wake up.

When Your Mind Tells You Otherwise...

I know what you might be thinking. Because I’ve thought it too:

“I should be over this by now.”

“Other people are fine. What’s wrong with me?”

“If I just push through, I’ll catch up eventually.”

“Rest is for people who don’t have as much to do.”

“I don’t even have children who depend on me. How can I be this tired?”

I spent years believing these lies. Years smiling through Sunday services while my soul was screaming for stillness. Years filling my calendar to the margins and calling it "ministry" when it was really just avoidance, which eventually turned into isolation. I thought I was in control.

Because here’s the truth I had to learn the hard way: being busy was easier than being still. In the stillness, I had to face things. In the stillness, I had to feel things. In the stillness, I couldn’t hide behind productivity. In the stillness, I thought I would be exposed. And there it was again: the guilt of being still.

But God doesn’t lead us beside still waters just for scenery. He leads us there because that’s where restoration begins.

The Deeper Truth

Here’s what I’m learning: rest isn’t a one-time event. It’s a rhythm.

You wouldn’t expect one meal to satisfy you for a week. You wouldn’t expect one night’s sleep to carry you through the month. So why do we expect one afternoon of rest to undo years of depletion?

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me... and you will find rest for your souls.”

— Matthew 11:28–29

Notice Jesus says “come” and then “take” and then “learn.”

It’s a process. A practice. A way of living.

If you’re still tired, even after trying to rest, you’re not failing. You’re just not finished yet. And neither am I.

Remember This Truth

Through it all, the verse above reminded me that I'm to give my burdens to the Lord. Starting right now. And to move past the shame and guilt by telling myself:

It’s okay to still be tired.

It’s okay to need more rest than I thought.

It’s okay to take longer to recover than expected.

It’s okay to be human.

As I said at the beginning, I can’t be the only one. So, I share this with you because you are not a machine built to perform. You are a beloved daughter designed to flourish. And flourishing takes time.

The Shepherd is patient. His green pastures aren’t going anywhere. And neither is His love for you, whether you feel rested or still running on empty.

An Invitation

If this resonates with you, if you’re reading this and thinking “that’s me,” would you take a moment today to stop striving?

No pressure. No productivity required.

Just breathe. Just be. Just let the Good Shepherd lead you beside still waters, even if it’s only for five minutes.

You’re worth it. And so is your rest.

Joyfully yours,

Tina 💖

How long have you been running on empty? Hit reply or leave a comment. I’d love to hear your story. You’re not alone in this.

Leave a comment

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Fuzzy Pants and Couch Time

It happened Monday morning. I had served at five of our church’s nine Easter services that weekend.

I attended the Good Friday service for my own edification. Served for three services on Saturday. And two more on Sunday.

And I loved every single minute of it.

I greeted. I smiled. I pointed people toward open seats and offered tissues to the ones who cried when the choir sang. I watched families reunite, children and adults dressed in their ‘Sunday’ best, and people meet Jesus for the very first time.

It was holy work. Sacred exhaustion. Everything I wanted to give.

And then Easter Sunday came to an end.

By 2pm, I turned to my husband and asked him to cancel our brunch reservation at one of my favorite restaurants. Not postpone. Cancel. I had nothing left. I was at full capacity.

We decided to pick up Italian deli sandwiches from our favorite local spot, came home, and I put on my fuzzy pants. You know the ones. The pants that say, “I am officially done being a person today.”

By 4pm, we were both fighting to keep our eyes open.

“We must be getting old,” my husband laughed.

“It’s not old,” I said with a half smile. “It’s empty.”

Here’s the thing no one talks about after Easter: the crash.

We spend weeks preparing. We fast. We pray. We serve. We show up with everything we’ve got and we should. Resurrection Sunday deserves our full hearts and our open hands.

But when Monday comes… when the sanctuary is empty and the decorations are packed away... when real life starts knocking again with bills, and deadlines, and the 47 things you put on hold “until after Easter”...

Sometimes we crash.

And sometimes we feel guilty about it.

***

When Your Feelings Tell You Otherwise...

Can I tell you something that occurred to me?

As I sat on that couch Sunday afternoon, fuzzy pants on, sandwich half-eaten, eyes barely open, a familiar voice started whispering:

“You should be celebrating, not collapsing.”

“Other people served just as much and they’re fine.”

“What kind of Christian can’t even make it through the day?”

“You’re supposed to be filled with resurrection power, not drained by it.”

Maybe you’ve heard those whispers too.

Maybe you’ve spent years believing that exhaustion after serving is somehow a faith failure. That if you were really walking in the Spirit, you’d have boundless energy. That needing rest means you’re doing something wrong.

Sweet friend, that’s a lie. And I’m ready to stop believing it.

***

The Deeper Truth

Here’s what I know to be true:

Jesus withdrew. After feeding the 5,000, after healing the sick, after pouring Himself out, He got in a boat. He went to a quiet place. He stepped away from the crowds who needed Him.

Elijah collapsed. After his greatest victory on Mount Carmel, fire from heaven, prophets defeated, God glorified, he ran into the wilderness and asked God to let him die. And what did God do? Scold him? Tell him to push through? No. He sent an angel with bread and water. Twice. And then let him sleep.

David cried out. “I am worn out from my groaning. All night long I flood my bed with weeping” (Psalm 6:6). The man after God’s own heart? Exhausted. Depleted. Honest about it.

Even the disciples. After the most miraculous weekend in human history, they went back to fishing because they didn’t know what else to do.

Exhaustion after pouring out is not a faith failure. It’s a human experience. And last time I checked, we’re still very much human.

***

What This Means For You

If you’re reading this in your own version of fuzzy pants...

If your body is tired and your mind is foggy and your soul is quietly whispering, “Can I rest now?”...

The answer is yes.

Yes, you can rest.

Yes, you can cancel the plans.

Yes, you can eat a simple sandwich and call it a feast.

Yes, you can sit on the couch at 4pm and let your eyes close without guilt.

The same Jesus who rose from the grave is the One who said, “Come to Me... and I will give you rest.”

He didn’t say, “Come to Me once you’ve recovered on your own.”

He didn’t say, “Come to Me once you’ve caught up on everything you missed.”

He said, “Come. Now. As you are. Weary and burdened and still in your fuzzy pants.”

***

Remember This Truth

Today, I’m giving you permission, not that you need mine, but sometimes it helps to hear it from someone who’s been there:

• Rest is not laziness.

• Recovery is not weakness.

• And slowing down after giving everything? That’s not failure. That’s wisdom.

The resurrection didn’t end on Sunday. The power of what Jesus did is still working, in you, through you, and yes, even when you’re too tired to feel it.

So rest, sweet friend. He’s got you.

***

A Prayer for My Sister🙏🏼

An Invitation

Before you scroll away, I want to ask you something:

What does your version of “fuzzy pants” look like?

Maybe it’s your favorite hoodie. Maybe it’s the corner of the couch where you can finally exhale. Maybe it’s that one meal you eat when you just can’t anymore.

Reply or leave a comment and tell me. I’d love to hear from you. Because there’s something powerful about knowing we’re not alone in this.

Leave a comment

And if you’re still in your own post-Easter crash? This is your permission slip to stay there a little longer. He’s not rushing you. Neither am I.

***

Joyfully yours,

Tina 💖

As I began writing this article, I can still see the Italian stained glass windows, representing the 14 Stations of The Cross, which depicted Jesus on the day of his crucifixion (His suffering and death).

I was a little girl sitting with my grandfather (who was an Episcopal priest), as visitors at an Episcopal Cathedral. My legs dangling off the pew, watching the colors pour through the glass from the sun, like God was painting the walls just for me. And then the hymn started. “Onward, Christian Soldiers.” The organ swelled. The congregation rose. And something in that moment marked me in a way I wouldn’t understand for decades.

“Onward, Christian soldiers, marching as to war, with the cross of Jesus going on before.” -Sabine Baring-Gould, 1865.

I didn’t know what the cross truly meant yet. I just knew it mattered. I could feel it in the music, in the stained glass, in the way my grandfather stood next to me singing in that Cathedral, like he was singing directly to God, in his rich baritone voice. Something about Good Friday got into my bones before I had words for it.

It wasn’t until decades later, in my early 30’s, that I accepted Christ as my Lord and Savior in 1994. And that’s when what I had felt as a child became what I knew as a woman. Good Friday wasn’t just a story. It was the story. The one that changed everything.

And it’s the story that’s about to change everything for you too.

***

When the Greatest Gift You Ever Received Wasn’t Under a Tree

We celebrate Christmas, and there’s beauty in that. The manger. The star. The baby who came to save the world. People exchange gifts, and it’s a wonderful thing.

But Good Friday? That’s where the greatest gift was given. Not wrapped in paper. Wrapped in thorns. Not placed under a tree. Placed on one.

God gave us the gift of His Son. Jesus gave us the gift of His life. He took every sin, every shame, every broken thing we’ve ever carried and bore the weight of it on that cross. Not because we earned it. Not because we deserved it. Because He loved us that much.

And here is the part that still makes me catch my breath: He didn’t stay on the cross. He didn’t stay in the tomb. On the third day, He rose again. Death didn’t get the last word. It never does. Not with our God.

That’s Easter. Not bunnies and brunch. Easter is the moment God looked at death, defeat, and every sealed tomb in human history and said: “Not the last word. Not on My watch.”

And He’s saying it over your life too.

***

The Morning Everything Changed

Two thousand years ago, Mary Magdalene and Mary, the mother of James, walked to a tomb at dawn. They weren’t expecting a miracle. They were expecting a body. They came with spices and grief and the heavy, hollow ache of watching someone they loved die.

But when they arrived, the stone was rolled away. The tomb was empty. And an angel asked them the most radical question in human history:

“Why do you look for the living among the dead?”

Read that again. Let it land.

Those women went looking for death and found life instead. They went expecting an ending and walked into a beginning. Everything they thought was over was actually just starting.

I’ve been those women. Maybe you have too. Walking toward something you were certain was finished, only to find that God had been working in the silence the whole time.

***

What “Newness of Life” Actually Means

In Romans 6:4 (NIV), Paul writes something that has become the heartbeat of this entire series:

“We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life.”

A new life. Not a perfect life. Not a painless life. A new one.

The Greek word for “new” here is kainos. It doesn’t mean brand new, as in ‘never existed before.’ It means renewed. Made fresh. Given new quality and character. It’s the same word used in 2 Corinthians 5:17 (NIV):

“If anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old is gone, the new is here!.”

That means you’re not starting from scratch. You’re starting from everything you’ve survived. Every valley, every tear, every night you thought you wouldn’t make it. God isn’t erasing your story. He’s redeeming it. He’s taking the woman who walked through the fire and saying, “Now watch what I do with her.”

That’s not just theology. That’s resurrection power.

***

Resurrection Is in Your Biology

Here’s something remarkable that science confirms: you are literally designed for renewal.

Researchers who study post-traumatic growth have found that people who walk through significant hardship don’t just bounce back to where they were before. They grow beyond it. They actually develop greater emotional depth, stronger relationships, a clearer sense of purpose, and a more authentic faith than they had before the hard season.

You read that right. You don’t just bounce back. You grow beyond where you were before…over time.

That’s not just resilience. That’s resurrection built into your biology. God designed you so that the hardest seasons of your life would become the soil for your greatest growth.

Remember from Week 1 (She’s Still Breathing, But Barely), how chronic stress shrinks parts of the brain? Here’s the rest of that story: those areas can grow back. Your brain rebuilds itself through rest, gratitude, connection, and the exact kinds of tiny steps you’ve been taking over these four weeks. You’re not the same woman you were when this series started. And science says your brain knows it too.

The valley of dry bones wasn’t the end of the story. It was the setup for the miracle.

***

When I Was Truly Alive Again

I want to tell you about the moment I knew something had fundamentally changed in me. Not the moment everything got fixed. The moment I realized I was different.

It was when I decided that happiness was never going to be enough.

For years, I had been chasing happy. Happy circumstances. Happy outcomes. Happy endings. But happiness is dependent on what happens. And what was happening in my life, at a time when I had decided to ‘retire’ from the general work force, so that I could enjoy my life and spend more time being with the ones I loved and have more time to finally start my business, there was one loss after another.

My dad passed away in 2023. Within a month of his passing, I lost two of my closest friends and confidants. Then, not long after that in 2024, I found out that my ex-husband and a man I had dated both passed away a day apart. You start thinking about mortality. You stop taking things for granted. The weight of all that loss in such a short window of time was staggering.

And then there was Mom.

After Daddy passed, I started building all these beautiful plans for when she would move from the West Coast to live with us here in Florida, while her new home was being built in North Carolina. I had ideas for what we would do together, places we would go, the time we would finally have. If I’m honest, it was my escape hatch. Pouring into those plans was a way to avoid dealing with everything I was carrying personally. I was wrapping my life around her because having someone I loved that much nearby felt like safety.

But those were my plans. Not necessarily hers. And they weren’t God’s either.

Mom came to Florida. And three weeks after she arrived, she was gone.

I had lost a mother. But I had also lost my truly best friend. The one person I had been building my next chapter around.

Just one month after mommy’s passing, my father-in-law succumbed to Alzheimer’s after five years in memory care. My husband now had his own emotions and pain to navigate. There was a realization that it was now just the two of us. Both emotionally spent trying to process everything, as everything else in life continued to happen.

And suddenly, I had no one left to lean on. I was alone emotionally and had no support. Truly alone. The kind of alone where you look around and realize that every person you’d been depending on is gone, and the silence is so loud it hurts. And the one person I wanted to lean on is, is not emotionally available.

But God!

That’s when something shifted.

In that loneliness, I remembered Christ’s sacrificial love for me. It wasn’t a dramatic moment. It was more like a return. A recommitment. A quiet turning of my heart back to the One who had been there through all of it. I started focusing on Him. Not on my plans, not on my escape hatches, not on what I wanted to happen. On Him.

And what came out of that was not happiness. It was joy. True, deep, rooted joy that came from seeing everything He had brought me through. Only He could understand the depth of my hurt and sorrow. Only He knows me well enough to guide me. Only He who died for me could provide the grace and mercy it took to carry me through those losses.

Sometimes it felt like all of those losses had to happen to bring me closer to Him. By putting Him first. By letting go of the people and plans I had gripped so tightly. That’s when the peace that surpasses all understanding began to play an important role in my day to day.

We can lean on those who are close to us, whether we are bonded through family or friends or circumstances. But nobody loves me like King Jesus. Nobody. And that’s what Good Friday taught me. Not as a little girl in a Cathedral. But as a woman who had buried enough people to know that the only One who never leaves is the One who chose to die so I could live.

And here’s what ties my story to yours and to Easter itself: just as Jesus died and rose again on the third day, parts of our lives die too. Dreams die. Relationships die. Seasons end. But through the blood of Jesus Christ, we are resurrected. We come back to life. Not the old life. A new one. Kainos. Renewed. Made fresh.

***

What Alive Looks Like Now

Let me paint a picture of where you are, because I don’t think you see it clearly yet.

Four weeks ago, you were running on empty. The alarm went off and you were already tired. You said “I’m fine” so many times you almost believed it. Your faith felt flat, your joy felt borrowed, and you couldn’t remember the last time you felt truly alive.

And now?

Now you’re noticing the light again. You’re putting the phone down. You’re choosing differently. Not perfectly, but intentionally. You’re learning that contentment isn’t about having it all together. It’s about trusting the One who holds it all.

You’re praying honest prayers. You’re setting boundaries without guilt. You’re giving yourself permission to breathe, to rest, to be human.

That’s not small. That’s resurrection.

Because ‘alive’ doesn’t mean ‘perfect.’ Alive means present. Alive means you feel things again, the good and the difficult. Alive means you are no longer going through the motions. You’re going through a transformation.

And the most beautiful part? You’re not doing it alone. You never were.

***

A Letter to the Woman You Were Four Weeks Ago

If I could go back and talk to you four weeks ago, the woman who set the alarm and lay there too tired to move, here’s what I’d say:

It’s going to get better. Not all at once. Not in the way you expect. But slowly, gently, one tiny breath at a time, God is going to put you back together. And when He does, you’ll realize He was there the whole time. In the exhaustion. In the silence. In the tears you cried when nobody was watching.

I’d tell you that the valley isn’t your address. It’s your passage. You’re walking through it, not living in it.

I’d tell you that the flutter you’re about to feel isn’t your imagination. It’s the Holy Spirit reminding you that dead things don’t stay dead. Not in God’s hands.

I’d tell you that you’re going to set a boundary and survive it. You’re going to say no and not fall apart. You’re going to choose yourself and discover that it’s not selfish. It’s sacred.

And I’d tell you this: Easter is coming. Not just on the calendar. In your life. The stone is about to roll away. And when you see what God has been doing in the silence, behind the sealed door, in the places you gave up on, you’re going to understand why He let you walk through the valley.

Not to destroy you. To resurrect you.

***

Your New Season Needs New Rhythms

I want to talk about something practical, because resurrection without rhythm is just a good feeling that fades by Tuesday.

You’ve spent these four weeks making tiny shifts. A Noticing List. The One In, One Out rule. Honest prayers. Three slow breaths. Choosing rest over guilt.

These aren’t just exercises. They’re the infrastructure of your new life. And the research backs this up: studies on habit formation consistently show that lasting change comes not from motivation (which is unreliable) but from routine (which is structural). Your brain doesn’t need another burst of inspiration. It needs a rhythm it can rely on.

So before you close this post, decide: what rhythms are you taking with you? Not ten new habits. Just two or three non-negotiables that anchor you to God and to yourself.

Maybe it’s five minutes of silence before the house wakes up. Maybe it’s a weekly walk with no phone. Maybe it’s opening your Bible before you open Instagram. Whatever it is, guard it. Because that rhythm is the root system that will keep you standing when the next storm comes.

And a storm will come. But this time, you’ll have roots, deeply planted.

***

This Easter, It’s Personal

This Easter, I’m not just celebrating a resurrection that happened 2,000 years ago. I’m living one.

I’ve been in the valley of dry bones, and I’ve felt God breathe life back into places I thought were dead forever. I’ve felt the stirring when I didn’t think I could feel anything at all. I’ve chosen differently when every old habit was screaming at me to go back. And I’m standing here, alive, not because I figured it out, but because the same power that raised Christ from the dead is alive in me.

It’s alive in you too.

That’s what Paul is saying in Romans 6:4. The same resurrection power. The same God. The same promise. If Christ was raised, then we too can live a new life. Not a borrowed one. Not a pretend one. A real, breathing, rooted-in-joy, new life.

This Easter, I pray you feel it. Not the holiday. The power. The same power that rolled the stone away, that conquered death, that turned mourning into dancing and dry bones into an army.

That power is yours. Because the God who did it for Jesus is the same God who is doing it for you. Right now. In this moment. In this season.

He is risen! And so are you.

Your Turn

It’s been a pleasure to share my heart with you during my favorite time of the year. I’d love to hear what resonated with you.

Where were you when this series started four weeks ago, and where are you now? What shifted? What did God do that you didn’t see coming?

Drop it in the comments. Even if it’s just two words: “I’m alive.”

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Please share this article with a family member or friend who’s still in the valley. Send her back to Week 1 and let her start the journey. She might be the woman who’s been saying “I’m fine” and meaning the opposite.

Your story could be the thing that helps her find hers.

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She’s alive again…And God isn’t finished!

When the Shift Starts with One Small “No” and One Quiet “Yes”

I almost said yes again.

The text came in at 9:47 PM. Another ask. Another favor. Another thing that would cost me sleep, my peace, and a piece of myself I was just starting to get back.

My thumb hovered over the keyboard. The old me would have already typed “Of course! Happy to help!” with a smiley face emoji I didn’t mean.

But something was different this time. I felt it in my chest. That same flutter from a few weeks ago. The one that whispered: you don’t have to do this.

So I put the phone down. Facedown. On the nightstand.

And I didn’t pick it up. I have a rule: after 10 PM, I don’t answer the phone. And if I’m exhausted, I don’t answer it any time of day. Because in a true emergency, there is nothing I could do that a trained first responder couldn’t handle better. That rule didn’t come from selfishness. It came from finally learning what was mine to carry and what wasn’t.

It was the smallest thing. But it was everything. Because for the first time in longer than I could remember, I chose myself. Not out of selfishness. Out of survival. Out of the quiet knowing that I couldn’t keep pouring from a cup that had been empty for months.

That moment? That’s not weakness. That’s the beginning of resurrection.

***

The Verse They Got Wrong

Let’s talk about Philippians 4:13 for a second. Because if you grew up anywhere near a church, you’ve seen it on coffee mugs, T-shirts, and probably a few tattoos.

We’ve turned this verse into a battle cry for doing more. Hustling harder. Pushing through. It’s become the Christian version of “no pain, no gain.” The grind! Often times leading to anxiety and worthlessness if you don’t achieve the results that may not have been intended for you.

But that’s not what Paul was saying. Not even close.

When you read the full passage, Philippians 4:10-13, Paul isn’t talking about conquering the world. He’s talking about contentment.

He’s writing from a prison cell, telling the church at Philippi that he’s learned a secret: how to be okay whether he has plenty or nothing. Whether life is easy or brutal.

The “all things” he can do through Christ? That’s not running a marathon or landing a promotion. It’s being at peace when the world around him is falling apart. It’s finding sufficiency in God when his circumstances offer him none.

That changes everything for you.

Because if contentment isn’t about doing more, if it’s about a posture of the heart, then you don’t have to earn your way to peace. You don’t have to fix every broken thing in your life before you’re allowed to exhale. You can choose differently right now, right in the middle of the mess, and that choice itself is the strength Paul is talking about.

***

What Choosing Differently Actually Looks Like

I want to be careful here, because “choosing differently” can sound like another item on an already impossible to-do list. So let me be clear: this is not about a total life overhaul. This is about tiny pivots that signal to your brain, your body, and your spirit that something has changed.

Choosing differently looks like saying “I can’t take that on right now” without apologizing for it.

It looks like leaving the dishes in the sink and going to bed at a decent hour because your rest matters more than a clean kitchen.

It looks like opening your Bible for five minutes instead of scrolling for forty-five, not because you’re being “good,” but because you’re hungry for something real.

It looks like telling a friend the truth when she asks how you’re doing. Not the Instagram version. The real one.

It looks like going for a walk at lunch instead of eating at your desk again. It looks like pulling out that old journal. It looks like letting yourself cry in the car and not feeling ashamed of it.

None of these are dramatic. All of them are defiant. Because every tiny choice that says “I matter too” is an act of rebellion against the lie that you exist only to serve everyone else’s needs. You were never meant to serve out of obligation. That’s not ministry. That’s the very thing that got you here.

***

The Science of Small Choices

Here’s something researchers have found that I think will encourage you: the size of the change doesn’t determine the size of the impact.

Stanford behavior scientist BJ Fogg spent years studying how habits form, and his conclusion was surprising. Lasting change doesn’t come from motivation or willpower. It comes from making the behavior so small that you can’t fail. He calls them “tiny habits.” Two pushups instead of a full workout. One sentence in a journal instead of three pages. Putting your shoes by the door instead of committing to a 5K.

The reason this works is neurological. Every time you complete a small positive action, your brain releases a tiny hit of dopamine, the same chemical associated with reward and motivation. Over time, these micro-wins create new neural pathways. Your brain starts defaulting to the healthier pattern, not because you forced it, but because you trained it gently.

God made your brain this way on purpose. He designed you so that small, faithful steps would compound into transformation. You don’t have to overhaul your life by next Tuesday. You just have to make one different choice today. And then another one tomorrow.

That’s not just science. That’s grace with a blueprint.

***

Boundaries Are Not Selfish (Say It Again)

I know this one is hard. Especially if you were raised to believe that being a good Christian woman means being available to everyone, all the time, no matter what.

But can I show you something? Even Jesus set boundaries.

In Mark 1:35-38, Jesus had just finished a night of healing the sick. The whole town was at the door. The next morning, the disciples came looking for Him, basically saying, “Everyone is looking for You!” And do you know what Jesus said? He said, “Let us go somewhere else.”

He didn’t stay. He didn’t meet every need. He withdrew to pray. He moved on to the next place. Not because He didn’t care, but because He knew His purpose and He refused to let urgency override it.

If Jesus, the Son of God, the Healer, the One with unlimited power, said “not right now,” then you can too.

Setting a boundary isn’t saying “I don’t care.” It’s saying “I can’t pour into you from a place of emptiness and give you anything real.” It’s saying “I trust God enough to know that if I step back, He’ll cover what I can’t.”

That’s not selfish. That’s stewardship of the life He gave you.

***

Your Money, Your Peace (Yes, We’re Going There)

I want to touch on something we don’t talk about enough in faith spaces: financial stress.

Because here’s what I’ve noticed. A lot of the overwhelm that women carry isn’t just emotional or spiritual. It’s financial. It’s lying awake wondering how the bills are getting paid. It’s saying yes to overtime you don’t have the energy for because you need the money. It’s the guilt of buying something for yourself when the budget is tight.

Contentment, the kind Paul talks about, includes your finances. Not because money doesn’t matter, but because God’s sufficiency covers that too.

Choosing differently with your money might look like sitting down for 15 minutes this week and actually looking at where it’s going. Not to shame yourself. Just to see clearly. It might look like canceling one subscription you forgot about. It might look like having an honest conversation with your spouse about what’s stressing you out financially.

Proverbs 27:23 says, “Be sure you know the condition of your flocks, give careful attention to your herds.” That’s not about sheep. That’s about stewardship. And stewardship starts with awareness.

Peace with your money is part of the resurrection too. You deserve to breathe easy there.

The First Time I Chose Differently

In 2012, I was working for a major university, helping adults earn their degrees. Bachelor’s, master’s, even doctorates. It was one of the best jobs I’d ever had. The pay was good. The culture was genuinely student-centric in a way that made me proud to show up every day. And for the first time in a long time, I was starting to see a path out of debt.

If you remember 2012, the world was still catching its breath from the 2008 real estate collapse. The economy was technically “recovering,” but it didn’t feel like recovery for most of us. Industries were still contracting. Companies were still cutting. And the people who could least afford another hit were the ones absorbing most of the blows. If that sounds familiar right now, with inflation and uncertainty pressing in from every side, it’s because the details change but the weight doesn’t. Different decade, same heaviness.

Then one afternoon, I was called into the office.

My supervisor, a man I loved dearly, was sitting there with tears in his eyes. He didn’t want to deliver the news, but the industry was shifting, and I was being let go. Our team was like a little family. We used to call ourselves the Bad News Bears. We’d bonded over beach trips and shared meals at a tiny restaurant where we sat shoulder to shoulder, turning our tears and differences into laughter and genuine respect for one another. Losing that job meant losing them too.

My supervisor walked me to my car that day, carrying that box for me. You know the one. The box that tells the world, “Today was my last day.” We embraced. And that was the last time I saw him. A year later, he passed away from cancer. That broke my heart in ways I still feel today.

But here’s where the financial reality hit.

That job, the one that was supposed to be my way out, was gone. And after eight layoffs over the course of my career, the debt had compounded. Credit cards. Taxes. A car payment. The envelopes started coming in white, then pink, then yellow. You know what those colors mean. I was running from every one of them.

I knew I needed help. So I did something that terrified me: I pursued a legal fresh start.

I found an attorney with an MBA, which mattered to me because I needed someone who could think beyond just the numbers. He asked questions that went deep, but he made me feel safe. He worked out a plan: five years of structured payments. I got to keep my car. The taxes were resolved. The credit cards were managed.

And then came the day I stood before the judge. He asked me one question: why? I gave him one sentence: “Due to eight layoffs.” He stamped the paperwork so fast it took my breath away. Just like that. A lifetime of financial weight, acknowledged and released in a single moment. I walked out with a five-year repayment plan and a commitment I’d never had before: this time, things would be different.

That decision, the one I was terrified to make, became my turning point. It taught me something I had never truly practiced before: financial consistency. Not just paying bills, but actually knowing the condition of my finances and refusing to run from them.

Today, my credit is in a place I never could have imagined. I have opportunities I couldn’t have dreamed of back then. And more than the numbers, I have peace. The kind Paul talks about in Philippians 4. The kind that comes from trusting that God is your source, even when it comes to your bank account.

That legal fresh start was my first real “no” to the chaos and my first real “yes” to stewardship. It was terrifying. It was humbling. And it was one of the most freeing choices I’ve ever made.

If you’re carrying financial shame right now, if the envelopes are piling up and you can’t breathe, hear me: there is no shame in asking for help. There is no shame in starting over. The economy may be shaking, but your God is not. He met me in the aftermath of a real estate crisis, and He’ll meet you in whatever storm is pressing against your door today. That’s not just grace. That’s resurrection.

***

The Strength to Be Still

Here’s the beautiful paradox of this week’s passage: the strength Paul found wasn’t the strength to do more. It was the strength to need less. The strength to stop striving. The strength to sit in a prison cell and say, “I have learned to be content.”

Learned. That word matters. It means contentment didn’t come naturally to Paul either. He had to practice it. He had to choose it. Over and over, in every circumstance, he had to remind himself that Christ was enough.

You’re learning too. And the fact that you’re still here, still reading, still seeking, still fighting for your own soul, tells me you’re further along than you think.

You used to say yes to everything. Now you’re growing. You couldn’t put the phone down. Now you’re choosing differently. You thought contentment was for other people. Now you’re starting to taste it.

And Easter is just around the corner. The ultimate story of what happens when death doesn’t get the last word. When the stone rolls away and everything that looked finished starts over.

Your stone is rolling. Can you hear it?

***

Your Turn

What’s one thing you’re choosing differently this week?

It doesn’t have to be big. Maybe it’s a boundary. Maybe it’s rest. Maybe it’s an honest conversation you’ve been avoiding.

Drop it in the comments, even if it’s just: “I’m choosing me today.”💛

And if you know a woman who needs permission to put her phone facedown and choose herself tonight, send this her way. She’s one small “no” away from a breakthrough.

Share Joy God’s Way™

You don’t have to do it all. You just have to do the next right thing.

—Blessing and joy,

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✨P.S. This is Part 3 of 4: The Resurrection Power series: Your New Season. Take a moment and check out the previous articles “She’s Still Breathing, But Barely” and “Something is Stirring.”

📢The 30 Day E-Devotional is coming and pre-orders begin soon. I’m excited to be able to share this with you with a ‘sneak peek’ in the days to come.

Share Joy God’s Way™

When You Can’t Explain It, But You Can Feel It

It happened on a Tuesday. Nothing special about it. No worship music playing. No sermon. No devotional open on my nightstand.

I was just standing at the kitchen sink, hands in warm water, and for the first time in months, I noticed the light coming through the window.

Not thought about it. Noticed it.

Something in my chest shifted. Not a big feeling. Not fireworks or goosebumps. More like a flutter. The kind of thing I almost dismissed because it was so quiet I wasn’t sure it was real.

But it was real. And if I’m honest with myself, it scared me a little. Because feeling something again means I have something to lose again.

That flutter? That’s not random. That’s God doing exactly what He promised.

• • •

Before the Bloom

In nature, spring doesn’t announce itself with a parade. It starts underground where nobody can see it. Roots push deeper. Seeds crack open in the dark. The soil warms by fractions of a degree. And one morning, a single green shoot breaks through the dirt, and the whole world acts surprised, as if it happened overnight.

It didn’t happen overnight. It was happening the whole time.

Science tells us that trees communicate through underground fungal networks. Researchers call it the “wood wide web.” Trees share nutrients, send warnings, and support each other’s growth through connections you’d never see by looking at the surface. The forest looks still, but underneath, everything is alive and working.

Your life looks still right now too. But underneath? Something is stirring.

• • •

The New Thing You Almost Missed

In Isaiah 43:18-19, God says something that stops me every single time I read it:

Two words jump out at me: “perceive it.”

God doesn’t say, “I’m going to do a new thing someday.” He says it’s already springing up. Right now. The question isn’t whether God is moving. The question is whether you’re noticing.

And here’s the thing about you, after a long season of survival mode, your ability to notice gets buried. When your brain has been running on cortisol and caffeine for months, it literally filters out beauty, wonder, and hope as “non-essential.” Your nervous system says: “We don’t have the bandwidth for sunsets right now. We’re just trying to get through the day.”

But God is asking you to look again. Not to manufacture a feeling. Not to fake gratitude. Just to open your eyes to what’s already springing up in the middle of your wilderness.

• • •

What Stirring Actually Looks Like

Let me tell you what stirring doesn’t look like, because I think we get this wrong.

It doesn’t look like suddenly having all the answers. It doesn’t look like waking up and feeling “fixed.” It doesn’t look like a dramatic mountaintop moment where everything clicks into place.

Stirring is quieter than that.

Stirring looks like crying during a song you’ve heard a hundred times, and this time it actually reaches you. It looks like calling a friend instead of just texting back “I’m good.” It looks like putting your phone down ten minutes earlier and sitting in the silence without panicking.

Stirring looks like the moment you realize you’re tired of being tired, and instead of just accepting it, something in you whispers: there has to be more than this.

That whisper? That’s not wishful thinking. That’s the Holy Spirit doing exactly what He does – breathing life into dry places, one small breath at a time.

• • •

The Science of Thawing Out

Here’s something beautiful that most people don’t know: your brain is designed to heal.

Neuroscientists call it neuroplasticity. It means your brain can literally rewire itself based on new experiences, new patterns, and new inputs. Those areas that chronic stress shrank? They can grow back. Those pathways wired for fear? They can be rerouted toward peace.

But here’s what the research also shows: healing doesn’t start with big changes. It starts with small, consistent moments of safety. A walk in nature. Deep breathing. A conversation where you feel truly heard. Time in quiet without an agenda.

In other words, your brain starts coming back to life the same way spring does – not all at once, but one small, warm moment at a time.

God designed your body to respond to rest and renewal. He wired you for restoration. That’s not a coincidence. That’s a Creator who always planned to bring you back to life.

• • •

Even Jesus Had a Thursday Night

With Easter just a few weeks away, I keep thinking about the space between the cross and the empty tomb. We love to celebrate Sunday morning. But Saturday? Saturday was silent. Saturday was grief. Saturday was the disciples sitting in a locked room wondering if everything they believed was over.

They couldn’t see what was coming. They couldn’t feel the resurrection brewing. All they had was the ache of Friday and the emptiness of Saturday.

But something was stirring. In a sealed tomb, behind a stone too heavy for human hands, life was doing what only God can make it do.

If you’re in a Saturday season right now, caught between the pain of what happened and the promise of what’s coming, I need you to hear this: the tomb looked sealed too. And we know how that story ends.

Your Sunday is coming. And it’s closer than you think.

• • •

The Moment I Noticed Again

I remember the first time I heard this passage of Scripture. It came from the voice of one of my most cherished spiritual leaders, Dr. Charles F. Stanley. An amazing man of God.

I don’t think I’ve ever listened to anyone as regularly or as faithfully over the years. It always seemed like he had a message from God directed straight at me. No matter what I was going through. His approach to the Word was so authentic, so direct, it was as though he received the download for his sermons from the Lord Himself right before he stepped to that altar.

And the stirring? It started long before I realized it. My early days were spent at my grandparents’ home in San Diego. There was this young pastor on the television. He had a very distinctive voice. It wasn’t until I was an adult that I recognized that voice to be Dr. Charles F. Stanley. A seed had been planted in that living room, quietly cracking open beneath the surface, years before I understood what was growing.

To this day, I still begin my mornings with his sermons via the radio, the emails I receive, or tuning in on InTouch+ before bed. For over 40 years, his messages have always been on time for me…through breakups, eight layoffs, financial hardships, divorce, loss, and seasons where I wondered if I even had a purpose in life. L.I.F.E.

One of my favorite Dr. Stanley’s memorable quotes:

I gave my life to the Lord in 1994 and realized that He had been welcoming me with open arms all along. I just needed to say “yes” and let Him in through a relationship with his son Jesus Christ. And once I did, I began to understand why Jesus died. I never want to take that for granted.

He has been there. Through every sealed tomb and silent Saturday in my life, something was stirring. And the thing that gives me chill bumps to this day is this: there is nothing greater than the love of Christ having died for us and taking away all of our sins. Nothing.

So taking time to be with Him and share Him as much as I can? That’s my way of worshipping my Savior the best way I know how. That’s the flutter I almost missed. That’s the stirring that changed everything.

• • •

Permission to Feel It

I know what you might be thinking. You’re scared to hope. You’ve been here before; felt a glimmer, leaned in, and then life knocked the wind out of you again. So now you keep your guard up. You don’t let yourself feel too much because disappointment hurts worse when you had your hopes up.

I get that. I really do.

But here’s your permission slip for today:

• You have permission to feel the flutter without needing to know what it means.

• You have permission to notice the light without explaining it.

• You have permission to believe that something good might be starting, even if everything around you still looks like winter.

Because God didn’t say, “I’ll do a new thing once you’ve earned it.” He said, “See, I am doing a new thing. Now it springs up.”

Now. Not later. Not when you’re stronger. Not when your life is sorted out. Now. In the middle of the mess.

Open your hands. He’s already putting something in them.

• • •

Your Turn

Tell me, have you felt it? That quiet flutter. That small moment where something in you whispered, “Maybe things are shifting.” It might have been tiny. It might have been yesterday or three weeks ago.

Drop it in the comments. Even if it’s just: “I think I felt something.”

Leave a comment

And if you know a woman who’s been stuck in Saturday, waiting for her Sunday, share this with her. She might not be able to see the stirring yet. But maybe your words will help her notice.

Spring doesn’t ask permission. It just comes. And it’s coming for you.

With love, hope and joy,

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There’s more to the story. Be sure to check out Part 1: She’s Still Breathing, But Barely, in the Resurrection Power Series. 🕊️

When Going Through the Motions Is All You’ve Got

You set the alarm for 5:30 AM because someone on the internet said the secret to a better life was waking up before the chaos.

So you did. For about three days.

Now your alarm goes off and you lie there, already tired before your feet hit the floor. The coffee helps, but only enough to get you moving. Not enough to make you feel alive.

You get the kids ready. You smile at your coworkers. You answer the texts. You show up at church and sing the songs and nod at the right moments. And when someone asks how you’re doing, you say what you always say:

“I’m fine.”

But you’re not fine. You’re functioning. There’s a difference.

The Valley Nobody Talks About

In Ezekiel 37, God takes the prophet to a valley full of dry bones. Not cracked bones. Not bruised bones. Dry bones. These bones had been there so long that every bit of life had left them.

And God asks Ezekiel something that, honestly, feels like a question He might be asking you right now: “Can these bones live?”

I wonder if Ezekiel looked at those bones the way you look at yourself some mornings. The way you look at your marriage, your energy, your faith, your joy. Everything looks so far gone that “alive” feels like a word for other people.

Here’s what I love about Ezekiel’s answer. He didn’t say yes. He didn’t say no. He said, “Sovereign Lord, You alone know.”

That’s not doubt. That’s surrender. And sometimes surrender is the most honest prayer you can offer.

The Myth of Having It All Together

We live in a culture that glorifies being busy. Your worth gets measured by how full your calendar is, how many plates you’re spinning, how little sleep you can survive on and still show up with a smile. And if you’re a woman of faith, there’s an added pressure to do all of that while being “joyful.”

But here’s what nobody says out loud: chronic exhaustion is not a badge of honor. It’s a signal. Your body is telling you something. Your spirit is whispering that this pace was never what God designed for you.

Research shows that prolonged stress physically changes your brain. It shrinks the areas responsible for memory and emotional regulation and enlarges the areas wired for fear. That foggy, disconnected, can’t-feel-anything state? It’s not weakness. It’s your nervous system in survival mode.

You’re not broken. You’re depleted. And those are two very different things.

What God Does in the Valley

Back in Ezekiel 37, God doesn’t tell the prophet to go fix the bones. He doesn’t hand him a self-help book or a 12-step plan. He tells Ezekiel to speak to them. To prophesy over them. To call life into what looked completely dead.

And then God did what only God can do. Bone connected to bone. Tendons appeared. Flesh covered them. And breath entered them.

Notice the order. God didn’t start with the breath. He started with the structure. He rebuilt them piece by piece before He breathed life into them.

That’s where you are right now. You might feel like nothing is happening. Like the prayers aren’t working. Like the Bible feels flat and the worship songs feel hollow. But what if God is doing the structural work right now? What if He’s reconnecting things in you that you can’t see yet?

The breath is coming. But first, He’s putting you back together.

I’ve Been in That Valley

There I was, just a few days after Valentine’s Day, and what happened next I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

I know I’m not the only one this has happened to. But at that time, I felt completely alone. Abandoned. And there was a good reason for the emotional state I was in.

I had come home from work to an empty apartment.

No living room furniture. No dining room furniture. Even the refrigerator had been removed, and all of its contents were placed on the counter. Most of it had spoiled from sitting there for who knows how long. The only thing left behind was the bed, which I had brought from my place when we moved in together ‘prior’ to marriage. That’s a ‘single life’ conversation for another day.

After only four months of marriage, I found myself alone. Trying to figure it all out. It didn’t make sense to me, because my own parents were going to celebrate their 26th wedding anniversary later that year. That’s all I knew about marriage. Longevity, no matter what.

Nothing had prepared me for this, and as far as I could tell, there were no signs that it was even coming. I replayed the script over and over again in my mind. He was good to me. His family was good to me. At no time did I ever feel like a stranger in their home or mine.

We had enjoyed our time together, and he had spoiled me in so many ways. As a new bride, I did my best to take care of him. But to no avail. He had other plans. Plans that didn’t include me.

He left me with the bills. He left me with the rent. He left me.

I immediately called a dear friend who came over to console me. But how could I have expected her to fully understand what I was going through? She had never been married. Still, I appreciated the fact that she was there. By my side. She had been there from the very beginning when I first met my ex-husband.

There was no explanation. Not even a phone call. Well, not until he called to let me know he had filed for a divorce. I waited and waited for the documents to arrive, but knowing he was never coming back, I eventually went to the courthouse myself to make sure there was a filing, and I completed my part. Because it had been less than six months, I was able to annul the marriage. I didn’t ask for anything. I was so numb.

All I had was a bed and my dear friends.

I hadn’t known the Lord personally until seven years later. That experience was one of many of life’s unwelcome surprises that eventually drove me to Him. But in those years before I knew God, the replaying was relentless. Day and night, the same questions on repeat: What did I do wrong? What could I have done differently? Did he even really love me?

I was breathing, but barely. Going through the motions with a smile that fooled everyone. I didn’t have the language for it then, but looking back, I was living in my own valley of dry bones. Everything that felt alive in me had dried up. And I didn’t know that the God who puts bones back together was already making His way toward me.

If you’re in that valley right now, I want you to know something: you don’t have to have it figured out. You don’t have to understand why. You just have to still be here. And you are.

That’s enough for God to work with.

Your Permission Slip

So here’s what I want you to hear today. Not as a preacher. Not as someone who has it all figured out. But as a companion who has sat in that exact valley and knows what dry bones feel like.

Because that’s exactly the kind of honesty that God works with. He doesn’t need your performance. He needs your presence. Even if your presence looks like lying on the floor and whispering, “Help.”

He’s standing in your valley right now. And He’s asking you the same question He asked Ezekiel: “Can these bones live?”

You don’t have to know the answer. You just have to be willing to let Him show you.

Your Turn

I’d love to hear from you.

Where are you in this season?

Are you in the valley of dry bones right now, or are you starting to feel something shift?

Drop a comment below. Even if it’s just two words: “Me too.”

Leave a comment

You’d be amazed how powerful it is to simply say it out loud.

And if you know a woman who needs to hear this today, would you share this with her? She might be the one who’s been saying “I’m fine” and meaning the opposite.

She’s still breathing. And God isn’t finished.

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This post is dear to my heart. After moving from a place that was familiar to me for most of my life, I've experienced shifts in relationships, activities, and day-to-day routines — some of which hardly exist anymore. So when I say I understand the ache of loneliness, I mean it.

Loneliness doesn’t always look like sitting in an empty room. Sometimes it looks like being surrounded by people and still feeling invisible. It’s laughing at the dinner table while aching on the inside. It’s scrolling through social media and wondering why everyone else seems to have “their people.”

It’s going to church, shaking hands, saying “I’m fine” — and driving home feeling more alone than when you arrived.

If that’s you today, I want you to know something:

You are not broken. You are not too much. You are not too little.

You are a woman created for connection — and the ache you feel is not weakness.

It’s holy longing.

Designed for Community

In the very beginning, when everything was still perfect and unmarred by sin, God looked at Adam and said something stunning:

“It is not good for the man to be alone.” — Genesis 2:18 (NIV)

Not good. In a garden of perfection — with God Himself walking in the cool of the day — the Creator declared that something was missing.

Connection. Companionship. Someone to walk alongside.

This wasn’t a flaw in Adam. It was by design. God wired us for relationship from the very start. We were never meant to do life solo.

And if that was true in a perfect garden, how much more do we need each other now — in a world full of heartbreak, transitions, and seasons that knock the wind out of us?

Even Jesus Needed His People

Sometimes we spiritualize our loneliness. We tell ourselves, “If my relationship with God were stronger, I wouldn’t need anyone else.”

But look at Jesus.

He had perfect communion with the Father. Unbroken. Intimate. Complete.

And yet — He chose twelve. Within those twelve, He drew three even closer: Peter, James, and John. And within those three, there was John — the one who leaned against Him, the beloved disciple.

Jesus didn’t need community because He was weak. He modeled community because we would need to see it done.

If the Son of God surrounded Himself with people to walk alongside Him — even to Gethsemane, even in His darkest hour — why do we believe we should white-knuckle this life alone?

The Quiet Epidemic

Here’s a truth that might surprise you: you are not alone in feeling alone.

Loneliness among women over 45 is rising and it’s not because we’re doing something wrong. Life shifts. Kids leave. Friendships that revolved around school pickups and sports schedules quietly fade. We move, or our friends move. We lose loved ones. We change, and sometimes the people around us don’t change with us.

And somewhere along the way, we look up and realize our circle has grown very, very small.

The enemy loves this. Isolation is his favorite playground. Because when we’re alone, his lies get louder:

“No one understands you.” “You’re too much for people.” “You’d just be a burden.” “It’s too late to make real friends.”

But those are lies, friend. Every single one. I know, because I’ve heard those whispers and they can be debilitating.

Vulnerability Is the Bridge

Here’s the hard truth about connection: it requires vulnerability.

And vulnerability in midlife? It’s terrifying.

We’ve been hurt. We’ve been disappointed. We’ve opened up and been met with silence or judgment. So we learned to protect ourselves. We learned to keep things surface-level. We learned to say “I’m fine” even when we’re falling apart.

But surface-level relationships will never touch the deep ache in our souls.

Real connection requires risk. It requires showing up — imperfectly, awkwardly, sometimes inconveniently — and saying, “This is me. Can I know you too?”

It doesn’t have to be dramatic. Sometimes sisterhood starts with:

• One honest text: “I’ve been struggling lately. Can we talk?”

• One coffee invitation: “I don’t really know you well, but I’d love to.”

• One brave moment at church: “I’m newer here and looking for community. Is there room for me?”

• One click of a button to join a group of women with common interests (ie. walking group, book club, pickleball, bible study).

One small step of courage. That’s all it takes to begin.

The Sisterhood You’re Looking For

Maybe you’ve been praying for community. Maybe you’ve been waiting for someone to pursue you for once.

And maybe — just maybe — God is inviting you to be the one who reaches out first.

Not because you have it all together. But because you understand what it’s like to ache for connection. Because you know how much a simple “I see you” can mean.

The sisterhood you’re craving? Another woman is craving it too. She’s sitting in a pew near you, or living on your street, or scrolling through her phone right now feeling just as invisible as you have felt.

What if you’re the answer to her prayer?

What if she’s the answer to yours?

A Prayer for Connection

Something to Reflect On

This week, sit with these questions:

Who is one woman I could reach out to — not to “fix” my loneliness, but to take one brave step toward being known?

What’s one small act of connection I can take this week?

Write her name down. Send that text. Make that call. Sisterhood begins with one courageous step. You may even wish to share this post with her — she might be experiencing the same thoughts.

Share Joy God’s Way™

You were never meant to walk alone, sweet friend.

And the beautiful news? You don’t have to.💛

This post concludes our 3-part series: “Seen, Called, Connected.” If you missed the earlier posts, you can find them here:

• Part 1:

• Part 2: It’s Not Too Late to Begin Again

📢NEWS FLASH: Keep checking back for the upcoming launch of my 30 Day E-Book Devotional: “Reconnecting with God!”💖

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If you’re like me, how many times have you whispered to yourself:

“I should have started years ago.”

“That dream was for a younger version of me.”

“I missed my window.”

Maybe it’s a ministry you felt stirred toward but never pursued. A book you wanted to write. A dream vacation you wanted to take. A way you longed to serve. A version of yourself you set aside when life got busy, hard, or just... relentless.

And now? Now midlife has arrived, and that quiet voice has grown louder:

“It’s too late.”

My dear friend, I need you to hear something today:

That voice is lying.

A Woman Who Waited

If anyone had reason to believe her window had closed, it was Sarah.

She had lived decades with an unfulfilled promise. God had told her husband Abraham that their descendants would be as numerous as the stars—but year after year, her arms remained empty. She watched other women hold babies. She felt the ache of hope deferred. And eventually, she laughed—not with joy, but with the bitter edge of disbelief.

“After I am worn out and my lord is old, will I now have this pleasure?” (Genesis 18:12)

Sarah wasn’t being faithless. She was being human. She had done the math. She knew her body. She understood that what God promised seemed utterly impossible.

And yet.

At ninety years old—ninety—Sarah held her son Isaac in her arms.

The name Isaac means “he laughs.” But this time, it wasn’t the laughter of doubt. It was the laughter of a woman stunned by a God who makes impossible things happen in impossible seasons.

God’s Timeline Is Not Ours

Here’s what Sarah’s story teaches us: God is not bound by our biological clocks, our calendars, or our culture’s definition of “too late.”

He is not pacing nervously, worried that you’ve aged out of your calling. He is not wringing His hands because you didn’t start that dream in your twenties or thirties. He is not limited by the number of candles on your birthday cake.

In fact, Scripture is filled with people who stepped into purpose in the second half of life:

• Moses was 80 when he led the Israelites out of Egypt.

• Caleb was 85 when he claimed his mountain.

• "Anna was elderly, at least 84, when she prophesied over the baby Jesus in the temple."

These weren’t people whose best days were behind them. They were people whose most significant days were still ahead—because God was the one writing the story.

And He’s still writing yours.

The Lie of the Closed Door

Our culture worships youth. It tells us that impact belongs to the young, that reinvention has an expiration date, and that dreams deferred are dreams denied.

But God says something different.

“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.” — Isaiah 43:19 (NIV)

Did you catch that? He’s not recycling your old plans. He’s not dusting off something from twenty years ago.

He’s doing a new thing.

Right now. In this season. In your wilderness.

The question isn’t whether God can still use you. The question is whether you’ll let Him.

Your Scars Are Preparation

Maybe you’re thinking, “But I’ve made so many mistakes. I’ve wasted so much time. I’m not qualified anymore.”

Can I offer you a different lens?

What if every detour, every delay, every hard season wasn’t wasted—but was preparation?

The wisdom you’ve gained through struggle. The empathy you carry from your own pain. The patience you’ve learned through waiting. The depth of faith forged in the fire.

These aren’t disqualifications. They’re credentials.

The woman you are now—with all your experience, your scars, your hard-won faith—is exactly who God wants to use.

Not despite your journey. Because of it.

An Invitation to Dream Again

I want to invite you into something that might feel uncomfortable:

Dream again.

Not recklessly. Not in striving. But in holy partnership with the God who makes streams in the wasteland.

What’s that thing you’ve been holding at arm’s length? The calling you dismissed because it felt impractical? The longing you buried because you thought your season had passed?

Pull it out. Dust it off. Hold it up to the Lord and ask:

“Is this from You? And if so, what’s the next small step?”

You don’t need the whole roadmap. You just need the next step. And a God who promises to make a way.

A Prayer for the Woman Who Feels “Too Late”

Something to Reflect On

This week, sit with these questions:

What dream have I been holding at arm’s length, afraid it’s “too late”?

What would it look like to take one small step toward it—not in striving, but in faith?

Write it down. Pray over it. And watch for what God might be “springing up” in your wilderness.

If you feel led to, I’d really like to hear about that ‘thing’ you want to do. That one small step you’ve decided to take. Sometimes sharing helps us to see it more clearly and even nudge us to commit to it. 💛🌿

Leave a comment

It’s not too late, friend. Not even close.

God is still writing your story. And some of the best chapters? They’re still ahead.

Next week: We’ll explore why you were never meant to walk this journey alone—and how to find the sisterhood your soul is craving.

📢NEWS FLASH: Keep checking back for the upcoming launch of my 30 Day E-Book Devotional: “Reconnecting with God!”💖

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Before you begin to read this message, I want to say that as a ‘seasoned’ woman of God, life’s journey takes various twists and turns, moving through seasons that stir up many feelings and emotions. And this message spoke to my heart as I was writing, reminding me of times that I thought I could just forget, yet the Lord spoke that I had a message to share. As you read, my hope is that you’ll be able to relate as well.

Have you ever walked into a room and felt like you weren’t really there?

Maybe it was a church gathering where conversations happened around you but never quite included you. Or a family event where everyone seemed too busy to notice you’d arrived. Perhaps it was something quieter—a slow realization that the world seems to rush past women “of a certain age” without a second glance.

If you’ve ever felt overlooked, dismissed, or simply... unseen, I want you to know something today:

You are not invisible. Not to God. Not ever.

A Woman in the Wilderness

In Genesis 16, we meet a woman named Hagar. She was a servant, not someone the ancient world considered important. When her circumstances became unbearable, she did what many of us have done: she ran.

Alone. Afraid. Unseen by anyone who mattered.

Or so she thought.

Scripture tells us that the angel of the Lord found her by a spring in the wilderness and spoke directly to her. Not to her mistress Sarah. Not to Abraham. To Hagar, the overlooked one, the runaway, the woman the world had dismissed.

And here’s the part that stops me every time:

Hagar didn’t just encounter God. She named Him based on what He revealed about Himself.

El Roi. The God Who Sees.

What It Means to Be Seen

When God saw Hagar, He wasn’t just aware of her location by that spring. He saw her pain. Her fear. Her confusion about what to do next. He saw the years of feeling like she didn’t matter and the weight of carrying burdens no one acknowledged.

And He spoke into it.

Friend, that same God sees you today.

He sees you in the quiet moments when loneliness settles in after everyone else has gone to bed. He sees the weariness behind your smile at church or maybe at your job. He sees the dreams you’ve tucked away because you thought your season for dreaming had passed.

He sees the woman you were, the woman you are, and the woman you’re still becoming.

And His gaze isn’t one of disappointment or dismissal. It’s tender. It’s knowing. It’s full of a love that has never looked away, not even for a moment.

The Lie of Invisibility

Our culture has a way of making women in midlife feel like we’ve faded into the background. The advertisements aren’t for us. The opportunities seem designed for someone younger. Sometimes even our own families forget to ask how we’re doing.

But here’s the truth the enemy doesn’t want you to believe:

Visibility to the world is not the same as value to God.

The world’s attention is fickle. It chases trends and youth and whatever is shiny and new. But God? He is the same yesterday, today, and forever. His love doesn’t diminish because the world stopped paying attention.

You matter to Him…completely, deeply, eternally…not because of what you do or how others perceive you, but because of who you are: His beloved daughter.

An Invitation to Be Known

Being seen by God isn’t passive. It’s an invitation.

Hagar didn’t just receive a word from the Lord, she responded. She named Him. She acknowledged that the God of the universe had turned His face toward her.

Today, I want to invite you to do the same.

Where do you feel most invisible right now? Is it in your relationships? Your church community? Your own home? Your place of employment? Maybe it’s that deep internal place where you’ve wondered if your life still has purpose.

Take that place, that ache, and bring it to El Roi.

He already sees it. But there’s something powerful about saying, “Lord, I feel unseen here. Will You meet me in this wilderness?”

Because He will. He always does. In His timing.

And while you wait, you can rest in this truth...

A Prayer for the Unseen

Something to Reflect On

This week, I encourage you to sit with this question:

Where in my life do I feel most invisible? What would it mean to believe that God sees me there?

Write it down if you can. Then whisper it to Him. El Roi is listening.

You are seen, sweet friend. Fully and tenderly.

And this is just the beginning.

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Next week: Come back and we’ll explore what to do when you fear it’s “too late” to step into your purpose. Spoiler: it’s not.

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Last week, I shared my story of layoffs, survival mode, and the forty-year journey toward understanding that I was never alone. (If you missed Part 1, “The Secret I Didn’t Know I Was Learning,” I invite you to start there.) But today, I want to take you deeper into what it means to find true contentment through faith. Today, I want to share the secret.

Finding Joy in Difficult Circumstances

One of my heroes in the Bible is the Apostle Paul. And the reason is this: Paul wrote some of the most joy-filled words in Scripture while sitting in an actual prison cell.

Think about that. Chains on his wrists. Walls surrounding him. No idea when, or if, he would ever be free again. And yet he writes to the Philippians about rejoicing. Over and over again: rejoice, rejoice, rejoice.

How do you do that? How do you find joy in difficult circumstances when the doors are locked, the walls are bare, and your heart feels cold?

I’ve asked myself that question many times. Because while I’ve never been in a physical prison, I’ve known my own jails: divorce, death, illness, financial distress, loneliness, lack of community, marriage challenges, social and political concerns. Seasons where the walls felt like they were closing in and the questions had no answers, even when I was crying out to God for help during hard times.

How are You going to help me? I would whisper in the dark. And sometimes, all I heard was silence.

* * *

The Secret to Being Content

But here’s what Paul understood that took me decades to grasp: contentment isn’t about your circumstances. It’s about your Source.

Read those verses again. Paul says he has “learned” to be content. He has “learned” the secret. This wasn’t something that came naturally to him. It wasn’t a personality trait or a spiritual gift reserved for super-Christians. Learning to be content was something he discovered through the living of his life, through the valleys and the victories, through the hunger and the plenty.

And that secret? “I can do all this through him who gives me strength.” This is the true meaning of Philippians 4:13, and it changed everything for me.

Not through willpower. Not through positive thinking. Not through trying harder or being stronger or white-knuckling my way through another hard season.

Through Him. Christ. The One who gives strength when I have none left to give. This is the heart of Christian encouragement for hard times.

* * *

When Faith Changes Everything

For years, I tried to be my own source. My dad taught me to “look out for number one,” and I took that lesson to heart. I was independent. Self-sufficient. Capable.

The anxiety it caused was exhausting. Eventually leading to diagnosed depression.

But God. Those two words changed everything.

When I finally said yes to Jesus in 1995, He deposited something in my heart and spirit: the truth that He was always with me. That I didn’t have to carry it all alone. That the secret to finding peace in difficult seasons wasn’t about being stronger. It was about being surrendered.

It took another twenty years for that truth to move from my head to my heart. But when it did, that verse became so clear. When I took the focus off myself and gave it all to Jesus, contentment stopped being a destination I was striving toward and became a posture I was resting in. I finally understood how to find contentment through faith.

* * *

Rediscovering Joy After Struggling

Here’s something I haven’t shared before. In high school, my nickname was “Giggles.” Friends and acquaintances would ask, “Why are you always smiling?” Sometimes they asked with genuine curiosity and sometimes with scowls on their own faces.

The truth is, I did my best not to show negative emotions. Because if I did, I felt like I would explode and be found out. The smile was real, but it was also a shield. It’s crazy because I loved bringing out the best in others and I still do. I never liked seeing anyone feeling sad. But underneath the giggles, I was carrying weight I didn’t know how to put down.

Looking back now, I see that the joy was always there, planted deep inside me. But it took years of learning the secret Paul knew for that joy to become rooted in something unshakeable. Not in my ability to keep smiling through the pain. Not in my performance. But in Christ alone. That’s the difference between surviving and truly finding joy in hard times.

The girl they called “Giggles” finally found a reason to smile that no circumstance could take away. Christlike contentment, just as the Apostle Paul shared in those verses, was something I could and have finally achieved.

* * *

This Secret Is for You, Too

Maybe you’re sitting in your own kind of prison today. Maybe the walls feel like they’re closing in, and joy seems like a foreign language spoken by people who don’t understand your life.

Maybe you’ve been smiling through the pain for so long that you’ve forgotten what genuine rest feels like. Maybe you’re searching for encouragement for Christian women going through hard times.

Sister, I want you to know: you don’t have to have it all together. You don’t have to be your own source of strength. You don’t have to keep white-knuckling your way through.

The secret Paul learned in his prison cell, the same secret God has been teaching me across forty years of my own messy, beautiful life, is available to you right now. Right where you are. In the middle of whatever you’re walking through.

You can do all things through Christ who gives you strength. Not because you’re enough on your own. But because He is. That’s the truth of Philippians 4:13, and it can carry you through anything.

A gentle note: If you’re walking through something that involves harm, whether to yourself or from someone else, please know that faith and professional help are not opposites. God often works through counselors, therapists, and trained professionals. Seeking help is not a lack of faith. It’s wisdom. You are worth protecting.

Your Turn: What “prison” are you sitting in today? And what would it look like to stop being your own source and let Christ be your strength?

I’d love to hear from you in the comments.

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And if this two-part series has ministered to you, would you share it with a sister who needs to know the secret too?

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In the early 1980’s, I was sitting at my desk in Century City when my world crumbled in a single conversation. “The company is relocating,” my supervisor said. Just like that, I was back in a place I knew all too well: survival mode.

But what I didn’t know then, and what took me forty years to truly grasp, is that survival mode isn’t just a season of loss; it’s a hidden classroom.

Thousands of years before my layoff, the Apostle Paul sat in a different kind of confinement, learning a secret to thriving that has nothing to do with our circumstances and everything to do with our Source.

* * *

Over the years, I was laid off seven, maybe eight times. I stopped counting. It happened so often that the shock eventually faded, but the sting never did.

I worked for large companies during a season when mergers were everywhere. Job stability had become a relic of my parents’ generation. Companies weren’t loyal to employees anymore. They were loyal to shareholders. To Wall Street. To the bottom line. And when it came time to cut costs, I seemed to be an easy target.

Because I was single and no children to all my own, the assumption was always: She’ll be fine. With her experience, she’ll land on her feet.

But what they didn’t see was the mental toll of starting over. Again. And again. And again.

* * *

Each time, the same questions came flooding in:

How am I going to pay rent?

How am I going to keep the lights on?

How am I going to pay my car note?

Why me? I didn’t do anything wrong. Why not someone else?

I didn’t have anyone to lean on. No safety net. No partner to split the bills. Just me, a stack of responsibilities, and a severance check that might cover two or three months if I stretched it.

And here’s the part I’m not proud of: I didn’t even apply for unemployment. Not because I didn’t qualify. I did. I had worked for that benefit. But my pride got in the way.

I had been collecting a paycheck since I was fourteen years old. Before that, I was seven years old, sending off for greeting cards to sell in my neighborhood, making my own money. My dad always told me, “Look out for number one.” So I did. I learned to be independent. I learned to handle things on my own. I learned that asking for help meant risking rejection.

So I didn’t ask. I took temp jobs that barely paid the bills. I scraped by. And I kept telling myself I was fine.

* * *

But the truth? My confidence had taken too many hits. Somewhere along the way, the layoffs, the instability, the constant starting over, it all added up. And instead of pushing myself toward what I was capable of, I just... settled.

I was working on my bachelor’s degree during this time, chipping away at it between jobs, taking out loans to finish what I had started. It took me almost twenty years to complete once I finally committed to just finishing. But even with that degree in hand, the sense of abandonment from all those job losses, the echoes of my father’s “couldn’ts, shouldn’ts, and wouldn’ts,” the weight of bad relationships... it all kept me from stretching into what God had for me.

I didn’t know it then, but I was living in survival mode. And survival mode doesn’t leave room for dreaming. It was as though I was in my own ‘mental’ jail cell.

* * *

Most of this happened before I was saved. It was 1995 when I finally said yes to Jesus, about twenty years after graduating high school. And then it took another twenty years after that before I truly understood that He is my main source of everything.

Forty years of learning what should have been so simple: I am not alone. I was never alone.

But in the middle of it, in the Century City layoff and the seven that followed, I didn’t know that yet. I was white-knuckling my way through life, trying to be strong enough, independent enough, resilient enough.

And I was exhausted.

Maybe You Know This Place

Maybe you’re there right now. Not necessarily losing jobs, but losing ground. Losing confidence. Losing the ability to imagine something better because you’ve been knocked down too many times to risk hoping again.

Maybe your “why me?” sounds different than mine, but the weight of it feels the same.

If that’s you, I want you to know: I see you. And more importantly, God sees you. He sees the hits you’ve taken. He sees the pride that keeps you from asking for help. He sees the settling you’ve done because stretching feels too dangerous.

And He has something to say about all of it.

There’s a secret I didn’t know I was learning during all those hard years. A secret the Apostle Paul wrote about from his own prison cell. And next week, I want to share it with you.

Because it changed everything for me. And I believe it can do the same for you.

A Prayer for You

Lord, I lift up my sister who is reading this right now. You know the losses she’s experienced, the times she’s had to start over, the questions she’s whispered in the dark. You see the places where her confidence has been bruised and the dreams she’s been afraid to hold onto.

Meet her where she is. Not where she thinks she should be. Right here. Right now. Remind her that she is not alone, that she never was, even when it felt that way.

Begin to plant in her heart the secret that sustained Paul, the same secret You’ve been teaching me across the decades of my own messy, beautiful life. Prepare her heart to receive it.

In Jesus’ name, Amen.🙏🏼

Your Turn: “Have you ever felt like you were just white-knuckling your way through life, too exhausted to dream? I’ve been there, and I’d love to hear your story in the comments.”

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If you know a sister who is currently ‘losing ground’ and needs to hear that she isn’t alone, please share this with her.

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Next week, we’ll dive into the secret Paul discovered that can move us from simply surviving to truly thriving.”

–With Blessings and joy, Tina💖

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Maybe you know this feeling. Someone asks for help and, before you even finish praying about it, you hear yourself saying yes.

Not because God told you to. Not because it aligned with what He already placed on your heart. But because they needed it. Because you didn’t want to disappoint anyone. Because saying no felt selfish, even when your spirit was already whispering sit this one out.

Before you got here, you prayed about it and God said “no,’ not now.” And now here you are. Tired. Stretched. Watching the hours tick away from the very thing God asked you to steward. Wondering how serving ended up feeling like disobedience.

A Confession

I’m writing this fresh from earlier this week on a Monday that didn’t go the way I planned.

Our church was hosting a women’s event, and when I heard they needed volunteers, I did something I thought was generous: I gave up my seat so another woman who wanted to attend could go. That felt right. However, I did volunteer to be on the decorating team, to set the mood for the event. For context, our church is growing, which is wonderful and I had attended and volunteered for these events in the past. Most recently for our Christmas Tea. So for me, that felt like the kind of quiet sacrifice I could make with a clean conscience. Especially knowing there was a waitlist for this event.

But then came the ask: “There are still seats available and we’d love for you to attend the event. Also, do you mind helping with getting attendees signed in?” There were still seats available, due to inclement weather and last minute changes for those women who were no longer able to attend. Also, a few volunteers were not able to keep their commitment, so now they were shorthanded on volunteers.

And before I knew it, I had committed to six hours of physical labor: setting up tables, setting and then restacking chairs (after the event), preparing the space, signing guests in and assisting with other responsibilities as needed.

Here’s the thing: I had already prayed about this. The answer was clear. Sit this one out. I had two coaching meetings cancelled because of the winter storm. My schedule had unexpectedly opened up, not for more tasks, but for Bible study.. For writing. For the ministry God has asked me to build.

But I said yes anyway.

And now my body is tired. All I could think about was the next day's furniture donation pickup, and my muscles were already protesting. The writing I planned? Pushed to the margins. The preparation I needed? Postponed.”

This is the cost of ignoring the answer I already had.

What God Says About Our Yes

Here’s what I’m sitting with today. In Matthew 5:37, Jesus says something that cuts right to the heart of my people-pleasing:

“All you need to say is simply ‘Yes’ or ‘No’; anything beyond this comes from the evil one.”

For years, I read that verse as being about honesty, about not making elaborate promises. But lately I’m seeing it differently. What if it’s also about the purity of our yes? What if God is asking us to let our yes be a yes to Him, not just a yes to whoever asks first or loudest?

My decision and experience was just one of many. What happens when it’s something that has more weight on it? Like a job opportunity? Being asked to get married? Going along with friends who are not good at making ‘good and moral’ decisions? Buying a home or relocating geographically? And the list goes on with all types of decisions that we make on our own…But God!

And then there’s Proverbs 3:5-6:

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.”

I had submitted this decision to Him. He gave me an answer. And then I leaned on my own understanding anyway, convincing myself that helping was the “right” thing to do.

But Here’s the Grace

I could end this post in guilt and self-reproach. I could beat myself up for not being more obedient, more disciplined, more boundaried.

But God doesn’t look at me that way, and I don’t believe He looks at you that way either.

First Samuel 16:7 reminds us: “The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”

God knows my heart. He knows I wanted to help. He knows the old patterns of being needed, of proving my worth through service, of fearing that “no” makes me selfish. He sees all of it, and He is patient with my learning.

And here’s the beautiful thing: even in my disobedience, He met me there.

While setting up those 24 tables, something unexpected happened. Two other volunteers and I fell into conversation, and before long, we weren’t just working, we were worshiping. We talked about God’s faithfulness. We shared testimonies. We spoke truth over each other’s lives. When it was time to leave, two of us kept the conversation going into the parking lot because neither of us wanted it to end.

I told her that glorifying God in the midst of my own retirement from over-volunteering had given me a second wind. And it had. It was a beautiful way to leave part one of my responsibility behind.

This won’t break me. God’s grace is bigger than my missteps. But it can still be what it is: a lesson in listening better next time.

The Truth I’m Carrying Forward

Sometimes obedience looks like saying no to a good thing so you can say yes to a God thing.

Your ministry matters. The thing God has placed in your hands, whether it’s writing, teaching, raising children, caring for aging parents, or simply being present in the ways He’s asked, that matters. And protecting the time and energy for it isn’t selfish. It’s stewardship.

If you prayed about something and got an answer, you’re allowed to trust it. Even when the need in front of you feels urgent. Even when saying no feels uncomfortable. Even when you’re afraid of what people will think.

Your ‘no’ belongs to God first.

A Tiny Step for This Week

This week, before you say yes to anything new, pause. Ask yourself: Did I pray about this? And if I did, what was the answer?

If you already have your answer, honor it. Even if it’s hard. Even if it disappoints someone. Your obedience to God is more important than your obligation to others’ expectations.

And if you’ve already said yes to something you shouldn’t have? Give yourself grace. God isn’t keeping score of your missteps. He’s walking with you through them.

A Prayer for You

Lord, You see my sister right now. You know the weight of all the asks pulling at her, the guilt she feels when she says no, the exhaustion she carries when she says yes to everything.

Help her to trust the answers You’ve already given her. Give her courage to protect the things You’ve placed in her hands. Remind her that her worth isn’t measured by how much she does for others, but by how deeply she is loved by You.

And when she stumbles, when she says yes when she should have said no, meet her there with grace. Turn even her missteps into moments of worship. You are faithful like that.

In Jesus’ name, Amen.🙏🏼

My hope is that this resonates with you? I’d love to hear about a time you said yes when your spirit was telling you no. Share in the comments, or simply reply with a heart emoji if you’ve been there too.

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And if you know a sister who needs permission to protect her ‘no’, please share this with her.

With love, hope and joy, Tina💖