.avif)
September-A Season of Transition
Updated: 23 minutes ago
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
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
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
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.
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
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
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
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
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 :
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
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..
Comments