Category: Blog

I’ve been following Jesus for 29 years, and I’ll tell you plainly: I’m still growing. Spiritual maturity isn’t a finish line you cross — it’s a direction you walk. And the beautiful thing is, you can look back and see how far He’s brought you.

I know where I started. There was a season when my reactions ran my life. Somebody hurt me, I hurt them back. Something went wrong, I spiraled. My mouth moved faster than my prayers ever did. That was the old me — controlled by my circumstances, manipulated by my emotions, conformed to a world that taught me escape was the answer.

But God doesn’t leave us where He finds us. I wrote in my journal once: “Our behavior shows our spiritual maturity — especially under pressure.” Pressure doesn’t create what’s in you — it reveals it. And little by little, God has been changing what’s in me.

Here’s what I’ve learned maturity actually looks like:

1. You react differently. The old me would’ve snapped. Now I pause, I pray, and I choose wisdom. Self-control is a sign of spiritual growth — maturity shows up in your responses.

2. You recognize distractions faster. Every opportunity isn’t God. Every connection isn’t covenant. Every open door isn’t destiny. You learn to discern.

3. You obey quicker. I used to delay obedience until it was convenient or I understood everything. Mature faith obeys when it’s inconvenient, costly, or unclear.

4. You can have peace without answers. You stop needing every detail. You stop demanding full clarity. You trust God in the process, not just the outcome. Peace is proof of trust.

5. You value presence over performance. You stop chasing platforms and start chasing God. You stop trying to be impressive and start trying to be surrendered.

I look at the spiritually mature women God has placed in my life — and what sets them apart isn’t perfection. It’s compassion. Kindness. Understanding. They’re non-judgmental, and their faith in Jesus is the real thing. That’s the kind of maturity I’m growing toward.

And here’s the daily work: “Examine yourselves, to see whether you are in the faith. Test yourselves.” — 2 Corinthians 13:5 (ESV). Not to condemn yourself — to grow. I ask myself: what would Jesus do here? Am I being controlled by my circumstances, or led by my Savior?

One prayer I pray often says it best: “Father God, I can do nothing of myself. Please show me what you are doing, so I can do the same thing.” That’s maturity — not independence from God, but dependence on Him. The more I need Him, the more I grow.

So if you’re wondering whether you’re growing — look back. Are you reacting differently than you used to? Trusting Him with less proof than you once demanded? Then you’re maturing, friend. Keep going. He’s not finished with any of us yet.

Sometimes I just have a hard time believing in myself.

I look at everything God has put in front of me, and this voice whispers: who do you think you are? And for a minute, I listen. I replay the conversations. I count all the ways I fall short. I’m human — I will always fall short on my own.

But then I remember: I’m not on my own.

I have a relationship with my Father God. With Jesus Christ. With the Holy Spirit. And with God, all things are possible. Not some things. All things.

The world says “believe in yourself.” God says something better: believe in Me, and I’ll carry what you can’t. “I can do all things through him who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:13, ESV). Not through me who has it all together — through Him who holds me together.

My weakness isn’t the end of the story. It’s where His strength begins. “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9, ESV).

So on the days I can’t believe in myself, I believe in Him instead. And that has never failed me yet.

“If you are willing and obedient, you shall eat the good of the land.” — Isaiah 1:19 (ESV)

I used to be very obedient. Just to the wrong things.

I obeyed addiction without questioning it. I obeyed fear. I obeyed whatever voice was loudest in the moment — my cravings, my past, people who didn’t love me. I was faithful to everything that was killing me.

Then came the day I wrote “My battle belongs to you” in my journal, and everything changed. That was the hardest yes I’ve ever said — and the first obedient thing I’d done in years. I stopped fighting God for control of a battle I was never going to win, and I handed it to the only One who could win it for me.

Here’s what nobody told me about obedience: it doesn’t feel like freedom at first. It feels like loss. When God asked me to go to Florida, to sit still, to let Him rebuild me piece by piece in the quiet where nobody was watching — it didn’t make sense. My feelings screamed. My old life called. But I stayed. I obeyed.

And slowly, the strangest thing happened. The things I thought obedience would take from me were the very things that were taking me from Him. What looked like loss was actually rescue.

“If you are willing and obedient, you shall eat the good of the land.” I love that it starts with willing. God doesn’t want my forced compliance — He wants my willing yes. The obedience He asks for is never to harm me. It’s always to heal me, to free me, to lead me into the good land I could never find on my own.

I’m not perfectly obedient. I still have days where my flesh argues. But I’ve learned this: every time I’ve obeyed God, even shaking, even confused, even when it cost me something — the blessing was always on the other side of the yes. Every single time.

So if God is asking something of you today and it doesn’t make sense, hear me: you don’t need it to make sense. You just need to say yes. The willingness comes first. The understanding comes later. And the good of the land? That’s waiting on the other side of your obedience.

Lord, make me willing. Where I’ve been obedient to everything but You, redirect my faithfulness. Give me the courage to say yes before I understand, and to trust that everything You ask of me is for my good. Amen.

Lately the Lord has had me sitting in the book of Esther, and her story won’t leave me alone.

Esther was an orphan girl raised by her cousin Mordecai, living in a foreign land, keeping her faith quiet. Nothing about her life looked like destiny. But God had her in position long before she understood why. When the king’s decree went out to destroy her people, Mordecai sent her a message that still shakes me:

“And who knows whether you have not come to the kingdom for such a time as this?” — Esther 4:14 (ESV)

Here’s what’s wild: God’s name is never mentioned in the whole book of Esther. Not once. And yet His hand is on every page — the sleepless king, the tables turned, the right person in the right room at the right time. Unseen doesn’t mean absent. Esther proves God does some of His most careful work behind the scenes, in the days when you’d swear He hasn’t said a word.

That’s where I am in my walk with Jesus right now. Twenty-nine years I’ve followed Him, and this season has a theme I can’t escape: He positions us on purpose, for moments we don’t see coming. Tomorrow night I give my testimony at the very recovery home where God once rebuilt me — in front of a woman who knew the old me, the chaotic one, and needs to hear what He did with her. I didn’t arrange any of that. He did.

Esther had to decide whether her comfort mattered more than her calling. “If I perish, I perish” (Esther 4:16). I know that crossroads. Every believer does. You can stay quiet and safe, or step into the moment God built you for and trust Him with the outcome.

So this is my Esther season, and maybe it’s yours too: God is asking some of us to open our mouths, make the amends, tell the testimony, take the step — not because we’re fearless, but because we were placed here for such a time as this.

He sees you. He has not forgotten where He put you. And the position you’re in is not an accident.

Father, thank You that You are never absent, even when You’re quiet. Give me Esther’s courage for the moments You’ve prepared me for. Use my life, my story, and my voice for such a time as this. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

“Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.” — Ephesians 4:32 (ESV)

What do you do when God brings someone back into your life who you used to use with?

Do you show them grace and mercy like Jesus has shown you, or do you turn away because they remind you of a life you fought hard to leave behind?

Recently, I had to face that question for myself.

I’ll be honest—everything in me wanted to ignore this person.

Seeing their name brought me back to my past. For a moment, I wasn’t looking at the situation through the eyes of who I am today. I was looking at it through the memories of who I used to be.

And that’s when God began dealing with my heart.

My Past Is Not My Identity

I had to remind myself of something important:

My past is no longer my identity.

I am forgiven.

I am redeemed.

I belong to Jesus.

God did not bring me out of my past so I could spend the rest of my life afraid of it. My testimony is evidence of what Jesus has done in me.

So I reached back out.

And when I did, I discovered that this person was asking me for help.

That hit me.

What might I have missed if I hadn’t been obedient in that moment?

A chance to listen?

An opportunity to encourage someone?

A moment to show another person the same compassion and mercy Jesus has shown me?

When Pride Looks Like Protection

God showed me something else in that moment: I was allowing pride to get in the way.

I was so focused on separating myself from who I used to be that I almost overlooked the person standing in front of me now.

There is wisdom in protecting our recovery. There is wisdom in having boundaries. Not everyone from our past is meant to have the same access to our lives that they once had.

Grace does not mean abandoning healthy boundaries.

But boundaries and compassion can exist together.

I can say, “I can’t go back there,” while still saying, “I see you.”

I can remember where Jesus brought me from without returning to where He delivered me from.

And instead of allowing my past to make me ashamed, I can allow it to deepen my compassion for someone who may still be struggling in a place I understand all too well.

Jesus Is Still Teaching Me

I love learning these lessons from Jesus—even when they require me to look honestly at my own heart.

He is still teaching me.

Still correcting me.

Still humbling me.

Still shaping me.

And sometimes the lesson comes through the very things I would rather avoid.

Maybe part of redemption is realizing that when God heals an area of our lives, we no longer have to run from every reminder of it. We can stand firmly in who Christ has made us while allowing Him to use our testimony to show someone else that change really is possible.

That doesn’t mean we become everyone’s rescuer.

Jesus is the Savior. We are not.

But we can be willing vessels. We can listen. We can encourage. We can point someone toward Jesus. And when God gives us an opportunity to extend grace, we can remember just how much grace has been extended to us.

A Question for the Heart

Is there someone you have been tempted to dismiss because they remind you of a version of yourself that you would rather forget?

Before you respond—or don’t respond—take it to Jesus.

Ask Him for discernment.

Ask Him whether you need a boundary, an open hand, or both.

And most importantly, remember this:

Never let shame over who you used to be make you forget who Jesus has redeemed you to be.

Reflection Questions

1. Is there anything from my past that still causes me to forget who I am in Christ?

2. Have I ever mistaken pride, fear, or shame for a healthy boundary?

3. How can I show grace to others without compromising the growth God has worked in my life?

4. Is God giving me an opportunity to encourage someone through a place He has already brought me through?

5. How can my testimony point someone toward Jesus rather than back toward my past?

Prayer

Jesus, thank You for the grace and mercy You have shown me. Thank You that my past no longer defines me and that I am redeemed through You.

Keep molding me, Jesus.

Keep my heart humble, my eyes open, and my spirit willing. Give me wisdom to know when to step forward and when to maintain a boundary. Never let pride, fear, or shame keep me from being obedient to You.

When You place someone in my path who needs compassion, help me remember the compassion You have shown me. Let my past become a testimony of Your goodness instead of a place of shame.

Use my life to point people toward You.

In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Scripture: “For by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God.” — Ephesians 2:8

Reflection

For a long time I thought I had to earn God’s love. I tried to clean myself up first — as if He were waiting at the finish line, arms crossed, checking my record. But grace doesn’t work that way. Grace met me in the places I was least proud of — in the jail cell, in my addiction, in the shame I carried like it was part of my name.

Grace isn’t God pretending He doesn’t see what I’ve done. He sees all of it, and He loves me anyway. That’s the part that still undoes me. Every morning I wake up, the mercy is new — not because I finally got it right, but because He is who He says He is.

If you’re sitting in the middle of your mess today, hear this: you don’t have to earn your way back. You just have to come home.

Prayer

Lord, thank You for grace I didn’t earn and could never deserve. When shame tells me I’m too far gone, remind me that Your mercy is new every morning. Teach me to receive it — and to give it away. Amen.

Reflect

1. Where in your life are you working hard to be good enough — for God or for people?
2. If you told God the whole truth about how you’re really doing right now, what would you say?