One afternoon, I was driving down a road I travel often with worship music playing through my speakers. In that moment, I felt the presence of the Holy Spirit in a way I hadn’t experienced in years. It wasn’t loud or dramatic, but it was undeniable. Deep in my heart, I knew the Lord was calling me.

If I’m being honest, I had every excuse ready.

I didn’t have the time. I wasn’t sure I could afford it. I even tried using my fear of spiders as a reason to say no. Every obstacle I could think of became another excuse to stay comfortable.

Yet with every excuse I gave, God quietly answered it.

He wasn’t asking me to have everything planned out. He was simply asking me to trust Him.

The Lord was inviting me to do something I hadn’t done in a long time—to simply be obedient.

At the time, I was already wrestling with other areas of my life, but that’s a story for another day. Eventually, I reached the point where I knew I couldn’t ignore Him anymore.

I told the Lord, “This Sunday, I’ll talk to the missions pastor. If this is really from You, I’ll take the first step.”

Then Sunday morning came.

Suddenly, I didn’t want to go to church.

If you know me, you know that’s unusual. Through every season of my life, church has always been the one place I made sure I showed up. Yet that morning, I found excuse after excuse to stay home.

But just as He had done before, the Lord answered every one of them.

As I sat on the edge of my bed, I felt Him speak clearly to my heart.

“Get up and go.”

It wasn’t a harsh voice. It was the firm, loving voice of a Father reminding His child that obedience wasn’t optional.

So I got up.

As I pulled into the church parking lot, I could already feel the battle in my mind. Every part of me wanted someone else to make the decision for me.

I remember praying, “Lord, if this is truly Your will, let me run into the missions pastor without having to search for him.”

I took a deep breath, opened the church doors…

…and standing directly in front of me was the missions pastor.

I couldn’t help but smile.

Part of me imagines God smiling too.

I introduced myself and explained why I wanted to talk with him. At first, the conversation sounded discouraging. It seemed like the trip was already full and that I had simply waited too long.

Then everything changed.

After speaking with the woman handling the logistics, every obstacle that should have prevented me from going began to disappear. Every closed door unexpectedly opened. One by one, the answer that should have been “no” became “yes.”

We both sat there amazed at what God had done.

Moments like that remind me that our God is able to change circumstances in an instant. Not because He always works suddenly, but because when He decides to open a door, nothing can stand in His way.

I think about Revelation 3:7-8, where we are reminded that what God opens, no one can shut.

Looking back now, I realize the mission trip wasn’t the greatest miracle.

Obedience was.

God wasn’t simply inviting me to travel across the world. He was inviting me back into a deeper walk with Him.

That one small step of faith has changed the direction of my life. Since saying “yes,” I’ve watched Him provide in ways I couldn’t have imagined, open doors I never could have opened myself, and transform areas of my heart I thought would never change.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this:

Don’t underestimate what God can do with one act of obedience.

Maybe your step won’t be boarding a plane. Maybe it’s making the phone call, serving in your church, forgiving someone, applying for the job, or simply saying “yes” to something God has been placing on your heart for months.

Whatever it is, don’t let fear convince you to stay where God never intended you to remain.

Sometimes the biggest changes in our lives begin with the smallest step of faith.

The Miracles I Almost Missed.

June 29th, 2026

I’ve been thinking a lot about miracles lately.

Not because I’ve suddenly witnessed something extraordinary, but because I realized I almost missed the ordinary.

For a long time, I thought God’s hand would only be obvious in the big moments. The more I walk with Him, the more I’m realizing I was looking in the wrong places.

I would have told you about mountains moving. Impossible situations. Prayers answered in ways that left absolutely no room for explanation except, “That had to be God.”

Truthfully, that’s what I prayed for.

Over and over again I found myself saying, “God, if You’re real, I just need to see a miracle.”

I wasn’t asking because I doubted His existence. I was asking because I desperately wanted to see Him.

Looking back now, I think I made one mistake.

I had already decided what seeing God was supposed to look like.

I wanted fireworks.

I wanted the moment that everyone around me could point to and say, “Wow…only God could have done that.”

And while God absolutely still does those kinds of miracles, I think I was so busy looking for the extraordinary that I completely overlooked the ordinary.

The Lord has been gently working on my heart in this.

I used to get frustrated over the smallest inconveniences. Getting stuck at a red light. Plans changing. A door closing that I was convinced should have opened.

We’ve all heard someone say, “Maybe that red light kept you from an accident.” Whether that’s exactly what happened or not isn’t really the point. The point is this:

How often do I assume something is working against me when God may actually be working for me?

That question has stayed with me.

I started wondering…

How many times have I called something an inconvenience when it was actually God’s provision?

How many times have I mistaken His protection for rejection?

How many answered prayers have I walked right past because they didn’t look the way I imagined they would?

Somewhere along the way I stopped asking God to simply reveal Himself, and I started asking Him to prove Himself on my terms.

I had made “extraordinary” the standard.

So when God faithfully showed up in ordinary ways, I almost missed Him.

Over the last few months, I’ve started looking back.

Not because everything has been perfect.

Not because life has suddenly become easy.

But because I wanted to see if God had really been moving.

And honestly…

His fingerprints are everywhere.

I prayed for people who would push me closer to Jesus, and little by little He surrounded me with them.

Not all at once.

One conversation.

One friendship.

One mentor.

One encouragement at exactly the right time.

I prayed for direction because I wanted to know what came next. I wanted the whole blueprint. I wanted God to hand me a five-year plan.

Instead, He gave me one step.

Then another.

At first, I didn’t understand why He wasn’t showing me the whole picture.

Now I wonder if that’s because He was teaching me to trust the Shepherd more than the map.

Even this blog has reminded me of that.

Months ago, I probably would have convinced myself I wasn’t ready. That someone else could do it better. That I needed more experience before I had anything worth saying.

Instead, God simply asked me to be obedient.

Not perfect.

Not polished.

Just willing.

Maybe that’s been the miracle all along.

Not that God suddenly started moving.

But that He’s been moving this entire time…

I still believe God does the impossible.

I still believe He parts seas.

I still believe He performs miracles that leave us in awe.

But lately, I’ve found myself praying something different.

“Lord…help me notice You.”

Help me notice the conversations You ordained.

Help me notice the doors You quietly opened.

Help me notice the prayers You’re already answering.

Help me notice Your hand in the ordinary days.

Because I have a feeling heaven celebrates things we overlook all the time.

The quiet obedience.

The softened heart.

The unexpected peace.

The strength to keep going.

The friend who showed up at just the right time.

The courage to take one more faithful step.

Maybe the miracle I’ve been praying for isn’t only somewhere out in front of me.

Maybe part of the miracle is realizing God has faithfully walked beside me every step that brought me here.

Maybe He never stopped moving.

Maybe I just wasn’t looking in the right places.

Those are the miracles I almost missed.

There’s something I want to leave you with today…

Maybe you’ve been praying for a miracle too.

Maybe you’ve been waiting for God to show up in some huge, unmistakable way.

Don’t stop praying bold prayers. We serve a God who still does the impossible.

But while you’re waiting, don’t miss the miracles happening all around you.

The conversation you didn’t expect.

The prayer that was answered differently than you imagined.

The door that closed.

The one that opened.

The peace that didn’t make sense.

The strength to keep going another day.

Sometimes the greatest miracle isn’t that God suddenly changes our circumstances.

Sometimes the greatest miracle is that He faithfully walks with us through them.

The miracles I almost missed were never absent.

I just needed God to open my eyes to see them.

When Love Gives You a Choice

July 8th, 2026

Recently, I was given the opportunity to make a decision that I knew would alter the course of my life.

When we hear words like that, we usually think about the big moments—a new job, a move across the country, a relationship, or some life-changing opportunity. But this decision looked different.

I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve made the wrong choice more times than I can count. I‘ve chased what I wanted, ignored God’s gentle nudges, and learned some lessons the hard way. But through this decision, I experienced the fullness of God’s love in a way I never had before.

For years, I thought God’s love was most visible in His provision. An answered prayer. A door opening. A blessing arriving at just the right time. But this time, His love looked like something much simpler.

It looked like a choice.

For five days, I felt like I was living in A Christmas Carol. You know the scene where Scrooge is taken back through moments of his life and is finally able to see everything from the outside? That’s the closest comparison I can make.

The Lord allowed me to step outside of something I had been walking through. Instead of seeing it through my emotions, He allowed me to see it through His perspective.

During those five days, something happened that I hadn’t experienced in a long time. My body slipped back into survival mode. The panic returned. The anxiety. The constant feeling of fight or flight.

It was as if my body remembered everything the Lord had already rescued me from.

Not once.

Not twice.

But over and over again.

By the end of those five days, I found myself sitting on the edge of my bed, praying the same prayer I had prayed before:

“Lord, help me.”

What happened next is difficult to put into words.

He didn’t come with disappointment.

He didn’t come with frustration.

He didn’t come to remind me of all the times I had failed Him.

He met me with grace.

He met me with love.

In that quiet moment, I sensed the Lord placing two paths before me.

One path led back to something He had faithfully delivered me from time and time again. It was familiar. It held the desires I once thought I couldn’t live without.

The other path was the life He had prepared for me.

It wasn’t that God was threatening me or trying to punish me. He simply revealed a truth I had never fully understood.

I couldn’t have both.

In that moment, the words of Scripture became more than words on a page. They became an invitation.

“This day I call the heavens and the earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live.” — Deuteronomy 30:19 (NIV)

The Lord wasn’t forcing my hand. He wasn’t manipulating my decision. He loved me enough to let me choose.

He showed me where each road would lead and allowed me to decide which one I would walk.

For the first time in my life, I truly understood what His love looks like.

Love doesn’t force.

Love invites.

Without hesitation, I chose Him.

I chose to surrender the life I thought I wanted so I could receive the life He had planned all along. I laid down the people, the places, the dreams, and the plans I had been holding so tightly. Not because they were all bad, but because I finally trusted that whatever God asked me to release could never compare to what He was inviting me into.

As I surrendered, another passage came to my heart:

“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.” — Proverbs 3:5–6 (NIV)

For so long, I leaned on my own understanding. I believed I knew what was best for my life. But sitting there on the edge of my bed, I realized that God’s plans were never about taking something from me. They were about leading me into something better.

As I sat there, I couldn’t stop thinking about how different my response would have been if the roles were reversed.

If I were in God’s position, I think I would have become impatient.

I would have grown frustrated.

I probably would have walked away.

But He didn’t.

Instead, He took what could have been one of the ugliest moments of my story and transformed it into one of the clearest pictures of His love I have ever experienced.

He reminded me that His love isn’t measured by how tightly He holds onto me, but by how faithfully He pursues me—even when I’ve wandered, even when I’ve questioned, and even when I’ve stood at the crossroads unsure of which way to go.

Sometimes God’s greatest act of love isn’t removing the choice.

Sometimes it’s giving us the freedom to choose Him.

And I am so thankful that, even after every wrong turn I’ve taken, He is still standing there with open arms, inviting me to choose life.

I’ve thought about that moment on the edge of my bed many times since then.

Not because I remember the decision.

But because I remember the heart of the One who gave it to me.

As I’ve reflected on those five days, I keep coming back to one question:

How many times has God lovingly placed a choice before me, and I was too focused on what I wanted to recognize it as love?

Maybe you’ve been there too.

Maybe you’re standing at a crossroads, wrestling with a decision that feels impossible. Maybe one path is familiar, comfortable, and everything you thought you wanted. Maybe the other requires trust before you can see where it leads.

If that’s you, I hope you’ll remember this:

God’s love doesn’t always look like opening a door.

Sometimes it looks like giving you the freedom to choose which one you’ll walk through.

And if He’s asking you to lay something down, maybe it isn’t because He’s trying to take something from you.

Maybe He’s inviting you into something greater.

A God who could have forced my hand…

instead chose to love me enough to let me choose Him.

Maybe that’s what love has looked like all along.

Maybe we’ve just been looking for it in the wrong places.

The Index

July 17th, 2026

One of the things I love most about social media today is the memories it brings up.

In the same breath, it’s also one of the things I hate the most.

Why?

Because every memory is tied to an emotion.

Sometimes it’s joy. Sometimes it’s grief. Sometimes it’s embarrassment, regret, or heartbreak. A picture, a date, or a post can pull you back to a specific place in time before you’ve even had the chance to prepare for it.

For a split second, you’re there again.

You remember the room.

The people.

The conversation.

The feeling.

Recently, one of those memories appeared on my screen.

Honestly, I had completely forgotten it existed. I thought I had deleted everything connected to that season of my life. It was one of the darkest places I’d ever walked through—a place I promised myself I’d never return to.

But something surprised me.

When I looked at the memory, I wasn’t transported back into the pain.

The shame didn’t rush back.

The anxiety wasn’t waiting for me.

The hurt I’d carried for so long never resurfaced.

Instead, all I saw was a chapter that God had used to shape me.

I wasn’t looking at the girl who was broken.

I was looking at the girl God was rebuilding.

Being back in my master’s program has been funny in a lot of ways. It’s reminded me of the days before ChatGPT, before everything was one Google search away, when we actually had to flip through textbooks. (I promise I’m going somewhere with this.)

You remember those?

The table of contents.

The glossary.

The index.

Last week I was working on a research paper, and my professor challenged us to rely on technology as little as possible. That meant finding information the old-fashioned way—in books.

As I sat there flipping pages, slightly overwhelmed, I found myself in the back of the book.

The index.

For anyone who doesn’t know, the index is simply a list of keywords with page numbers directing you to exactly where that topic appears.

And that’s when something clicked.

Our minds have an index too.

A certain road.

A familiar face.

A smell.

A date on the calendar.

A song you haven’t heard in years.

They’re all little entries in the index of our minds, pointing us back to moments we’ve lived.

Sometimes they point to beautiful memories.

Other times…

They point to places we’d rather never visit again.

Not long ago I was driving when a song came on that I hadn’t heard in years.

And just like the index in the back of a book, my mind immediately found the page.

During one of the hardest seasons of my life, that song had become my favorite.

When I came out of that season, I stopped listening to it completely.

The first fifteen seconds were enough to make me cry.

It carried hurt.

Guilt.

Shame.

So I avoided it.

But this time was different.

The song played…

…and nothing happened.

Well, something happened.

I remembered.

But I didn’t relive it.

There was a memory.

There wasn’t pain.

As I kept driving, I felt the Lord gently remind me of all the nights I had begged Him to erase those memories from my mind.

I remember praying,

“Lord, please let me forget.”

I didn’t want to dream about it anymore.

I didn’t want random reminders.

I didn’t want anything connected to that season.

But somewhere along the way, the Lord answered that prayer differently than I expected.

He didn’t erase the memory.

He healed the wound.

And maybe that’s because the memory was never the enemy.

The pain was.

Now when those memories surface, they don’t remind me of everything I lost.

They remind me of everything God restored.

Isn’t that what He does so often?

We ask Him to remove the chapter.

He chooses to redeem it instead.

Because if He erased every difficult memory, we’d lose the testimony attached to it.

We’d forget how faithful He was.

We’d forget what He delivered us from.

We’d forget the ways He carried us when we couldn’t carry ourselves.

Those memories become reminders—not of who we were—but of who He has always been.

Faithful.

Patient.

Merciful.

Near.

The enemy wants our memories to become prisons.

God wants them to become monuments.

I think that’s why Scripture so often tells God’s people to remember.

After Israel crossed the Jordan River, God told them to gather twelve stones and build a memorial.

He didn’t tell them to erase the river.

He didn’t tell them to forget what they had walked through.

He told them to remember.

Not so they would relive the fear…

But so they would remember His faithfulness.

Every time they saw those stones, they weren’t supposed to think about the obstacle.

They were supposed to think about the God who brought them through it.

Maybe that’s what healing looks like.

The event is still there.

The page number never changed.

But what that page means has.

Maybe there’s a memory you’ve spent years trying to bury.

A road you’ve avoided.

A picture you can’t look at.

A song you’ve skipped every single time it came on.

Maybe your prayer has sounded a lot like mine.

“Lord… please help me forget.”

But what if the better prayer is,

“Lord, heal what I still feel when I remember.”

Because healed memories become testimonies.

They become proof that what once had the power to destroy us no longer has the power to define us.

God never ripped those pages out of my story.

He simply changed the ending.

My mind still has an index.

It can still find those chapters.

It still knows the page numbers.

But when I turn to those pages now, I don’t see defeat.

I see redemption.

I don’t see the girl who thought she’d never make it.

I see a faithful God who never left her.

So if your mind’s index points you back to a painful chapter today, don’t be discouraged.

The page may still exist.

The memory may still be there.

But by the grace of God, the pain doesn’t have to be.

And maybe that’s one of the greatest miracles of healing—

not that God erased your story…

but that He rewrote what it means.

Where You Are Planted

August 10, 2026

I think sometimes we can become so focused on where God is taking us that we forget to pay attention to where He has us.

I know I did.

Recently, I found myself in a season of transition. I knew there were things the Lord had placed on my heart. Promises. Dreams. Things I genuinely believed He was leading me toward. And because I was so excited about what was ahead, I started looking at where I was as simply the place I had to get through to get there.

I was ready for the next thing.

Ready for the promise.

Ready for the door to open.

Ready to step into what I felt like God had been preparing me for.

And somewhere along the way, my prayers became so focused on where I was going that I almost stopped asking God what He wanted to do where I already was.

Then, during prayer, the Lord began dealing with my heart about something simple:

Be where you are planted.

Not where you think you should be.

Not where you hope you’ll be six months from now.

Not where you know God is eventually leading you.

Right here.

Because there is a reason you’re here.

And that realization convicted me.

I had become so eager to walk into the promise that I was overlooking the preparation. I was looking ahead so intently that I wasn’t always noticing the little things God was doing around me.

The conversations.

The people.

The opportunities to serve.

The moments where I could show someone the love of Jesus.

The ordinary days that didn’t necessarily feel significant.

I wonder how often we do this.

We ask God for the next season while barely being present in the one He’s already given us.

We pray for the new job while overlooking the people at our current one.

We pray for the relationship, the ministry, the opportunity, the calling, the breakthrough—whatever our “next” may be—while treating today like a waiting room.

But what if today isn’t the waiting room?

What if today is part of the assignment?

There is something beautiful about being planted.

When you plant something in the ground, there is a period of time when it looks like absolutely nothing is happening. There are no flowers. No fruit. Nothing above the surface to prove that growth is taking place.

But underneath the soil, roots are forming.

Strength is developing.

Something is being established that will eventually be necessary to sustain what grows above the surface.

Maybe some seasons with God are like that.

We want the fruit, but He is growing the roots.

We want the promise, but He is preparing us to carry it.

We want to know what’s next, while God is saying, “Look at what I’ve placed in front of you today.”

And preparation isn’t punishment.

Being planted isn’t being forgotten.

Just because God has shown you something about your future doesn’t mean your present has lost its purpose.

In fact, maybe knowing there is more ahead should make us even more intentional with what He’s entrusted to us now.

Because there are people around us right now who need Jesus.

There are opportunities right now to serve.

There are conversations right now where we can bring encouragement, kindness, truth, or simply the presence of someone who loves like Christ.

And if our eyes are constantly fixed on the next season, we might walk right past them.

I don’t want to wish away a season God intentionally placed me in.

I don’t want to become so consumed with the promise that I miss the preparation.

And I definitely don’t want to arrive at whatever God has next only to realize I missed the people He asked me to love along the way.

So lately, my prayer has started to look a little different.

Yes, Lord, I still believe You for what You’ve promised.

Yes, I’m excited about where You’re leading me.

But until You move me, help me be faithful here.

Let me serve here.

Let me love people here.

Let me represent You here.

Let me learn here.

Let me grow roots here.

Because maybe the question isn’t always, “God, when are You taking me there?”

Maybe sometimes the better question is:

“God, why have You planted me here?”

And until He says it’s time to move, I want to be fully present in the soil He’s chosen for me.

There is purpose here, too.