“The Lord Himself goes before you and will be with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.” - Deuteronomy 31:8 (NIV) The moment you realize no one is coming. There comes a moment, quiet, heavy, unmistakable, when you realize you’ve been waiting for someone to come and rescue you. Someone close. Someone who knows your history, your heart, your breaking points. You wait for a hand to reach back, a voice to say “I’ve got you,” a pr

Conviction doesn’t end the story, it redirects it. Grace interrupts, not to condemn, but to realign.

Even when surrender feels costly, I choose obedience because my yes belongs to Him.

It’s been a minute since I’ve sat in this space. I’ve wrestled with quitting, with feeling lifeless, with pouring out until I’m empty. But writing has always been my voice. When I was silenced, when I was weary, when I needed to see both weakness and strength, even in the wrestle, Jesus remains. He meets me in the outcry, and it’s in the posture of my heart where the truest yes lives.

I called it excellence, but it was fear. I called it discipline, but it was control. I called it obedience, but it was performance dressed up in worship. I didn’t just want to do well, I needed to prove I was worthy. When the outcomes didn’t match the effort, I didn’t question the system. I questioned myself. God never asked me to be flawless. He asked me to be faithful and faithfulness starts where performance dies.

We blame exhaustion, but it’s really suppression. We say we’re fine, but our souls are hemorrhaging. We know every celebrity breakup, but not the stories our wounds are whispering. We minister from behind the veil while sweeping our own mess under the rug. Then we call God silent when He’s been speaking through every crack we refuse to confront.

In a culture that rewards reinterpretation, Jesus models resilience. In the wilderness, He didn’t argue or adapt, He quoted. Every word, as written. We are not called to reshape holiness. We are called to honor it. Obedience isn’t a suggestion. It’s a hunger to eat what nourishes even when it’s bitter. To love without rewriting the line between compassion and compromise. The word doesn’t flinch, and neither should we. What was written was not for rewording, it was for reveren

I didn’t walk into law school wearing confidence. I walked in wearing obedience. Obedience doesn’t guarantee ease, it guarantees encounter. The deeper I go, the more I realize this path isn’t about being impressive, it’s about being available. God didn’t choose me because I was ready. He chose me because I was willing. When I feel wrecked, exhausted, and unsure, grace pulls up a chair at my weakest moment and whispers, “I qualify what I call.”

What if our pain wasn’t punishment, but preparation? What if suffering was never meant to bury you but to bring you closer to the only One who can rebuild you from the inside out?

I used to speak to defend myself, but defense isn’t always divine. The more I trained my tongue to be silent, the more I saw God move. Renovation starts here. Not within walls, but with surrender. God is rebuilding my foundation and silence has become sacred.

There’s a hallway in me that I’ve kept dim, doors closed, corners untouched. Some rooms I’ve locked, hoping no one, not even Jesus, would ask to enter. But He doesn’t settle for partial ownership. The spirit doesn’t share space. So today, I choose surrender. I hand Him the master key. Every door, every corner, even the ones covered in dust and silence. Because a temple isn’t holy until the Owner lives in every room.

Time doesn’t ask permission. It slips while we’re distracted, and silent when should speak. Before the silent settles, before I become a story told in past tense, I choose now. I choose presence. I choose to be the imprint, not the echo.

This isn’t a sprint for medals. It’s a soul sprint toward meaning. We run not out of panic, but out of pursuit of Jesus. We run toward healing, truth, and eternity. The word of God is our sustenance. Grace is our fuel. Breath is fleeting, but what we chase is forever.

Conflict is often seen as something negative, a source of tension and discord. We tend to avoid it, fearing the discomfort and potential damage it may cause. But what if we shift our perspective and view conflict as an opportunity for growth and connection? In our journey through life, we encounter countless conflicts – with loved ones, colleagues, and even within ourselves. These conflicts can arise from differences in opinions, values, or misunderstandings. However, how we

Grace Beyond the Surface We often expect grace to arrive dressed in perfection. The truth is, grace shows up in contradiction. It meets people where they are, before the polish, before the transformation. Grace doesn’t wait for outward signs of change. It responds to the sacred inner work that only God sees.