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September Part 1 -A Season of Transition 1st-23rd
Updated: Oct 6
Faith. Preparation. Surrender. What's Next...
September did not begin with answers. It began with a shift.
August had been full of movement, preparation, and momentum. I was doing, building, fixing, clearing, and getting things done. But when September arrived, the pace changed. The certainty I had been moving with became quieter, and I found myself entering a season that required something different from me.
Less manufacturing.More surrender.
Less knowing.More trusting.
What I did not realize on September 1st was that I was beginning to experience what I would later call labor pains..
This month became a day-by-day record of what it looked like to obey God without having the entire picture. Some days brought doubt. Some brought confirmation. Some brought release. Some brought rest. And through every day, Scripture seemed to meet me exactly where I was.
So I decided to document it.
Not after the breakthrough. Not once everything made sense. But while I was still becoming.
Welcome to September.
September 1-When Momentum Changed
Journal Entry
September started differently than August ended.
August had moved fast. I had energy. I was getting things done. I could see progress. I was moving, preparing, checking things off, handling what needed to be handled.
Then September 1st came, and something shifted.
Doubt started creeping in.
I don't even know exactly where it came from. I remember thinking: God, what am I doing? What is happening here?
The energy I had been running on seemed to disappear.
I still knew some things needed to be done, but suddenly everything felt heavier. I wasn't moving with the same momentum. I didn't have that same push in me. And because I didn't understand what was happening, I started questioning it.
Was I tired? Was I afraid? Was I doing too much? Was I making a mistake?
I didn't know.
I just knew I was uncomfortable.
And this was really the first day that I started feeling the pain of the process.
Not necessarily because anything terrible happened that day. It was more internal than that.
The pace changed.
The certainty felt quieter.
And I could no longer rely on adrenaline to carry me.
At the time, I didn't know what that meant.
All I knew was that I still had things in front of me, and I was trying to figure out how to keep moving when I no longer felt the same energy I had before.
Looking back, I can see that maybe I was approaching a different part of the process. But on September 1st, I didn't have that language yet.
All I had was the discomfort.
The doubt.
The question.
God, what am I doing?
And maybe faith on this day wasn't confidence.
Maybe faith was not quitting because confidence got quiet.
Prayer for today: God, when I cannot feel the momentum I had before, help me not mistake tiredness for wrong direction. When doubt creeps in, teach me to bring the questions to You instead of letting them become conclusions. Give me grace for the moments when all I know to do is stay.
September 2: Do What You Know
Journal Entry
Today, the preparation started costing me.
I got the quote for the painting, and immediately I felt the tension. The numbers were adding up. There were already so many things that needed my money and attention, and now here was another expense.
And the question became: Do I spend this money? Do I wait? Do I hold onto what I have because I don't know what else is coming?
The truth was, I didn't know very much.
But I knew one thing.
Paint the house.
That was the instruction I felt clear about.
And maybe that's what made today difficult. I wanted more information before I made the investment. I wanted to know where the money after this would come from. I wanted to know whether I was making the smartest financial decision. I wanted to know how everything was going to unfold.
But I didn't have all of that.
I only had the next thing.
Paint.
The part of me that is accustomed to surviving wanted to manufacture a cheaper answer. Figure it out myself. Do more myself. Hold onto the money. Control as many variables as possible.
But today I had to confront another kind of question:
Can I obey what I know without knowing what comes after it?
That's where my faith was today.
Not in some huge miracle.
Not in having the entire plan.
Just in doing the thing in front of me.
I don't know yet how all of this is going to work. I don't know what other expenses are coming. I don't know exactly what preparing this house is preparing me for.
But I know what I know.
And today, that has to be enough.
Prayer for today: God, help me distinguish faith from recklessness and fear from wisdom. Give me wisdom with every dollar and every decision. But when You have made my next step clear, don't let my need to understand the entire plan keep me from taking it. I don't need tomorrow's instructions today. Help me do what I know.
September 3: Not Enough
Journal Entry
Today, I heard the words I didn’t want to hear: not enough. Not enough assets. Not enough for the automatic approval. Non-traditional. Maybe another route would be necessary. And the strange part was that while one hand was holding “prepare,” the other hand had just been handed a “no.” I knew what I believed God had been telling me to do—prepare the house, paint, get things in order, release things, move forward—and I had been doing it. But now I was hearing all the reasons why what I was preparing for might not work the way I thought it would.
God didn’t immediately explain Himself. There was no sudden answer, no blueprint, no clear explanation of how the preparation and the no were going to meet. And that was uncomfortable because the part of me that knows how to survive immediately wanted to fix it. I wanted to make calls, move money, find another route, figure something out. I wanted to manufacture an answer. But I didn’t. I allowed the no to simply be a no for today.
That may have been the real lesson. I didn’t have to treat the lender’s words like a final verdict, but I also didn’t have to pretend I hadn’t heard them. I could acknowledge the reality in front of me and still obey what I already knew. Faith that day wasn’t receiving a miraculous yes. Faith was continuing to prepare without knowing how the preparation and the no were going to meet.
That night, I carried all of it into Bible study. I was already full, unsettled, uncomfortable, and carrying that word—not enough. Then worship started, and the song was “God Has His Hands on Me.” I cried. I worshiped. I released. Nothing about my circumstances changed during that song. I didn’t walk out with an approval, the obstacles didn’t disappear, and I still didn’t know how any of it would work. But something in me changed.
I walked into Bible study carrying not enough, and I walked out remembering that God still had His hands on me. The old version of me would have heard “not enough” and immediately started figuring out how to become enough. That day, I heard “not enough” and surrendered. If this door is mine, I don’t have to break it down. If God is telling me to prepare while everything around me seems to be saying no, then I don’t have to understand how those two things meet yet. I just have to remain obedient.
Prepare in one hand. No in the other. God in the middle.
Pray for today: God, I don’t understand how “prepare” and “no” can exist at the same time, but I trust You. Keep me from manufacturing what You have asked me to trust You for. Give me wisdom to handle what is mine to handle and courage to acknowledge what is in front of me without turning it into a conclusion You never gave me. If You say prepare, I’ll prepare. If You say wait, I’ll wait. If You close a door, help me leave it closed. And if a door is truly mine, remind me that I don’t have to break it down. Amen.
September 4: Labor Pains, The Pressure Finally Has a Name.
Journal Entry
Today, things started making sense.
For the past few days, I had been moving through a lot without fully understanding what I was feeling. There was pressure. There was movement. There was preparation. There were things happening around me and inside of me, but I didn’t quite have language for it yet.
Then today, it was identified.
Labor.
That was the word.
The pregnancy dreams. The waiting. The pressure. The stretching. The sense that something was happening, even though I could not yet see the finished result. Suddenly, it all had a name: labor pains.
And once I had language for it, I could stop treating every uncomfortable feeling like something was wrong.
Melody sent me a message that helped bring clarity. I was with my neighbor, and somehow the conversations and confirmations around me started helping me recognize what I needed to be preparing for. I didn’t have the whole picture, but I had enough light for the next step.
Then I went to Walmart and ran into a woman I knew from church. We started talking about the move, and right there in Walmart, she prayed for me. She prayed that my house would sell for top dollar. She even said I might receive an offer before it ever officially hit the market.
I received it, but I didn’t feel the need to force it into a prediction or make it mean more than I knew. I just tucked it away.
Then, within the next couple of days, my neighbor spoke something remarkably similar and shared her own testimony. Houses around her had sat on the market for months, but hers sold in one day.
Again: confirmation around the same area.
I still don’t know exactly how my story will unfold. I don’t know how quickly the house will sell, what the final number will be, or what every next step looks like. But today reminded me that I do not have to know the ending in order to recognize that I am being prepared.
Something is moving.
Something is shifting.
And perhaps the greatest gift of today was not a guarantee about the house. It was clarity about me.
I finally understood why I had felt so much pressure.
I was not necessarily falling apart. I was in transition.
And today, the transition got a name.
Labor pains.
Prayer for today: God, thank You for giving me language for what I have been experiencing. Help me not to run from the pressure or manufacture an outcome. Teach me how to recognize what You are showing me, prepare for what is mine to prepare for, and trust You with everything I cannot see yet.
September 5: Keep It Up
Journal Entry
Yesterday, the pressure finally got a name: labor pains. Today, in the middle of those labor pains, I felt like I received a simple instruction:
Keep it up.
I was sitting with Isaiah 66, still processing everything God had been showing me about birth, labor, preparation, and bringing something to the point of delivery. Then something happened that I still can't fully explain. A message appeared on my tablet with my name on it:
“Ashley, keep it up.”
I don't know where it came from. I had never seen anything like it happen before. I didn't know whether it was something generated by the app or some notification I had somehow missed. But I know the timing made me stop. There I was, reading about God bringing something to the point of birth, and suddenly my own name was staring back at me with two simple words: keep going.
And almost immediately, real life gave me something else to look at. A negative credit alert came through. That was the tension of the day: encouragement and contradiction existing at the same time.
The natural evidence wasn't suddenly getting prettier. Everything didn't fall into place because I had identified the labor. There were still delays. There were still things happening financially that I hadn't expected. There were still circumstances that could have made me question everything I had been preparing for.
But I was beginning to understand something: I couldn't allow every piece of bad news to become a new instruction.
If God hadn't told me to stop, I wasn't going to let an alert tell me to stop.
Later, I went to my spiritual parents' home, and there was another kind of confirmation—not necessarily words about what would happen next, but the feeling of being exactly where I needed to be. There was family, fellowship, food, worship, warmth. My children settled in. Everything felt easy. In the middle of a season filled with questions, God allowed me to experience something that felt peaceful and aligned.
And maybe that was part of the message too.
Keep it up.
Keep trusting. Keep obeying. Keep preparing. Keep releasing. Keep paying attention. Keep moving when it's time to move, and don't manufacture movement when God hasn't given it.
Isaiah 66 didn't give me a closing date, an address, a buyer, an approval, or a timeline. It gave me an image: birth.
And that was enough for today.
I don't know exactly what is being birthed through this season. I don't know when delivery comes. But today I was reminded that I don't have to abandon the process simply because the process becomes uncomfortable.
Yesterday, God gave the pressure a name. Today, I heard: Keep it up.
Prayer: God, thank You for meeting me in ways that make me stop and pay attention. I don't want to manufacture signs, force meanings, or make promises out of things You haven't promised. But I also don't want to become so distracted by what is happening around me that I miss the encouragement I need for the journey. When circumstances contradict what I believe You have been teaching me, give me discernment. When negative news comes, help me respond with wisdom instead of fear. When I'm tempted to quit simply because I cannot see the outcome, remind me to remain faithful to what I already know. If I'm supposed to keep going, strengthen me to keep going. If I'm supposed to wait, teach me to wait. If I'm supposed to rest, give me permission to rest. I trust You with the delivery because I cannot manufacture what only You can bring forth. Until then, I'll keep it up. Amen.
September 6: Rest Between Contractions
Journal Entry
Today was a day of release. Someone I once loved very deeply finally came to collect the things that had remained behind from years ago, and I knew this moment represented more than belongings leaving a house. Something was closing.
The conversation made me sad, but not because I wanted the relationship back. I felt compassion. I could see someone I once loved carrying a version of his story that has convinced him that everybody leaves him, when from where I stand, many of the people he believes abandoned him were still there. I felt sorry for him. I wanted him to see what I could see. But I also knew something with absolute clarity: loving someone does not mean they are a safe place for me.
That truth was painful and freeing at the same time. I can love someone and release them. I can care deeply and still choose peace. I can have compassion without returning. I can recognize another person's pain without making myself responsible for healing it. And maybe that is one of the deepest forms of surrender I have experienced in this season.
Afterward, I felt incredibly full. Not necessarily heavy—just full. So full that I barely wanted to eat. Later, I went to a friend's barbecue. There were drinks around, conversation, people enjoying themselves, but I didn't want anything to numb what I was feeling. Then worship music started playing, and somehow that was exactly what I needed. I could just sit there, listen, worship, and allow everything inside of me to settle.
Earlier that day at church, the message had been, “Come to Me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” And that became my posture for the rest of the day. I didn't need another strategy. I didn't need to solve the house, the credit issues, the unexpected expenses, the move, or whatever was coming next. I needed rest.
Then I came to John 16:20–22.
Jesus speaks about sorrow turning into joy and compares it to a woman in childbirth. She experiences pain because her time has come, but the pain belongs to a transition. And there it was again: labor.
But today I learned another part of labor.
You don't push through every moment of it.
There are contractions, and then there are pauses. There are moments when the pressure intensifies, and then there are moments when you breathe. The pause doesn't mean labor has stopped. Rest doesn't mean the process has failed.
Maybe that's where I am.
The last several days have been full of movement, questions, preparation, confirmation, disappointment, release, and emotions I don't always have words for. I've been trying to understand what God is doing while simultaneously living through it.
But today I don't need to understand.
Today I can rest between contractions.
I can let what has ended be finished without making it ugly. I can honor what I once loved without returning to it. I can grieve without interpreting grief as regret. I can cry and still know I am moving forward.
And I can trust that when it is time to push again, God will give me the strength.
But today?
Breathe. Release. Rest.
Prayer for today: Father, thank You for meeting me in the places where love and release exist at the same time. Thank You for teaching me that I do not have to hate what I am leaving in order to know that it is time to leave it. Help me love without losing myself, have compassion without compromising my boundaries, and grieve what was without returning to what You have given me the strength to release.When my heart is full and I don't have words for everything I'm feeling, remind me that You understand even what I cannot explain. Teach me not to rush through grief simply because I know I am moving forward.And Father, teach me how to rest. When it is time to push, strengthen me. When it is time to move, lead me. But when You give me a pause between contractions, help me receive it without guilt.I trust You with what I loved. I trust You with what I released. I trust You with what I cannot yet see.And tonight, I choose to rest. Amen.
September 7, 2026 : The Preparation Ground
Journal Entry
Today, somebody heard my story. Not pieces of it. Not the cleaned-up version. Not just the parts that are easy to explain.I told the story of what these years in this house have held.
And as my neighbor listened, he kept saying something that stayed with me:
“That’s a lot. That’s a lot to carry.”
And he was right.
It was a lot.
I think sometimes when you are living inside of something, you do not realize how heavy it is because you are too busy carrying it. You adjust. You survive. You keep going. You learn how to function under the weight.
But today, I looked backward.
And I cried.
Not because I want to go backward.
Not because I do not trust where God is leading me.
I cried because I finally recognized what it took to get here.
Then he said something else:
“God has been preparing you.”
Preparation.
That word stayed with me.
Because suddenly I saw this house differently.
This house was not only my home.
It was preparation ground.
For almost five years, so much happened here. This house gave my children and me stability. It became a safe place. There are memories in these walls ,beautiful ones and painful ones. There were things I had to heal from here. Things I had to learn here. Things that were birthed here.
And I was changed here.
Maybe that is why releasing it has felt so emotional.
I am not simply preparing to sell property.
I am releasing a place that served an important purpose in my becoming.
And today I realized something else:
I do not have to dishonor what this house was in order to leave it.
I can thank God for it.
I can acknowledge the difficult things that happened here without believing God caused every painful thing.
I can recognize that He used this season.
That He did not waste it.
That even the parts I would never have chosen still became places where I grew, learned, healed, became stronger, and learned to trust Him differently.
Romans 8 speaks about creation groaning like a woman in labor.
And there was that language again.
Labor.
Something painful happening while something else is being brought forth.
It also speaks about hope.
And hope is strange because you do not need hope for something you can already see.
Hope exists when you are still waiting.
When you do not have the tangible evidence yet.
When you cannot point to the finished thing and say, “There it is.”
That is where I am.
I still do not know exactly where I am going.
I do not know exactly how the house will sell.
I do not know how every financial piece will come together.
I cannot see the finished picture yet.
But Romans 8 reminds me that not seeing does not mean nothing is happening.
It also reminds me that there are moments when I will not even know how to pray.
And I have had those moments.
Moments when there are too many emotions, too many questions, too many moving pieces, and all I have is: God, You know.
And somehow, that is enough.
Because the Spirit helps me even there. Then comes the reminder that God can work through all things for good.That does not mean everything that happened was good. It means nothing has to be wasted.And today, looking around this house, I could see that more clearly than I have before.
This place held me.
This place sheltered us.
This place witnessed heartbreak.
This place witnessed healing.
This place witnessed me becoming.
But preparation ground is not always permanent ground.
Sometimes the place that helped prepare you for your next season is not the place you are supposed to remain forever.
And that is okay.
I can honor what was.
I can grieve what was.
I can be grateful for what was.
And still release it.
The preparation was not only what I was doing to the house.
The house was preparing me.
And if this was preparation ground, then I do not have to carry the ground with me into whatever comes next.
I can take the woman God developed here.
And leave the ground behind.
Prayer for today: Father, thank You for what this house has been.Thank You for the shelter, the stability, the memories, the healing, the tears, and everything that has been developed in me here. Thank You that You are able to use even the parts of my story I would never have chosen. I do not believe every painful thing was sent by You, but I believe You are able to redeem what happened and refuse to let it be wasted. Help me release this season without rejecting it. Help me leave without bitterness. Help me grieve without believing grief means I am supposed to stay.
When I cannot see what comes next, teach me to hope. When I do not know how to pray, remind me that Your Spirit meets me there. And when I am tempted to cling to what has been familiar simply because the future is unknown, remind me that preparation ground is not always permanent ground.
September 8: A New Way
Journal Entry
Today felt like resistance and strength existing at the same time. Work exhausted me. There was pushback, frustration, and resistance, and by the end of it I felt like I should have had nothing left. But somehow, I did.
There were things around this house that I had been preparing to pay someone about $500 to handle. At the time I made that decision, I genuinely felt like I couldn't do them. But today I realized something: some of that decision wasn't about inability. It was about exhaustion.
I had gotten so tired that I started confusing “I don't have the energy for this right now” with “I can't do this.”
Those are not the same thing.
So today I went to Home Depot. I researched. I asked questions. I figured things out. And one by one, I started doing things I had already decided were beyond me.
And I could.
Not because I suddenly don't need anyone. Not because I'm entering another season of hyper-independence. Quite the opposite. I'm learning that I can desire partnership without diminishing the capability God has already placed inside of me.
Isaiah 43 tells me that God is doing a new thing and asks, “Do you not perceive it?” Maybe part of my responsibility in this season is simply to pay attention.
Because something is changing.
I'm responding differently. I'm trusting differently. I'm releasing differently. I'm resting differently. And today, I discovered that I'm even more capable than I thought.
Yesterday, I realized this house had been preparation ground.
Today, I caught a glimpse of what the preparation has produced.
And maybe that's the new thing I'm beginning to perceive.
I don't know exactly where the road leads yet. I don't need to. God says He can make a way where I cannot see one.
So I'll keep preparing.
I'll keep paying attention.
And I'll keep allowing Him to show me what's already springing up.
Prayer for today: Father, thank You for strength I didn't know I had today. Thank You for reminding me that exhaustion is not the same as inability. Keep me from returning to hyper-independence, but also keep me from shrinking myself while I wait for help. Teach me when to rest, when to receive help, and when to get up and use what You've already placed in my hands. You said You are doing a new thing. Give me eyes to perceive it without trying to control it. Make the way that only You can make, and when You give me something to do along that way, give me the strength and wisdom to do it. I don't need to know the whole route. I trust the One making the way. Amen.
September 9: Im Waiting Differently
Journal Entry
Today, one sentence kept coming back to me:
One decision will change everything.
I don't completely know what that means yet, and I'm not going to force myself to know.
Because earlier today, I caught myself doing something familiar. I started searching. Should I rent the house instead? What would that look like? What are the pros? What are the cons? What other route could I take?
And somewhere in all that searching, I recognized myself again.
Manufacturing.
Trying to figure out enough possibilities that maybe I could finally make myself feel certain.
But I'm learning that there is a difference between preparing wisely and searching for a way to remove faith from the equation.
Then God interrupted my thoughts through somebody else's story.
Last night, I dreamed about my friend Kristy. I shared the dream with her, not really knowing everything it meant or why she had been placed so strongly on my heart. Today, right before Bible study, she called me. She thanked me for sharing it because what I had told her met her in something she had been wrestling with herself. And then she started telling me her story.
I cried.
Because although our circumstances aren't identical, I understood the place she was describing: knowing something is happening while having very little tangible evidence that anything is happening at all.
That place can be frustrating.
You're believing.
You're obeying.
You're waiting.
You're sensing movement.
And yet when you look around for something concrete to point toward, sometimes there's nothing there.
And suddenly I realized that maybe God had allowed two women who were both navigating uncertainty to encourage each other right in the middle of it.
I thought I had been given something for her.And somehow, God used her story to minister right back to me. It reminded me why we cannot always isolate ourselves while we're going through something. Sometimes the very thing God is developing in us becomes encouragement for somebody else before our own story is even finished. I don't have to arrive before God can use me. I don't have to have my testimony wrapped in a bow before my obedience can help somebody else. Then the realtor called.
More money.
More things that need to be handled with the house. The AC. The sprinkler. More preparation.
And strangely, I didn't spiral.
The money I thought I was going to spend on some repairs that I ended up being able to do myself can now go toward other things that need to be handled.
And my response became:
Okay. Get it in motion.
Not because I suddenly know where every dollar is coming from.
Not because I received some guarantee that everything will happen exactly the way I imagine.
But because something about the way I'm waiting is changing.
A few days ago, waiting made me want to manufacture.
Today, I'm beginning to understand that waiting can still move.
I can wait on God and make the phone call.
I can wait on God and repair the house.
I can wait on God and research responsibly.
I can wait on God and encourage somebody else.
I can wait on God and go to Bible study.
I can wait on God and keep preparing.
Waiting doesn't mean standing frozen until God hands me the entire plan.
Philippians 3 reminds me that I haven't arrived yet. I don't know everything yet. I cannot see everything yet.
But I can keep pressing.
And Genesis 12 reminds me that sometimes God says go before He says exactly where.
Maybe that's what today was about.
I don't know what the one decision is that will change everything.
Maybe I'll recognize it when it comes.
Maybe I've already made it.
But tonight, I'm not going to manufacture an answer.
I'm going to keep my eyes forward.
I'm going to handle what's in front of me.
I'm going to trust God to provide for what He leads me to do.
And I'm going to keep pressing toward whatever is next.
Because something has changed.
I'm waiting different.
Prayer: Father, thank You for meeting me again today. Thank You for reminding me that I don't have to see tangible evidence to know that You are still working.
Forgive me when preparation turns into manufacturing—when I keep searching because I'm trying to create certainty instead of trusting You. Give me wisdom to research, plan, prepare, and steward what You've given me without trying to control the outcome. Thank You for Kristy. Thank You for reminding me that even while You're working on my story, You can still use me in somebody else's and that You can use their story to strengthen me too. Keep me from isolating myself in seasons of uncertainty. Let what You're developing in me serve somebody else even before I understand what You're doing with it. And God, I see the expenses. I see the repairs. I see the things that still need to happen. Give me wisdom with every decision and provision for every responsibility You truly place in my hands. I don't want to run ahead of You. I don't want to retreat because I can't see ahead.I want to press forward with You. When You say move, let me move. When You say wait, let me wait.And when You say go before You've shown me exactly where, give me enough faith to take the next step.I don't need the entire map tonight. I'm waiting different now.Amen.
September 10 :
Journal Entry
Today wasn't dramatic. There wasn't some huge revelation, major confirmation, or emotional moment. I went to work, and somewhere during the day I had a thought: I wonder what would happen if I just started painting the door?
So I did. And somehow one door became another door, and another, until almost every door in the house was painted.
What surprised me most wasn't what I accomplished. It was how peaceful I felt doing it.
I wasn't rushing. I wasn't frantically trying to get the house ready. I wasn't trying to prove anything. I was simply doing what was in front of me, one door at a time.
And maybe that's what James means when he says to let perseverance finish its work.
I've spent so much of this season wanting to know what's next. I've searched. I've questioned. I've tried to calculate possibilities. I've caught myself manufacturing answers because uncertainty makes me uncomfortable.
But today there wasn't much figuring out.
There was just doing. And there was peace in it.
Tonight, I went to Bible study. It was the first time in about two weeks that I walked in without carrying this overwhelming sadness. I could enjoy the people. I could enjoy the Word. I could simply be present.
I'm still uncomfortable. This house feels different to me now. I've noticed myself being a little moodier, especially with the kids, and I know some of that is because I feel out of balance. I'm living somewhere that has been home, while simultaneously preparing myself to release it. That's an uncomfortable place to exist.
But uncomfortable and unpeaceful are not the same thing.
That's what I realized today.
I can be uncomfortable and still have peace.
I can have unanswered questions and still enjoy today.
I can be waiting and still work.
I can be preparing without manufacturing.
I can paint one door without needing God to show me the next house.
Maybe the “greater” I'm expecting isn't only something waiting for me at the end of this process.
Maybe greater is already happening in me.
Maybe greater is the woman who doesn't panic because she doesn't have the answer yet. The woman who asks God for wisdom and handles what's in front of her. The woman who can recognize when she's out of balance and come back to center. The woman who can sit in Bible study and simply receive instead of desperately searching every word for an answer.
James tells me to let patience finish its work.
So that's what I'm doing.
I still have two doors left.
I'll get to them.
There is something beautifully symbolic about that too:
Everything doesn't have to be finished tonight for me to be at peace.
Prayer:Father, thank You for a peaceful day. Thank You for reminding me that every day in this process doesn't have to be dramatic to be meaningful. Thank You for giving me strength for what was in front of me and peace while I did it. Your Word tells me to let perseverance finish its work, so help me stop interrupting the process because I'm anxious to see the outcome. When I need wisdom, teach me to ask You instead of exhausting myself searching for certainty. When my thoughts start pulling me in different directions, bring me back to what I know.
Help me also recognize when the discomfort of transition is spilling onto the people I love. Give me patience with my children and grace for myself while we're all adjusting to change. I don't want to manufacture the next chapter.I want to be present while You finish this one. And if greater is already being developed in me before I ever see greater around me, don't let me miss it. One decision at a time. One act of obedience at a time.Apparently, even one door at a time. Let patience finish its work in me. Amen.
September 11:Wherever You Lead
Journal Entry
Today made me realize how free I’m becoming.
It started with an uncomfortable conversation. There had been a misunderstanding, and although we were able to talk through it in a healthy way, I still walked away thinking about myself and how I show up with people. I care deeply. Sometimes so deeply that I immediately want to encourage, explain, help, speak life, or make somebody feel better. But today reminded me that everybody doesn’t always need something from me. Sometimes I just need to listen. Sometimes loving someone well means giving them enough room to tell me what they actually need instead of assuming my way of caring is what the moment requires.
That was uncomfortable to recognize, but maybe that’s part of becoming too. Healing isn’t only learning how other people should treat me. Healing is also becoming aware of how I show up with other people. And uncomfortable conversations don’t automatically mean something is wrong. Sometimes they are how we learn each other. Sometimes they reveal where we still have room to grow. I can leave a conversation still feeling a little uncomfortable and also recognize that something healthy happened because we were willing to communicate.
Then my day shifted.
I found myself thinking about words my mother spoke years ago and songs we sang when we were younger. We couldn’t possibly have understood then what those words would eventually mean to us. We sang about favor, prosperity, prayer, God changing things, speaking life over one another, and seeing somebody in their future looking better than they did in their present.
Back then, they were lyrics.
Today, some of them feel like testimony.
Psalm 126 says, “The LORD hath done great things for us; whereof we are glad.” And today I realized how easy it is to become so focused on what I’m still waiting for that I forget to turn around and look at what God has already done.
There are prayers I once prayed that I am living in now. There are things my family sang about before we had enough life experience to understand them that have stories attached to them today. There are seeds that were planted years ago that I can finally recognize as fruit.
The Lord has done great things for us.
But what I love about Psalm 126 is that the people celebrating what God had already done were still asking Him to restore again.
That freed me.
Because apparently I can have testimony and still have unfinished business. I can be grateful and still be waiting. I can look backward and say, “God, look at what You did,” while looking forward and saying, “God, I still need You.”
Both can be true.
And today, there was provision.
Some financial things that had been sitting in the back of my mind began settling. Things were covered. Money I thought I would have to use somewhere else became available again. The money I had saved by handling some things myself could now go toward other things that needed attention.
It wasn’t necessarily some enormous financial miracle. It was simply another reminder that provision keeps meeting me along the way.
God provides.
Not always before I move. Not always according to my calculations. Not always through the route I expected. But somehow, provision keeps meeting preparation.
And then came something I absolutely was not expecting.
A potential job opportunity.
In another state.
Not an offer. Not an instruction. Not confirmation that my family is packing up and moving anywhere. Just a possibility that suddenly appeared in a season when I have already been asking God what’s next.
And what surprised me most wasn’t the opportunity.
It was me.
I didn’t immediately start listing all the reasons I couldn’t do it. I didn’t clutch Texas, this house, familiarity, routine, or the version of my future I had already imagined.
Something in me simply said:
Okay, God. Wherever.
And when I talked to my daughter, I realized something else. My children have been listening.
They have watched me talk about trusting God. They have watched this house change. They have watched me prepare and release things. They have heard me say over and over again that I don’t know exactly what comes next.
And even they aren’t completely tied to what is familiar.
That did something to me.
Because maybe freedom isn’t knowing where you’re going.
Maybe freedom is no longer being controlled by where you’ve been.
A few days ago, uncertainty sent me searching. I wanted to examine every possibility, calculate every route, and find enough information to make myself feel certain. I kept catching myself trying to manufacture what I could not yet see.
Tonight, I don’t feel that same desperation.
I still need wisdom. I still have children to consider. I still have finances to steward. I still need to ask practical questions, research opportunities, and make responsible decisions.
But I don’t have to research myself into certainty before I trust God.
And Psalm 126 gives me language for that too.
It talks about sowing in tears and eventually reaping with joy.
I know something about sowing with tears.
I’ve planted while hurting. I’ve prayed while confused. I’ve obeyed while uncomfortable. I’ve kept preparing while wondering what exactly I was preparing for. I’ve carried seed into seasons when the ground gave me very little evidence that anything was growing.
And maybe the lesson now is:
Don’t start digging up the seeds because you can’t see the harvest yet.
Keep carrying them.
Keep sowing.
Keep trusting.
Keep moving when God gives you something to do.
Because I have enough evidence behind me to trust Him with what I cannot see ahead of me.
And maybe “wherever” is its own kind of harvest.
There was a time when I needed to know.
I needed the address. I needed the plan. I needed the timeline. I needed to know how much, how soon, where, when, and how everything was going to work.
Tonight?
Wherever.
If God says stay, I can stay. If He says move, I can move. If this opportunity disappears tomorrow, I can release it. If another opportunity appears, I can consider it. I don’t need every open door to be the door, and I don’t want to turn every possibility into a promise.
But I also refuse to allow fear to decide which doors I am willing to look through.
Maybe that’s what all this preparation has really been doing.
Maybe God hasn’t only been preparing me for another house, another city, another job, or another chapter.
Maybe He has been preparing me to be movable.
I don’t know where we’re going.
I don’t know exactly what God is doing.
But tonight, I feel free.
And one day, maybe I’ll come back to this journal entry the same way I looked back at those songs today. Maybe I’ll read these words from wherever God eventually places me and realize:
I was already standing in the beginning of an answered prayer. I just didn’t know it yet.
For now, I don't have to know.
The Lord has already done great things.
I still have seeds in my hands.
And I’m willing to keep walking with them.
God, wherever You lead, I’m open.
Prayer: Father, thank You for today. Thank You for uncomfortable conversations that teach me how to love people better. Teach me when to speak and when to listen. Remind me that I don’t have to encourage, fix, explain, or carry everything. Give me enough humility to recognize when somebody simply needs me to hear them. Thank You for allowing me to look backward and recognize seeds that were planted long before I understood what they would become. Thank You for my mother’s words, the songs, the prayers, the tears, the lessons, and every reminder that You have been present through more of my story than I realized. You truly have done great things for us, and I am grateful. And Father, restore again. There are still things I’m waiting for. There are still questions I cannot answer. There are still seeds in my hands. Teach me not to dig them up because I become impatient with the process. Thank You for provision. Thank You for every expense covered, every resource, every dollar redirected, and every way You continue to remind me that I do not have to live afraid of tomorrow. As new possibilities appear, give me discernment. Don’t let excitement become assumption, but don’t let fear become limitation either. If an opportunity is simply information, let me receive it as information. If a door isn’t mine, let me release it peacefully. But if You are leading my family somewhere I never imagined, don’t let familiarity keep me from following You. My children belong to You. My career belongs to You. This house belongs to You. Becoming H.E.R. belongs to You. My plans belong to You. And my yes belongs to You. I don't need to know the address tonight. I don't need the entire plan. I've seen enough of Your faithfulness behind me to trust You with what I cannot see ahead of me. So I’ll keep carrying my seed. I’ll keep sowing. I’ll keep believing. And wherever You lead, Father, make me wise enough, brave enough, and free enough to follow. Amen..
September 12: Beautiful by Design
Journal Entry
Today was a change of pace, and it was beautiful. Nothing huge happened. I didn't receive some major answer about what's next or have another big revelation. I simply got to live today, and I think I needed that.
I spent time with my grandson, got to squeeze and love on my babies, and just embrace the part of me they call Honey. Then we went to support my neighbors little boy at his baseball game. It felt good to step outside of the normal hustle and bustle and just enjoy family, friends, children, community, and some familiarity. For a little while, I wasn't thinking about the house, repairs, moving, money, opportunities, or where we're going next. I was simply present.
When I came home, I still got some things done. I worked on putting the screens back up on the patio where they had been torn, but even the work felt different today. There wasn't this frantic pressure behind it. It was simply something that needed to be done, so I did it. Progress without panic. Preparation without pressure.
Then tonight, I sat outside by the fire with God's Word and just read Scripture. No big agenda. No desperate search for an answer. Just the fire, the Word, the evening, and God. And sitting there, I realized how blessed I truly am.
I've spent so much of this season looking toward what's next that today reminded me not to miss what is already here. There are still people to love, babies to squeeze, friends to support, ordinary moments to enjoy, and evenings where I can simply sit with God. I can believe that something greater is ahead without treating today like something I need to hurry through.
Psalm 118:24 says, “This is the day which the LORD hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.” Not moving day. Not closing day. Not the day I finally know where we're going. This day. September 12. This one counts too.
Today was hot. It was ordinary. It was family, friends, community, work, Scripture, fire, and quiet. And it was beautiful. Tonight, I'm not asking God for anything. I'm simply sitting with what He's already given me and saying, God, thank You. I really am blessed.
Prayer: Father, thank You for today. Thank You for reminding me that every beautiful moment does not have to come with a major revelation. Thank You for family, for my babies, for the privilege of being Honey, for friends, community, laughter, baseball fields, warm evenings, and the simple gift of being present. Thank You for giving me strength to still handle what needed to be done at home without feeling rushed or overwhelmed. Thank You for progress without panic and preparation without pressure.And thank You for the quiet moments too—for the fire, for Your Word, and for the peace that comes when I stop trying to figure everything out and simply sit with You. Help me not to become so focused on what is next that I overlook what is beautiful right now. Teach me to recognize the blessings already surrounding me and to stay grateful in the middle of transition. Whatever tomorrow holds, I trust You with it. Tonight, I just want to say thank You. Thank You for this day. Thank You for this life. Thank You for the people in it.
Amen.
September 13: Grateful For It All
Journal Entry
Today was beautiful from beginning to end, even though by the end of it, I was tired.
Church was amazing. Worship was amazing. The message really stayed with me because Pastor talked about what it should look like to actually live as Christians: to be humble, patient, gentle, forgiving, and willing to go to people in love when something is wrong instead of carrying unnecessary heaviness around. That hit me because it is one thing to say we love God, and another thing to let that love show up in the way we communicate, forgive, and handle one another.
After church, the kids and I went to eat, and it was just a good time. Nothing complicated. Just being together.
One of the sweetest moments of the day happened when Zaria’s dad called and said he just wanted to see her. It wasn’t his weekend, but something in him just wanted to see his baby. We were a little out of the way, but I took her to him anyway. Watching her walk up and hug her daddy did something to me. It reminded me that sometimes we underestimate what a simple hug can do. We never really know what another person is carrying or what one small act of love can mean in that moment.
And I was grateful that our relationship allows space for that. There was no, “It’s not your weekend,” no power struggle, no making the child pay for adult issues. Just a father wanting to see his daughter, and a daughter getting to hug her father. I love that for her. I love that for them.
Then I came home and decided to tackle Zaria’s box braids by myself for the first time, and whew — I did not realize how much that was going to take out of me. By the end of the night, I could feel myself getting irritated and overstimulated. And I know myself enough now to recognize that when I get like that, I don’t want to be bothered, and I start looking for something to soothe me.
Tonight, I noticed the urge to eat because I was overwhelmed.
And instead of just going with the impulse, I recognized it.
That matters.
I don’t want to end a beautiful day carrying irritation into the night. I don’t want to let exhaustion erase gratitude. So tonight, I’m asking God to quiet me down, settle my body, calm my thoughts, and help me end the day with the same peace I started it with.
Maybe that’s part of today’s lesson too.
Being humble, patient, and gentle isn’t only about how I treat other people.
I need to practice those things with myself too.
I can be tired without turning the whole day into a bad day.
I can be overwhelmed without reacting from it.
I can recognize what my body is asking for without automatically reaching for an old coping mechanism.
Today was worship, family, food, father-daughter love, braids, tiredness, and gratitude.
A full heart.
A tired body.
A grateful soul.
And tonight, I’m choosing peace.
Prayer
Father, thank You for today.Thank You for worship, for the Word, for family, for laughter, for time with my children, and for the small moments that remind me what really matters. Thank You for the picture of love I witnessed between a father and his daughter. Thank You that there was room for connection without conflict, and help me continue to protect that kind of peace for my children.Thank You also for today’s reminder to be humble, patient, gentle, forgiving, and willing to address things in love. Help me not to carry offense, resentment, or unnecessary heaviness. Teach me to communicate with grace and to forgive the way You have called me to.And tonight, Father, calm me.My body is tired. My mind is tired. I can feel the irritation that comes when I’ve pushed myself past my limit.Help me not to soothe exhaustion with food when what I really need is rest. Settle my nervous system. Quiet my thoughts. Release the tension from my body. Let peace return to my home and to my heart. Help me end this day remembering what it really was: beautiful.
I am grateful for it all.
Amen.
September 14: Here I Am
Journal Entry
Today felt like God reminding me that I don't have to create the way. I just have to remain available enough to recognize it.
The sprinkler finally got fixed today for little to no cost, and I had to laugh at myself a little. I had spent time trying to figure out makeshift solutions, buying extra sprinklers, trying to create a way around the actual problem, when I could have simply gotten the problem fixed. Lesson learned. Again. Some things don't need to be manufactured. Sometimes I need to slow down long enough to recognize the simplest next step.
Work was okay, and then I had my first interview for the out-of-state opportunity. It went amazingly well. I'm moving on to the second round next week. I still don't know what that means. I don't know whether this opportunity is part of God's direction for my family or simply something I'm supposed to explore. I'm hopeful, but I'm trying not to turn hope into an answer God hasn't given me yet.
And almost as if to make the uncertainty even more interesting, I was introduced to two additional lenders for buying a home here in Texas today. So now there seems to be movement in two completely different directions. Possibilities there. Possibilities here. Another state on one side. Texas on the other.
And I still don't know.
But strangely, I think I'm becoming okay with saying that.
Here we are, God.
Available.
Willing.
Open.
I don't need to force either direction to become the direction. I can explore both responsibly. I can ask questions. I can gather information. I can pray. I can test what is in front of me. And I can trust that when it is actually time to move, God is capable of making the next step clear.
Then tonight I went to Bible study, and the lesson was about having a Mary heart in a Martha world. And there was that reminder again: slow down.
I've been doing so much. Fix this. Prepare that. Research this. Call them. Handle the house. Consider the job. Talk to the lenders. Figure out what's next. But maybe this next part isn't going to be discovered through more activity. Maybe I need enough quiet to hear.
That's what I'm feeling tonight.
I need to clear some space.
I've noticed myself reaching for social media during idle moments and scrolling when I could be sitting in the Word, praying, listening, or simply being still. Social media itself isn't the issue. My attention is. And right now, my attention feels too valuable to give away carelessly.
I need answers, but I don't want to become so desperate for answers that I fill every quiet space with noise.
So tomorrow, I begin again.
Less scrolling.
Less noise.
Less trying to manufacture clarity.
Just Jesus and me.
I want to keep the temple clear. I want my mind clear enough to discern, my heart quiet enough to receive, and my hands open enough that I don't grab one possibility simply because I'm uncomfortable holding two.
Texas may be next.
Another state may be next.
Something I haven't even considered may be next.
I don't know.
But tonight, I know this:
God sees me.
He has provided again.
The things I was rushing to accomplish are getting done.
The house is moving forward.
Doors are being explored.
And I am still here—available and willing.
So instead of demanding, God, where are we going?
Maybe my prayer tonight is simply:
Here I am. Quiet the noise. Show me the way. And when You do, I'll walk in it.
PRAYER: Father, thank You for Your provision today. Thank You for something as simple as getting the sprinkler fixed. Thank You for reminding me again that I don't have to manufacture solutions when wisdom may be much simpler than what I've created in my head. Thank You for the interview and the opportunity to continue to another round. Thank You for the new connections here in Texas as well. I refuse to turn either possibility into a promise You haven't made. I place both of them back into Your hands.If Texas is where we are supposed to remain, guide me. If You are preparing us for another state, guide me. And if Your answer looks completely different from either option I can currently see, guide me there too.Father, quiet me.
I recognize how easily I reach for noise when there is empty space. Help me protect my attention. When I'm tempted to fill every idle moment with scrolling, remind me that silence doesn't have to be filled.I want room for You.Clear my mind. Guard my heart. Settle my spirit. Help me know when to work and when to sit, when to research and when to stop searching, when to speak and when to listen.I don't need ten answers tonight.I need You. So here I am—available, willing, uncertain, hopeful, and open.“This is the way, walk ye in it.” When You make the way clear, Father, give me the courage to walk. Until then, teach me to be still enough to hear.
Amen.
September 15: Keep Me
Journal Entry
September 15 feels like one of the days you specifically started this journal for. Not because something happened that gave you the answer, but because you want the record to show what faith looked like before there was an answer.
The sentence underneath everything you said tonight is simply: “God, keep me.”
And I think that should be the title.
September 15, 2026 — Keep Me
Scripture — Isaiah 26:3–4
“Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee: because he trusteth in thee.” — Isaiah 26:3 KJV
That is today.
Notice the verse doesn't say God keeps the person whose circumstances are peaceful in perfect peace. It says He keeps the one whose mind is stayed on Him.
That's exactly the battle you described. Your natural mind occasionally catches up with the uncertainty and says, Wait. What are we doing? Where are we going? Time is moving. The circumstances don't make sense.
And you have to intentionally bring your mind back.
Not once.
Again and again.
That's not failed faith. That's practicing faith.
Journal Entry
Today, I felt like I could barely come up for air.
Nothing necessarily happened that changed everything. In fact, some of the numbers are looking good. Things are still moving. There are still possibilities in front of me. But I still don't know.
And I think that's what made today feel so heavy.
I still don't know.
I don't know where we're going. I don't know exactly how everything will come together. I don't know which opportunity will become the opportunity. And meanwhile, time keeps moving.
Some days I feel almost like I'm floating through my own life. I'm physically here, handling what needs to be handled, working, parenting, preparing, making phone calls, making decisions—but mentally I'm looking toward God saying, “Okay, where are we going next?”
And every once in a while, my natural mind catches up with me.
Then fear comes.
Doubt tried to creep back in today.
And I had to intentionally find my way back to God. Through prayer. Through His Word. Through quiet. Through whatever I needed to do to bring my mind back into a place where I could breathe again.
I'm learning that surrender isn't something I did once.
I'm surrendering daily.
Sometimes hourly.
Sometimes one thought at a time.
I can tell God, “Your will, not mine,” in the morning and find myself picking my plans back up by the afternoon. Then I have to lay them down again.
The house.
The move.
The job.
Texas.
Another state.
The money.
The timeline.
My children.
My plans.
My expectations.
Here, God. Again.
Because what I see with my natural eyes doesn't necessarily match what I'm believing Him for. The circumstances in front of me don't provide enough evidence for me to confidently explain how everything is going to work.
And maybe that's why protecting my mind has become so important.
Isaiah 26 says that God keeps in perfect peace the person whose mind is stayed on Him.
So today, my assignment wasn't figuring out where I'm going.
It was keeping my mind stayed.
When fear came, return to God.
When doubt came, return to God.
When the timeline started talking too loudly, return to God.
When numbers made me hopeful, don't worship the numbers. Return to God.
When circumstances made me afraid, don't worship the circumstances either. Return to God.
Stay.
And maybe one of the reasons I feel so compelled to document this is because I don't want to only tell this story from the other side.
If God does something extraordinary, I don't want to simply say, “Look what God did.”
I want to remember who He was while I waited.
I want to remember the days I cried.
I want to remember the days I couldn't see.
I want to remember having to renew my mind because what was happening around me didn't make sense.
I want to remember praying, “God, just keep me.”
Because maybe the miracle isn't only whatever happens with the house, the move, the finances, or the job.
Maybe part of the testimony will be:
He kept my mind.
He sustained me in the unknown.
He gave me enough peace for that day.
And then He gave me enough for the next one.
I believe this story is bigger than me. I don't know who will eventually read these words. Maybe I've already met her. Maybe I haven't. Maybe years from now, somebody will find herself standing in her own impossible-looking middle and need evidence that she doesn't have to wait until the breakthrough to recognize God's goodness.
So I want this day recorded accurately.
September 15 wasn't an ordinary day.
It was a day when I didn't have the answer.
It was a day when doubt tried to come back.
It was a day when I cried out.
It was a day when I had to surrender my plans again.
And it was another day that God sustained me.
I don't know where we're going yet.
But tonight, I don't need God to show me everything.
My prayer is smaller than that.
And somehow, deeper.
God, keep me.
Prayer:
Father, keep me.Before I ask You for an address, an approval, a buyer, a job, a timeline, or an answer, keep me. Keep my mind when what I see doesn't match what I'm believing. Keep my heart when fear tries to convince me that time is running out. Keep me from manufacturing answers because waiting becomes uncomfortable. When doubt creeps in, help me return my thoughts to You. When I surrender my plans and then find myself picking them back up, give me the humility to lay them down again.I surrender the house.I surrender the move.I surrender Texas. I surrender every other state.I surrender the opportunities.I surrender the finances. I surrender my timeline. I surrender the version of this story I have imagined.Your will over mine. Again.
And Father, if this story is meant to strengthen somebody else one day, preserve these moments in me. Let me remember that Your goodness wasn't only visible after the answer came. You were good here. In the unknown. You sustained me here. You gave me peace here. You kept me here. One day, when I look back at September 15, let me remember exactly what it felt like to have no idea what came next—and still know Who was holding me. Keep my mind stayed on You. Keep my heart surrendered to You. Keep my family. Keep my faith. Just keep me, God.
Amen.
September 16: I Thought I Was Going for Her
Journal Entry:
September 16, 2026 — I Thought I Was Going for Her
Today was one of those days I know I will want to remember exactly as it happened, because there were so many moving pieces that I almost missed just how much was happening around me.
The day started with another shift in the house journey. I spoke with a third lender, and initially she told me I might have to wait another ten months because I needed a certain amount of reporting history. Then she realized she had overlooked an account I had already been consistently paying for twelve months. Once she factored that in, the conversation changed. Suddenly it was, “I think we can get it done.” I spoke with my realtor too, and things continued moving. There are still obstacles, though. One of the biggest is having roughly $9,000 in reserves, and the person I thought might be able to help with that isn't able to. But what surprised me was my response. I didn't fall apart. I didn't immediately start trying to manufacture another solution. I simply thought, God, it's in Your hands.
And then there was Khalil.
ABA called today. Everything went through. They're going to be able to come into our home and work with him.
That one almost takes my breath away.
For 13 years, I have wanted this kind of support for my son. Thirteen years of advocating, learning, adjusting, trying to understand what he needs, figuring out how to help him grow and become more independent, and wanting him to receive support that truly meets him where he is. And today, in the middle of everything else happening in my life, that phone call came.
It's happening.
This wasn't something I woke up this morning trying to manufacture. This wasn't something I could force into place today. This was something that had lived in a mother's heart for years.
Thirteen years.
God, I see You.
As work continued, the day became hectic, and by the end of it I was physically drained. Earlier, Leticia had texted asking what I was doing after work. Knowing everything she's been carrying through grief, my mind immediately went to, Oh goodness, does she need me to come sit with her again? Is she crying? I told her I had the game but could come by afterward. As the day wore on, though, I started questioning whether I even had the capacity. I didn't want to walk into somebody else's grief depleted and bring the wrong energy into the room. I wrestled with whether I should go at all.
But I went.
And when I walked through the door, she wasn't crying.
We hugged, and immediately something felt different. She started telling me about the day she'd had and how she had been obedient to things God had placed on her heart. She talked about reconnecting with people she had taught years ago and about her passion for helping special-needs students transition into adulthood. She wants to take that work beyond the school system, and when we went into her office and I watched her talk about it and work through her vision, I saw her glow.
It was beautiful.
Just the night before, I had felt strongly that I needed to remind her that she is loved, that her presence is needed, and that she is valuable to the Kingdom of God. Then tonight I got to see that value right in front of me. I could see the purpose that still exists alongside her grief. Her sadness is real. Her losses are real. She deserves room to grieve all of it. But grief is not the entirety of her story. There are still people who need what she carries. There is still purpose in her. There is still life happening alongside the loss.
And then I remembered something else.
I wasn't even supposed to have this evening available.
I had plans to go to the church tonight to help Melody set up for the baby shower. That was already on my schedule. But this morning, Melody texted me and told me the setup had been canceled.
At the time, it was simply a change of plans.
But tonight, sitting there with Leticia and watching her light up while talking about her purpose, I couldn't help but think about how differently this evening would have looked if my original plans had remained.
I can't say I know every reason things happen the way they do. But I know what this change made room for.
It made room for me to go.
It made room for me to be present.
It made room for a conversation I almost didn't have the energy to show up for.
Something I thought was simply canceled this morning became open space by tonight.
And maybe that's another thing I want to remember about this season: every change in plans doesn't have to be a disruption. Sometimes I may not understand what the space is for until I arrive in it.
And the whole time, I thought I was going there for her.
Then my grandbabies called.
It was around 8:30, later than they normally call, and their mom told me they wanted to pray with me before they went to bed.
They wanted to pray with Honey.
And I cried.
Listening to those babies pray did something to me. They weren't just saying random words. They knew what they were praying. They wanted to talk to God, and they wanted their Honey included in that moment. I sat there listening to them, overwhelmed by the seeds of faith already growing in another generation.
And suddenly the entire evening looked different.
Had I listened only to my exhaustion, I probably would have been home and asleep. Had my original plans remained, I would have been somewhere else entirely. Instead, I was sitting there watching a woman I care about light up in her purpose while my grandchildren unexpectedly called because they wanted to pray with me.
I thought I had gone there to pour out, but God had something there to pour back into me.
I didn't orchestrate any of it.
I didn't manufacture the evening.
I didn't rearrange everything so the pieces would fit.
I just showed up.
And maybe that's what September 16 was really about.
I've spent so much of this season asking God to show me what He's doing next that today I was reminded to pay attention to what is happening now.
I could have spent the entire day staring at the things I still don't have and completely missed what was happening right in front of me.
I don't know where the $9,000 is coming from.
I don't know exactly where we're going.
I don't know whether we're buying another house here or whether another state becomes part of our story.
I don't know what happens with the job opportunity.
I don't know which door becomes the door.
But today, something I have wanted for my child for thirteen years moved forward.
A lender looked again at something that initially sounded like another delay and found information that changed the conversation.
A financial obstacle appeared, and I didn't fall apart trying to fix it.
Plans I thought I had for the evening were canceled, creating space I didn't know I would need.
A woman I thought I might need to go hold together was standing in her office glowing while talking about purpose.
My grandchildren unexpectedly called because they wanted to pray.
And a tired woman who almost stayed home realized there was something waiting on the other side of simply showing up.
God, I see You.
Not because I suddenly have every answer.
Not because I can prove that every changed plan, phone call, or moment happened for one particular reason.
But because today gave me enough moments to stop and recognize that unanswered doesn't mean forgotten, and waiting doesn't mean nothing is happening.
Some prayers take so long that when the answer finally begins unfolding, you almost have to stop and remember how long you've actually been praying.
So tonight, I'm stopping.
I'm remembering.
I'm paying attention.
Yesterday my prayer was simply, “God, keep me.”
And today, I was reminded that He is.
He didn't give me the entire blueprint. He didn't answer every financial question. He didn't tell me where we're going next.
But He gave me a glimpse.
And tonight, a glimpse is enough.
I thought I was going for her.
I thought somebody else needed something from me.
Instead, I was reminded that I am still God's daughter too. I don't always have to be the strong one, the encourager, the person carrying everybody else, or the one who figures everything out.
Sometimes my assignment is simply to obey.
Sometimes it's simply to go.
Sometimes it's simply to show up.
And sometimes I may walk into a space believing I'm carrying something for somebody else, only to discover there was something there for me too.
So this is how I want to remember September 16:
I was tired.
I didn't know where the money was coming from.
I still didn't know where my family was going.
I almost didn't go.
But I went.
And everywhere I looked, there was another reason to be grateful.
For Khalil: God, I see You.
For my friend finding light in the middle of grief: God, I see You.
For my grandbabies wanting to pray with Honey: God, I see You.
For the unexpected opening in my schedule: God, look what happened in the space.
For the doors being explored: God, I see You.
And even in my own response—being able to hear that I still need $9,000 and say, “It's in Your hands,” instead of immediately trying to manufacture a solution—I can see what You're doing in me.
I still don't know what's next.
But tonight, I know Who is already there.
Yesterday: God, keep me.
Today: God, I see You.
And God...
I thank You.
Prayer:
Father, thank You.Thank You because today I saw Your grace in places I wasn't even looking for it. Thank You for reminding me that I don't have to understand every financial piece before I trust You with it. What I cannot provide, what I cannot manufacture, and what I cannot currently see—I place back into Your hands.Thank You for Leticia. Continue to comfort her in her grief while reminding her of the purpose, gifts, and people still present in her life. Give her room to grieve honestly without losing sight of the life she is still called to live.And God, thank You for my grandbabies.Thank You for letting Honey hear those little voices pray. Thank You for every seed of faith being planted in them. Protect it. Grow it. Let them always know that they can come to You themselves.Most of all, thank You for meeting me tonight.I thought I was going to give something, and You reminded me that I am still Your daughter too. I don't always have to be the strong one, the encouraging one, or the person carrying everybody else. Sometimes You just want my obedience.Sometimes You just need my yes.Sometimes I simply need to show up and allow You to handle everything that happens after that.Yesterday I asked You to keep me. Today You reminded me that You already are.Even when I don't see what You're doing, help me trust You.Even when I don't feel strong, remind me that Your grace is sufficient.And when I'm tempted to believe nothing is happening because I cannot see the whole picture, remind me of September 16.The day I thought I was going for her...and discovered You had something there for me too.
Amen.
September 17: Rest In His Timing
Journal Entry:
Today was so full that I almost don't know where to begin.
Yesterday, I prayed, God, keep me. Then I watched Him meet me in places I didn't expect. And today felt like another layer of that lesson.
For so much of this house journey, I've been looking at numbers.
How much will I need?
Where will it come from?
What needs to happen next?
How do I make this work?
And one of the biggest things sitting in my mind was the money I thought I needed for reserves.
I had already started trying to figure that out. I had even reached out and asked someone if they would be willing to help me with the reserve money if I needed it.
And then I talked to the lender.
We went through the different scenarios. We talked about down-payment options and how the interest rate could change depending on which route I took.
Then I finally asked the question that had been sitting in the back of my mind:
How much do you want me to have in reserves?
And he said:
None.
Based on the automated approval and the credit information they had reviewed so far, reserves weren't currently being required, assuming the remaining credit information didn't reveal something materially different.
I could have shouted.
Because here I was trying to figure out how I was going to obtain something that, based on what we knew today, I didn't even need.
And it hit me all over again:
Ashley, you don't have to manufacture a thing.
That doesn't mean I stop preparing.
It doesn't mean I assume everything from this point forward will happen exactly the way I want it to.
It means I stop trying to solve problems before they're actually mine to solve.
If something is required of me, I can address it when it becomes necessary.
But I don't have to spend today exhausting myself over tomorrow's hypothetical requirement.
And then there was Khalil.
God.
I received the call about ABA services.
Everything had gone through, and they would actually be able to provide services in our home.
For thirteen years, I have wanted additional support for my son.
Thirteen years.
As a mother, there are things you carry quietly for your children that other people may never completely understand. You wonder whether you're doing enough. You research. You advocate. You pray. You try things. You wait.
And then sometimes something you've wanted for years suddenly moves forward in the middle of an already overwhelming season.
That call stopped me.
Because with all the attention I've been giving this house, the move, finances, and whatever comes next, God reminded me that my children's lives are still unfolding too.
This transition isn't only about an address.
There are things happening within our family that matter far beyond where we live next.
And today, I was simply grateful.
Grateful that another avenue of support had opened for Khalil.
Grateful that something I had wanted for him for so long was finally moving forward.
Grateful that I didn't have to make that happen by sheer force either.
Then tonight I went over to Cavi's house.
And what started as us talking about everything God had been doing turned into something completely different.
We started sharing testimonies.
She told me about what she had experienced through her fast.
I shared what had been happening with me.
And at some point, talking wasn't enough anymore.
I remember walking in and saying, Play “Goodness of God.”
And by the end of the night, that was exactly where we were.
Worship.
Crying.
Thanking God.
Not just thanking Him for what He had done.
Thanking Him for who He is.
The presence of God felt so heavy in that room that all we could do was worship.
There wasn't another strategy to discuss.
There wasn't another house problem to solve.
There wasn't another number to calculate.
There wasn't another question that needed an immediate answer.
We just worshiped.
And maybe that was the most beautiful way this day could have ended.
Because I've spent so much of September asking:
What do I do next?
And tonight, there was nothing to do.
Just worship.
Just gratitude.
Just God.
It made me want to draw even closer.
I had already been thinking about fasting, and after talking with Cavi about her experience, that desire became even stronger.
Not because I'm trying to manipulate God into giving me an answer.
Not because fasting guarantees a particular outcome.
I just want to quiet some of the noise.
I want to be close to Him.
I know there are practical things that still need my attention.
The house still needs to be finished.
There are still financial questions.
There are still decisions ahead.
There is still work.
There is still school.
There is still motherhood.
There is still life.
But I'm beginning to understand that closeness with God doesn't remove me from those responsibilities.
It changes the way I carry them.
I don't have to carry every possibility at once.
I don't have to create provision before I know what I actually need.
I don't have to manufacture an outcome because I am uncomfortable with uncertainty.
My assignment right now is much simpler than I've been making it.
Take care of what is in front of me.
Get this house together.
Love my children.
Handle my responsibilities.
Stay close to God.
And let tomorrow reveal what belongs to tomorrow.
Today reminded me that some things can change without me forcing them.
A financial requirement I had been worried about wasn't currently required.
Support I had wanted for Khalil for years moved forward.
And a regular evening at my neighbor's house became worship.
None of that means every unanswered question has suddenly been answered.
But it does mean I have more evidence that I don't have to live as though everything depends entirely on me.
I can prepare without panicking.
I can plan without trying to control.
I can ask for help without assuming I already know how the story will unfold.
And I can worship God before I know what happens next.
Maybe that's the biggest thing I want to remember about September 17.
I didn't end the day with a spreadsheet.
I didn't end it searching for another solution.
I didn't end it trying to figure out the next six months of my life.
I ended it bowed down in worship.
And tonight, that feels like exactly where I needed to be.
God, I don't know everything You're doing.
I don't know exactly how this house situation will unfold.
I don't know every detail of where we're going.
I don't know what every opportunity means yet.
But I'm learning something:
I don't have to manufacture a thing.
I can trust You.
I can steward what You've placed in front of me.
And when I don't know what else to do?
I can worship.
Prayer:
Father, thank You for today. Thank You for reminding me that I don't have to solve problems before they're mine to solve. Thank You for the progress with the lender, and thank You especially for the opportunity for Khalil to receive the support I've wanted for him for so many years. Keep me close to You. As I prepare, fast, pray, parent, work, and finish this house, help me distinguish between what is mine to carry and what I need to release. I don't want to manufacture an outcome or force an answer.
And when I don't know what comes next, bring me back to what happened tonight: worship. Before the answer, You are good.Before the provision, You are good.Before I know where we're going, You are good. I trust You with what I cannot see, and I will faithfully handle what You've placed in my hands today.
In Jesus' name, Amen.
September 18: Open Hands
Journal Entry:
Today was my first full day of fasting.
And after everything that happened yesterday—the lender conversation, sitting with Cavi, sharing testimonies, crying, worshiping, and ultimately getting to the place where all I wanted was God—I entered today wanting to stay right there.
Close.
That's really what today felt like.
Me and God.
It wasn't a day filled with huge revelations or dramatic answers. It was actually incredibly busy. I drove—a lot. I had things to do and places to be. I got a little weak during the fast, so I listened to my body and ate some Parmesan chips, smoked almonds, and watermelon.
And I was okay with that.
Because I'm not fasting to prove something.
I'm not trying to perform for God.
I'm trying to remove some of the noise and make more room for Him.
And throughout the day, I just kept talking to Him.
I love You, God.
Driving—I love You.
Busy—I love You.
Tired—I love You.
Unsure—I love You.
Surrendered—I love You.
Just me and God.
I also couldn't stop thinking about the dream I had last night.
The baby.
Realizing there was this little life there that I now had to care for.
I've been thinking about what that means—not because I want to manufacture an interpretation or turn a dream into a promise God hasn't made, but because of the question it left behind:
God, what are You asking me to steward well?
What have You already placed in my hands?
What needs my attention?
What needs nurturing?
What needs protection?
What needs patience?
And what needs to be released?
That last question became very real today.
Today, we surrendered our dog.
And I don't think I realized until it was actually happening how much of a presence he had become in our lives.
I knew this transition was coming. I knew that where we're going next may not allow us to take him with us, and I knew this was something we needed to do.
Knowing doesn't make releasing easy.
Those last moments with him were beautiful and sad at the same time.
We loved on him.
We spent those final moments together.
And then we had to let him go.
My daughter took it hard, and we talked about him and tried to process it together as best as we could.
But I think it really hit me when I came home.
He wasn't outside.
And it just felt...
funny.
Different.
Quiet in a place where I was accustomed to his presence.
It's amazing how something can become part of the rhythm of your home without you fully recognizing the space it occupies until that space becomes empty.
And I felt that emptiness today.
I know why we made the decision.
I still believe it was the responsible decision for where our family is headed.
But responsible decisions can still hurt.
Surrender can be right and still be sad.
Maybe that's another thing God is teaching me about open hands.
Open hands aren't only for receiving.
They're also how we release.
And today, I had to do both.
There was sadness, but there was preparation too.
I had the house professionally cleaned today.
And that was significant for me because it was one of the larger expenses I've made specifically toward getting this house ready for transition.
But when I walked back through the door...
it felt like home.
Clean.
Fresh.
Peaceful.
And immediately I was like, Nobody touch anything.
Don't sit down.
Don't move anything.
Don't breathe too hard.
Don't even look at anything too aggressively.
Leave. It. Alone. 😂
Because for a moment I just wanted to stand there and enjoy it.
And maybe that little moment mattered more than I realized.
Because this house is changing.
I've been painting.
Repairing.
Cleaning.
Removing.
Preparing.
Little by little, I'm getting it ready for someone else.
And that is such a strange experience when I think about everything these walls have held.
This house has been home.
And now I'm stewarding it through its transition.
I want to finish well.
That's what keeps coming back to me today:
Steward it well.
The house—steward it well.
My children—steward them well.
My relationships—steward them well.
My body during this fast—steward it well.
My time—steward it well.
My attention—steward it well.
My testimony—steward it well.
Whatever God is developing in me—steward it well.
And when the season of something ends?
Release it well.
I got to see Melody today too. We went and set things back up for Megan's baby shower, and it was just good being in her embrace again, loving on her and seeing people.
Nothing had to happen.
There didn't have to be a revelation attached to the hug.
It was simply good.
And I'm learning to let good things simply be good.
I'm learning that closeness with God doesn't require every day to contain some huge spiritual moment.
Sometimes walking with God looks like driving all over town.
Sometimes it looks like setting up for a baby shower.
Sometimes it looks like spending money to have the house cleaned because you know you're preparing it for transition.
Sometimes it looks like eating something because your body is telling you it needs something.
Sometimes it looks like whispering, I love You, God, while going about your day.
And sometimes...
it looks like saying goodbye.
Maybe that's why open hands feels like the posture of today.
I don't want to grip anything so tightly that I can't obey God with it.
Not this house.
Not a location.
Not an opportunity.
Not a timeline.
Not even something I deeply love.
But I also don't want surrender to make me emotionally detached.
I want to love deeply while something is mine to love.
Care for it while it's mine to care for.
Be present while it's mine to hold.
And when the time comes to release something, I want to be able to say:
Thank You for the time we had.
Tonight, the house is clean.
The dog isn't outside.
And that absence feels strange.
My daughter is hurting.
I'm a little sad too.
My body is tired from a full day.
I'm still fasting.
I'm still thinking about that baby from my dream.
I'm still wondering what God may be asking me to carry in this next season.
And I still don't know exactly what's coming.
But tonight, I don't need to.
Today wasn't about figuring out what's next.
Today was about being faithful with what was in front of me.
Hold what needs to be held.
Tend what needs to be tended.
Prepare what needs to be prepared.
Love what needs to be loved.
And release what needs to be released.
Yesterday, I ended the day on my knees saying:
God, I just want You.
Today, I think my response is:
God, everything You've placed in my hands belongs to You anyway.
Teach me how to hold it.
Teach me how to care for it.
Teach me how to enjoy it.
And when the season changes...
teach me how to let it go.
Prayer:
Father,Thank You for today. Thank You for giving me the capacity I asked You for. Thank You for being with me through every mile I drove, every responsibility, every conversation, every hug, every moment of tiredness, and every moment of surrender. Thank You that closeness with You doesn't have to be manufactured. As I continue this fast, keep my heart centered on You. Let this be about relationship, not performance. Give me wisdom to listen to my body and care for it while still being intentional about creating space for You. Father, thank You for the dream that has caused me to think more deeply about stewardship. I won't force an interpretation onto it. If there is something You want me to understand, reveal it in Your timing. Until then, let the question remain: What have You placed in my hands that You want me to steward well?
Teach me to recognize it. And Father, thank You for the time our family had with our dog.
Thank You for every ordinary day when his presence became part of the rhythm of our home. Thank You for the memories, the companionship, and those final moments we were able to spend with him today. Comfort my daughter as she processes the loss. Comfort all of us in those little moments when we expect him to be there and remember that he isn't. Help me remember that making a responsible decision doesn't mean I have to pretend it didn't hurt.
Thank You for this home. Walking into it clean today reminded me how much life has happened here. Help me finish this season well. Let me prepare this house with gratitude instead of resentment, peace instead of panic, and care instead of rushing just to be done.
Thank You for Melody.Thank You for familiar embraces.Thank You for people.
Thank You for ordinary goodness. And Father, whatever You're doing next, I surrender my need to know before it's time. My hands are open. If You give me something to nurture, teach me to nurture it. If You give me something to build, teach me to build it. If You give me something to protect, give me wisdom. If You ask me to wait, give me patience. And if You tell me it's time to release something I love, give me the grace to release it without believing the love was wasted.
Everything in my hands ultimately belongs to You. So teach me to steward it well.
Teach me to release it well.And above everything else, keep me close. Just You and me, God.
I'm still here. I'm still surrendered. And my hands are open. In Jesus' name,
Amen.
September 19: Enough for Today
Journal Entry:
Today didn't go the way I expected it to go.
My realtor was supposed to come put the Coming Soon sign in the yard, but she needed to reschedule. Normally, a change like that might have sent me into another round of thinking about timelines and everything that still needs to happen.
But today, I was okay.
The change gave me room to watch my grandboy hit two home runs, get a little pressure washing done, take Kaia to her school event, and actually rest.
And I needed that rest.
But the moment that stayed with me most today was a conversation with my daughter.
Homecoming is coming up, and she hadn't mentioned wanting to go. When I finally asked her about it, she told me she didn't want to add another expense to everything I already have going on with the house.
And my mommy heart just melted.
Because while I've been carrying the responsibilities of this transition, she's been watching. She's been thinking about me. And somewhere along the way, she decided that missing out on a high school memory might make things easier for her mama.
I told her that no matter what she sees me carrying, I'm never carrying it by myself.
I don't want her to feel responsible for protecting me from every expense or every difficult season. I want her to be able to enjoy being a teenager. I want her to make memories. I want her to know that even while our family is in transition, life doesn't have to stop.
And then, as we started figuring out homecoming, things came together at a much lower cost than I expected. Someone even offered to do her hair.
It was such a simple thing, but it meant so much to me.
Because I've been learning that I can say I trust God while still trying to calculate and control every little detail.
I've been counting pennies, moving money around in my mind, trying to prepare for needs that haven't even arrived yet.
And today, I felt that mirror being held up to me again.
Am I trusting God only after I've figured out how everything can work? Or am I learning to trust Him while I still don't know?
I thought about the reserve money too.
Someone I had hoped might be able to help wasn't able to come through. And that's okay. I don't have to be upset with them. I don't have to hold it against them. I can appreciate their willingness and release the expectation.
Especially now that one lender has told me the automated approval currently shows no reserve requirement, pending the remaining review.
I don't need to spend today solving a financial problem that may not even be part of tomorrow.
And if another need does arise, I can address it with the information and resources available then.
I don't have to borrow tomorrow's worries.
That's what today taught me.
I can prepare this house without letting the preparation consume me.
I can be responsible with money without allowing fear to make every decision.
I can make room for my children to enjoy their lives while we're in transition.
I can accept help without feeling like I have to control how it arrives.
And I can rest when the day gives me room to rest.
Tonight, I'm sitting outside with my Bible, and I feel grateful for the simplicity of this moment.
No phone call to make.
No number to calculate.
No answer I have to chase down tonight.
Just me, God's Word, and the opportunity to keep learning who He is.
And maybe that's the part of this season I love the most.
Not that everything is suddenly easy.
Not that every question has been answered.
But that I'm beginning to recognize how much of my peace has been tied to whether I can see a solution.
And little by little, I'm learning a different way.
I can have peace before I have the answer.
I can enjoy today without knowing exactly what tomorrow will bring.
I can let my daughter have her homecoming memories.
I can celebrate my grandboy's two home runs.
I can appreciate a clean house, a little progress on the patio, and an unexpected opportunity to rest.
I can notice the small ways people show up for my family.
And I can keep drawing closer to God without making every quiet moment about asking Him for something else.
Today wasn't the day I expected.
But it was a day I needed.
And tonight, I don't want to rush past it trying to get to whatever comes next.
Today had enough grace for today.
Tomorrow, I'll meet tomorrow.
But tonight?
I'm going to sit here a little longer, open my Word, and enjoy being close to God.
Prayer:Father, Thank You for today. Thank You for the unexpected rest, for watching my grandboy play, for time with my children, and for the simple moments I might have missed if everything had gone according to my schedule. Thank You for Kaia's heart. Thank You for the way she sees me and cares about what I'm carrying. Help me reassure her that she doesn't have to carry the responsibilities of this transition with me. Let her enjoy being young, making memories, and experiencing the beautiful moments of her life. Thank You for the people who have offered to help and for the ways today's needs came together. Father, keep teaching me what it means to trust You.
Show me the difference between being responsible and trying to control everything. Help me plan wisely without allowing fear to make me believe I must solve every possible problem before it arrives. When plans change, help me recognize the opportunities for rest and connection that may come with those changes.
When someone cannot help in the way I hoped, help me respond with grace instead of disappointment or resentment. When a need arises, give me wisdom to recognize what is mine to do, what help to seek, and what I can release from my thoughts until the time comes. And when I have enough for today, teach me to recognize that I have enough for today. Thank You for drawing me closer to You. Thank You that I can sit outside with Your Word and simply enjoy learning more about who You are. I don't want to be so focused on the next house, the next answer, or the next chapter that I miss the life happening right in front of me. Keep strengthening my character. Keep teaching me patience, gratitude, wisdom, and surrender. And help me remember that I don't have to carry tomorrow while I'm still living today. Today, I choose to be present. Today, I choose to be grateful. Today, I choose to rest in You. In Jesus' name,
Amen.
September 20: Learning to Love Like Him
Journal Entry:
Today was beautiful.
I went to early morning service, and we were celebrating the church anniversary. There was something so special about being in the house of God this morning, worshiping with people I love and reflecting on His goodness.
And then Pastor preached from Luke 15.
He talked about how easily we can forget where God has brought us from. How we can begin looking at people whose beliefs, choices, or lives look different from ours and start referring to them as those people.
As though we're somehow separate.
As though we haven't needed grace ourselves.
As though the love God has shown us was something we earned.
And that message met me right where I was.
Because I had to acknowledge that I've been guilty of it.
There are people I know whose choices I don't agree with. There are things I see that don't align with my personal convictions. And somewhere along the way, I have sometimes allowed those differences to affect the way I see the person.
But today I was reminded that disagreement does not have to become distance, and conviction does not have to become condemnation.
I can love someone without participating in everything they do.
I can maintain my boundaries without treating them as less deserving of kindness.
I can hold on to my faith without making somebody feel as though they have to become exactly like me before I can show them love.
And I can remember that I am still a woman who needs God's grace every single day.
The message stayed with me so strongly that I felt led to reach out and send a letter of encouragement to someone.
Someone whose choices I don't always agree with.
But today, instead of focusing on those differences, I wanted that person to know they are loved, that they matter, and that I can still be a source of encouragement in their life.
I didn't need to address every disagreement.
I didn't need to correct anything.
I didn't need to make the conversation about my perspective.
I just needed to love.
And I think that's what made today's message so meaningful to me.
Because this entire month, I've been asking God to draw me closer to Him. I've been asking Him to strengthen my character, teach me surrender, and help me become more like Him.
But becoming more like Christ isn't only about how much time I spend praying or reading my Bible.
It's also about how I treat people.
Especially people I don't understand.
Especially people whose lives look different from mine.
Especially people I might have quietly placed into a category without even realizing I was doing it.
Today, I felt that mirror being held up to me again.
And I'm grateful for it.
Because I don't want to become so comfortable in my own walk with God that I forget what it feels like to need somebody to extend love and compassion toward me.
I want to remember where He brought me from.
I want to remember the grace that met me in my own difficult seasons.
And I want to extend that same compassion to others.
I don't have to compromise my convictions to love people well. But I do have to make sure my convictions never become an excuse to withhold love.
After church, we celebrated Megan's baby shower.
Oh, it was beautiful!
Seeing everyone come together to surround her with love and support was such a gift. We had prepared for this day, and watching everything come together so beautifully made my heart full.
I got to spend time with my sis Melody and reconnect with some of the ladies I used to sing with on the praise team.
And as I looked around the room, I found myself thinking about how grateful I am for the community God has allowed me to be part of.
My world is filled with people from different backgrounds, cultures, and walks of life.
And I love that.
I love that my friendships aren't limited to people who look exactly like me, grew up like me, or share every experience I've had.
I get to be part of so many different people's worlds.
I get to learn from them.
Laugh with them.
Celebrate with them.
Pray with them.
And love them.
Today, I thought about how beautiful it is when people who might not otherwise cross paths can come together with one purpose: to love and support somebody.
And it brought me right back to this morning's message.
Maybe loving like Jesus also means being willing to step beyond the familiar.
Beyond the people who think like me.
Beyond the people whose lives look like mine.
Beyond the comfort of only surrounding myself with those who already understand my perspective.
Not because differences don't matter, but because our differences don't have to prevent us from loving one another.
And today, I got to experience that love in such a beautiful way.
A church anniversary.
A message that challenged my heart.
An opportunity to encourage someone.
A baby shower filled with love.
Time with my sister and friends.
A room full of people coming together to celebrate new life.
What a Sunday.
Sundays have truly become my favorite day of the week.
There's something about beginning the week in worship, surrounded by community, and being reminded of who God is and who He's teaching me to become.
And tonight, as I prepare for another week, I don't know everything that lies ahead.
The house is still in transition.
There are still decisions to make.
There are still things I'm waiting to see unfold.
But today, my focus wasn't on any of that.
Today was about love.
The love God has shown me.
The love I have the opportunity to extend to others.
The love I experienced through community.
And the love that brings people together even when their lives look different.
I started this month asking God what He was doing around me.
Now, more and more, I'm paying attention to what He's doing within me.
He's teaching me to trust.
He's teaching me to surrender.
He's teaching me to rest.
And today, He reminded me that I still have room to grow in how I love.
I don't want to miss that lesson while waiting for the next big thing to happen.
So tonight, my prayer is simple:
God, teach me to see people through the eyes of Your love.
Let me remember the grace You've extended to me before I decide what somebody else deserves.
Let me be someone who makes room for people to feel seen, valued, and loved.
And as I walk into this next week, whatever it holds, let me carry today's lesson with me.
I don't know what tomorrow will bring.
But I know how I want to show up.
With open hands, a grateful heart, and a love that keeps growing.
Prayer:
Father, Thank You for this beautiful Sunday. Thank You for the opportunity to worship, celebrate the church anniversary, and receive a message that challenged me to examine my own heart.
Thank You for Luke 15 and the reminder of Your compassion.Father, forgive me for the times I've looked at someone differently because their choices, beliefs, or circumstances didn't align with mine. Forgive me for the times I've forgotten how much grace I've needed in my own life.
Help me never become so focused on someone else's mistakes that I lose sight of their humanity.
Teach me to love people without feeling that I have to agree with everything they do.
Teach me to maintain healthy boundaries without becoming cold or judgmental.
Give me wisdom to know when to speak, when to listen, and when the most meaningful thing I can do is simply extend kindness. And when I recognize something in another person that I believe is wrong, remind me to examine my own heart with humility before responding.
Father, thank You for the opportunity to encourage someone today. Let my words communicate love rather than judgment. Help me be a light that points people toward Your goodness without making them feel that they must earn my compassion.Thank You for Megan and the beautiful celebration of her baby. Bless her as she prepares for this new chapter of motherhood. Surround her with continued love, support, wisdom, and peace. Thank You for Melody, for the women I had the opportunity to reconnect with, and for the community You've placed around me.
Thank You for friendships that cross backgrounds, cultures, and life experiences.
Keep my heart open to learning from others. Help me never allow familiarity, differences, or assumptions to limit the people I am willing to love. And Father, as I prepare for this next week, I surrender it to You.
Whatever needs my attention, give me wisdom.
Whatever requires patience, give me grace.
Whatever needs to be released, keep my hands open.
And wherever You place me, let the way I treat people reflect the love You've shown me.
I don't want to just talk about Your love. I want to live it.
Keep drawing me closer to You.
Keep strengthening my character.
Keep teaching me to love like Jesus.
In Jesus' name,
Amen.
September 21: Focus on What's in Front of You
Journal Entry:
Today was another one of those days when I could feel myself getting ahead of God.
I had my second interview for the out-of-state job opportunity, and it went amazingly well. I got off the phone feeling excited, but almost immediately, the what-ifs started coming.
What if they actually offer me the job? What if I make the wrong decision? What if I move and realize I should have stayed? What if I stay and realize I should have gone? Am I even supposed to be entertaining this opportunity?
And just like that, something I had been excited about started feeling heavy.
I think the biggest thing I'm wrestling with is the possibility that I may eventually have to make a decision that changes the direction of our lives. And I don't want to make that decision out of fear, excitement, financial pressure, or a desire to make everything easier.
I want to make a decision with a clear mind, an open heart, and a willingness to follow God wherever He leads.
But today, I had to remind myself of something important.
I don't have a job offer to decide on right now.
I don't have to choose between two destinations tonight.
I don't have to know where we're going before I finish preparing the house we're currently living in.
The decision may come, and when it does, I can prayerfully consider the actual options in front of me. I can ask questions, gather information, seek wise counsel, and make the most thoughtful decision I can with what I know at that time.
And even if I make a choice I later wish I'd made differently, that doesn't mean God can no longer work in my life.
I don't have to be so afraid of making the wrong decision that I stop living faithfully in the present.
Because while my mind was running through every possible future, there were things right in front of me that needed my attention today.
I had work to do.
I had odds and ends to finish around the house.
I had children to care for.
And I have a house that's getting ready to go on the market next week.
That's what's in front of me.
Not a relocation decision.
Not a closing date for another house.
Not a final answer about where we're going.
Today's assignment is to take care of today.
And even that has its challenges.
Trying to live in a house that's being prepared for sale is something else! Every time I get something cleaned, painted, fixed, or put in its place, I want it to stay exactly like that.
But we still live here.
There are children here.
There are meals to prepare, clothes to wash, things to use, and everyday life to live.
We can't put our entire lives on hold just because we're preparing for the next chapter.
And my children have been such troopers through all of this.
They've had to adjust to the changes, the cleaning, the projects, the expectations, and the uncertainty of not knowing exactly where we'll be living next.
I'm grateful for them.
I want to make sure that while we're preparing this house for someone else, I don't forget that it's still our home today.
We still get to live here.
We still get to laugh here.
We still get to make memories here.
And we can do our best to keep everything together without allowing the preparation to steal our peace.
Today also brought me back to something God has been placing on my heart: Luke 15.
Yesterday, Pastor preached from that chapter, reminding us not to look at people as those people simply because their lives, beliefs, or choices look different from ours.
And then today, during our study of Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World, Luke 15 came up again.
I couldn't ignore how much that passage has been on my heart.
The father in the parable of the prodigal son welcomed his returning child with compassion. And the older brother, who had remained at home, struggled to extend that same compassion.
I've been thinking about both sons.
I've been thinking about the grace God has shown me and how easily I can forget that other people need that same grace.
And I've been wondering whether there's someone I need to reach out to, someone I need to encourage, or someone I need to see differently.
I don't know yet.
I don't want to force a meaning onto the fact that I've encountered the same passage more than once. But I do want to pay attention to what it's teaching me.
Maybe I don't need to figure out who the message is for before I begin living it.
I can love the people already in front of me.
I can be more patient.
I can listen without immediately trying to correct.
I can extend compassion without abandoning my convictions.
I can remember that my own relationship with God is built on grace I didn't earn.
And if an opportunity comes to put that lesson into action in a particular relationship, I want my heart to be ready.
That's part of drawing closer to God too.
Not just reading His Word.
Not just fasting.
Not just worshiping.
But allowing what I'm learning about Him to change how I treat people.
And maybe that's where the two things I've been carrying today meet.
With the job opportunity, I'm asking God to help me hear Him clearly about what comes next.
With Luke 15, I'm asking Him to help me recognize the opportunities to love people well right where I am.
I don't want to be so focused on finding my next assignment that I overlook the one already in front of me.
Tonight, I still feel the excitement about the interview.
I still feel the weight of knowing that a decision may eventually need to be made.
But I don't have to carry that decision tonight.
I can let an interview be an interview.
I can let an opportunity remain an opportunity until I have more information.
I can continue preparing my house.
I can care for my children.
I can keep drawing close to God.
And I can trust that when a decision actually needs to be made, I won't have to make it using only the fears and imagined scenarios running through my mind today.
I want to remain open.
I want to be willing.
I want to hear God's voice without allowing fear to drown out wisdom or excitement to rush me ahead.
More than anything, I want my life to please Him.
And tonight, I feel like the lesson is becoming clearer:
I don't have to figure out my entire future to be faithful today.
The house goes on the market next week.
The interview went well.
Luke 15 is still on my heart.
My children and I are making this transition work one day at a time.
And God is still teaching me how to stay close.
So tonight, I'm bringing my thoughts back to the present.
Tomorrow will have its own responsibilities.
The decisions ahead will have their own time.
But today?
Today, I can finish what's in front of me, love the people around me, and keep seeking God.
And for tonight, that is enough.
Prayer:Father, Thank You for today. Thank You for the opportunity to interview again and for the excitement I felt afterward. Thank You for every possibility that has opened during this season, even when I don't yet know which ones will become part of our future. You know how quickly my mind begins running through every possible outcome.
You know my desire to make a wise decision for myself and my children.
You know that I want to follow You and that sometimes my fear of making the wrong choice becomes louder than the peace I'm asking You for. Father, help me trust You without demanding that You reveal the entire plan today. Give me wisdom to recognize what needs a decision now and what can wait. When the time comes to choose, help me consider the options clearly, ask the right questions, seek wise counsel, and move forward without being controlled by fear. Until then, bring my attention back to what's in front of me. Help me finish preparing this house with patience and gratitude. Give me the energy and resources to handle what needs to be done without becoming overwhelmed by everything that remains. Thank You for my children and the way they've adjusted throughout this transition. Help me be patient with them as we continue living in a home we're also preparing to sell. Let our home remain a place of love, laughter, safety, and peace while we're still here. And Father, thank You for bringing me back to Luke 15. Keep teaching me to love people with compassion and humility. If there's someone I need to encourage, someone I need to listen to, or a relationship where I need to extend more grace, help me recognize that opportunity.
Don't let me become so focused on my own journey that I overlook the people You've placed in my life. Teach me to love without judgment, to hold my convictions with humility, and to remember the grace You've extended to me. Above everything else, Father, I want to be close to You. I don't want fear to make my decisions.
I don't want excitement to rush them. I don't want uncertainty to consume the time You've given me today. Help me be faithful with what's in front of me and trust You with what is still ahead. My heart is open. My hands are open. My future is in Your hands.
And tonight, I'm choosing to be present. In Jesus' name,
Amen.
September 22: It Starts With Me
Journal Entry:
Today started off as a good day.
But I noticed something about myself that I couldn't keep ignoring.
When my children get home, my attitude changes.
I can be having a perfectly good day, feeling peaceful and getting things done, and then everybody comes home, the arguing starts, somebody is frustrated with somebody else, and suddenly I feel myself becoming irritated too.
Today, Khalil and Azaria were at each other's throats, and I was just done.
I didn't want to hear another argument. I didn't want to correct another behavior. I didn't want to be the referee, the problem solver, or the person everybody came to with their complaints.
I just wanted to get away.
So I went to Walmart.
And while I was away, I had to be honest with God about what was happening inside me.
God, I don't want to feel like I need to escape from my own children.
I love my babies. I love being their mother. But I also recognize that I've been carrying a lot, and sometimes, by the time they get home, I don't have much patience left to give.
And while being tired may explain some of what I'm feeling, I don't want to use it as an excuse for how I treat them.
I don't want my children to feel like their presence is what changes the atmosphere of our home.
I don't want them to remember this season as a time when Mama was always irritated.
And I don't want to keep allowing their emotions to become my emotions.
Their frustration doesn't have to become my frustration. Their conflict doesn't have to become my conflict.
I can help them work through what they're feeling without taking all of it into myself.
When I came home, I sat everybody down.
We had a whole come-to-Jesus meeting.
And although the conversation was especially for Khalil and Azaria, I knew there was something in it for me too.
I talked to them about how they treat each other and the importance of learning to love people through their differences. I reminded them that their relationship with God is something they will each have to develop personally and that the way they treat the people closest to them matters.
Because loving someone isn't just something we say.
It's something we practice.
It's how we speak when we're frustrated.
It's how we respond when someone annoys us.
It's how we handle disagreements.
It's how we treat our siblings when nobody outside our home is watching.
And I realized that I can't simply tell my children to love each other better.
I have to help them learn how.
So instead of allowing Khalil and Azaria to retreat to their separate corners and avoid one another, I decided we were going to start practicing being together.
I had them share a sleeping space that night as part of helping them learn to coexist peacefully.
But I also recognize that being physically close doesn't automatically teach someone how to resolve conflict. I want to be intentional about giving them the tools to communicate, respect each other's boundaries, apologize when needed, and work through disagreements without being hurtful.
I don't want them to grow up believing that the only way to deal with someone who frustrates them is to avoid that person completely.
And I don't want them to believe they have to tolerate mistreatment just to prove they love someone either.
I want them to learn how to love each other while still respecting each other's needs and boundaries.
And that lesson starts with me.
Because I had to look at myself today and ask:
Am I modeling the patience I'm asking them to practice?
Am I showing them how to handle frustration, or am I reacting to their reactions?
Am I creating an atmosphere where we can work through difficult emotions without everybody becoming overwhelmed?
The truth is, I have room to grow.
I'm parenting on my own much of the time. I'm working. I'm preparing a house for sale. I'm navigating decisions about our future. I'm trying to keep everything moving while also making sure my children are cared for.
It's a lot.
And I can acknowledge that it's a lot without giving myself permission to let frustration become the way I communicate with my children.
Being overwhelmed is something I need to address, not something I want to pass down.
Today reminded me that I need to be more intentional about how I transition from work and responsibilities into being present with my children.
Maybe I need a few minutes of quiet before everyone comes together.
Maybe I need to recognize when I'm overstimulated and take a break before addressing an argument.
Maybe I need to give my children clearer expectations about how we speak to one another and what happens when disagreements arise.
And maybe sometimes I need to stop trying to resolve everybody's emotions at once.
I can listen.
I can guide.
I can correct.
I can set boundaries.
But I don't have to absorb every feeling in the room.
And I don't have to solve every disagreement while I'm upset.
I want my children to learn that difficult emotions are normal, but those emotions don't give us permission to mistreat one another.
And I want them to see me practicing that same lesson.
If I respond harshly, I can acknowledge it and apologize.
If I need a moment to calm down, I can say so.
If we're all having a difficult afternoon, we can reset without deciding that the entire day is ruined.
I want our home to be a place where we practice what we're learning, not a place where everybody has to get everything right the first time.
This season has been teaching me so much about surrender, patience, and trusting God with what I cannot control.
And today, I realized that those lessons aren't only for the house, the job opportunity, or the decisions ahead.
They're for my motherhood too.
I can trust God with our future and still become frustrated with the people He's entrusted to my care.
I can spend time in His Word and still need to work on how I respond when my children are arguing.
I can love Him deeply and still have areas of my character that need attention.
And I'm grateful that I can recognize those areas without pretending they aren't there.
I don't want to spend this entire season preparing a house for someone else while neglecting the atmosphere inside the home my children are living in today.
The house can be clean.
The walls can be painted.
Everything can be ready for the market.
But the way we love one another inside these walls matters more than how the house looks when someone walks through the door.
So today wasn't about a lender, an interview, or another step toward moving.
Today was about my family.
It was about recognizing a pattern in myself that I want to change.
It was about helping my children understand that love requires practice.
And it was about accepting that I have to practice it too.
I don't expect us to get everything right tomorrow.
There will probably be another disagreement.
Somebody will get irritated.
Somebody will need a reminder.
And I may need to step away for a moment before responding.
But that's okay.
We're learning.
We're growing.
And we're going to keep practicing.
I don't want to just tell my children how to love. I want them to experience that love in the way I lead them.
Tonight, I'm not asking God to give me perfect children.
I'm asking Him to help me become a more patient, present, and emotionally steady mother.
Prayer:
Father, thank You for showing me the places in my heart that still need Your help. Give me patience with my children and wisdom to lead them without carrying their emotions as my own. Teach me to respond instead of react, to correct with love, and to create a home where we practice grace, respect, forgiveness, and unity. When I feel overwhelmed, help me recognize what I need before frustration takes over. Remind me that motherhood is part of my becoming too. Shape my heart as I help shape theirs, and let my children experience Your love through the way I love them.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.
September 23: Just me and God
Journal Entry:
Today started in the middle of the night.
I woke up around two o'clock this morning. I tried to go back to sleep, did my devotion while lying in bed, and eventually felt this strong desire to get up and go outside.
By the time I went outside, it was about 3:19 a.m.
And I'm so glad I went.
I didn't go outside with a list of questions.
I didn't go asking God about the house.
I didn't ask Him where we're moving.
I wasn't trying to figure out finances, opportunities, timelines, or what comes next.
I just sat there.
I listened to the wind.
I listened to the sounds around me.
I sat in the stillness.
And I cried.
Not because I was sad.
I was overwhelmed with gratitude.
God has been so good to me, and lately I have found myself wanting something deeper than answers.
I just want Him.
I want to know Him.
I want to understand His Word.
I want to recognize His character.
I want my relationship with Him to become more than something I turn to when I need direction.
I want to enjoy being with God simply because He's God.
And this morning, that's what it felt like.
Just me and God.
Eventually, I fell asleep outside.
My sleep wasn't completely peaceful. I had a couple of unsettling moments in my dreams, but what stood out to me was that I didn't respond the way fear normally wants me to respond.
I called on God.
I reminded myself that I belonged to Him.
I turned on worship music, settled myself again, and rested.
And when I woke up, something surprised me.
I wasn't exhausted.
My sleep had been interrupted. I'd been awake in the middle of the night. By all natural reasoning, I expected to drag through the day.
But I had a beautiful day.
Work went well.
My spirit felt good.
And even the way I responded to my children felt different.
That mattered to me, especially after yesterday.
Yesterday, I had to confront the way I had been responding to the children when I became overwhelmed. I had to recognize that their emotions didn't have to become mine and that being tired, stretched, or doing this largely on my own didn't give me permission to constantly respond from frustration.
Today gave me an opportunity to practice something different.
I felt calmer.
They seemed calmer.
And I could see how much the condition of my own heart affects what I bring into our home.
That doesn't mean every difficult moment with my children will disappear because I spent time with God.
They're still children.
I'm still human.
There will still be disagreements, attitudes, exhaustion, and moments when everybody needs to reset.
But today reminded me that I can keep growing in the way I respond.
What happens in my quiet place with God should eventually show up in the way I live with people.
That may be one of the biggest things I'm learning.
I don't only want to have beautiful worship moments.
I want to become more patient.
I don't only want to read Scripture.
I want Scripture to change the way I speak.
I don't only want to say that I'm surrendering.
I want surrender to show up when something doesn't go my way.
I don't only want to tell God that I love Him.
I want the way I live to reflect that love.
The children had Bible study today too, and everything went beautifully.
And throughout the day, I kept feeding my spirit.
The Word.
Sermons.
Worship.
Learning.
Listening.
I felt this seriousness rising in me—not a fearful seriousness, and not some pressure to become perfect overnight.
More like:
Ashley, this matters.
My walk with God matters.
What I allow into my mind matters.
What I continually feed my spirit matters.
How I respond to conviction matters.
How I treat people matters.
How I raise my children matters.
How I steward this season matters.
And I don't want to keep hearing things from God, feeling convicted about them, and then going back to life as usual.
I want what I'm learning to take root.
I want to be wholehearted.
I don't want gray areas in the places where I know I need to make changes.
Not because I'm trying to earn God's love.
But because I love Him.
That's what's changing.
This isn't only about getting something from God anymore.
I don't want to draw close just because I need an answer.
I don't want my prayer life to become one long conversation about this house.
I don't want every devotion to be me searching Scripture for clues about what's going to happen next.
Sometimes I want to open my Bible simply because I want to know Him.
Sometimes I want to sit outside at 3:19 in the morning and listen to the wind.
Sometimes I want to cry because He's been good.
Sometimes I want to worship without asking Him for anything afterward.
I just want God.
And I think that's what made today so beautiful.
Nothing about my circumstances had to dramatically change for me to experience peace.
The house is still being prepared.
The future is still unfolding.
There are still decisions ahead.
There are still things I don't know.
But today, those things weren't the center of my attention.
God was.
And somehow, everything else felt lighter from there.
I worked.
I mothered.
I learned.
I worshiped.
I watched my children participate in Bible study.
I lived an ordinary day.
But I lived it from a different place.
And tonight, I find myself thinking:
God, I want another one.
Another day where my spirit feels this settled.
Another day where I respond instead of react.
Another day where I notice You throughout the ordinary.
Another day where Your presence means more to me than getting an answer.
But I also know I don't need to recreate today exactly.
I don't have to wake up at two o'clock tomorrow morning to prove I'm close to God.
I don't have to go outside at exactly 3:19.
I don't have to chase a feeling.
The invitation is much simpler than that.
Draw near.
Tomorrow that may look like sitting outside.
It may look like reading Scripture at my kitchen table.
It may look like worshiping in the car.
It may look like praying while I'm working.
It may even look like recognizing that my body needs sleep and going to bed.
The point isn't recreating the moment.
The point is continuing the relationship.
And that's what I want.
September has contained so much preparation for what might be coming next.
But perhaps one of the most important things happening isn't around me at all.
Something is changing in me.
My perspective is changing.
My priorities are changing.
The way I respond is changing.
The things I desire are changing.
And increasingly, underneath everything else I've been asking for, there is one prayer becoming louder:
God, I just want to be close to You.
Not because of what You're going to do.
Not because of where You're going to take us.
Not because of the doors You may open.
Just because You're You.
Today was just me and God.
And somehow, that was enough.
Prayer: Father, Thank You for meeting me in the quiet this morning. Thank You for the wind, the stillness, the tears, the worship, and the opportunity to simply enjoy Your presence. I don't want to chase an experience. I want to know You. Teach me Your Word. Shape my character. Let the time I spend with You become visible in the way I speak, parent, work, forgive, respond, and love. Thank You for helping me respond differently to my children today. Continue teaching me to lead them with patience, wisdom, consistency, and grace. And Father, when fear or unsettling thoughts come, remind me where to turn. Help me remain grounded in Your truth rather than allowing fear to control me. I don't need every answer tonight. The house can wait.
The future can wait. Tomorrow can wait. Tonight, I'm simply grateful that I get to know You. Keep drawing my heart toward You, not only for what You can do for me, but because of who You are. More of You, God. That's what I want. In Jesus' name,Amen.
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