All Posts

I still remember that morning vividly. I stepped onto the porch, wrapped in my favorite cardigan, to discover the world turned upside...

Paul learned that truth in the middle of a painful struggle. He begged God to remove his “thorn,” but instead received a promise: his weakness would become the stage for Christ’s strength. Like gold filling the seams of broken pottery, God’s grace seals our fractures, not to hide them, but to showcase His glory.

I woke before dawn this morning, cradling a steaming mug of chai and listening to the quiet of my home. It’s my birthday—another turn around the sun—and though today isn’t a Friday the 13th, I was born on one. All my life I’ve heard the jokes: “Watch out for black cats!” “Don’t walk under ladders!” “Friday the 13th is bad luck!” But here I am, adding another year to the story without a single broken mirror in sight.

I’ve been staring at an empty bird feeder all week—no sparrows, no chatter, just silence. At first I felt frustrated, like something was missing. But then I realized: the feeder isn’t broken. The sparrows are simply waiting—for breadcrumbs, for dawn, for the next season. There’s a sacredness in that pause.

I still remember the morning I tried to surprise my kids with homemade pancakes—and the batter congealed on the griddle in mushy, undercooked blobs. My three-year-old pointed at the pan and said, “Mama, it’s broken.” I laughed it off at first, but later the sting settled in: I’d set out to do something kind, and it had fallen short in every way.

The Apostle Paul said he carried “treasure in jars of clay” (2 Corinthians 4:7), reminding us that our fragile, cracked lives are the very vessels through which God’s glory shines. Our rusted edges become the gateways for His light.

So much of what we’re taught—by culture, by social media, even by our own inner critic—is that small means not enough. That unless we’re building something visible, viral, or fast-growing, we must be falling behind. But Jesus never glorified big.

There are days I show up here with more questions than clarity. Days when I write from a place that feels more like cracks than calling. And honestly? There are days I don’t feel like I’m enough — as a mom, a wife, a writer, or a woman of faith.

There’s something I’ve learned about rest . It’s not always easy. It’s not always welcomed. And sometimes — it feels like a risk. We live...

There’s a small sparrow that keeps landing on the windowsill outside my writing desk. She isn’t shiny or rare. Her feathers are a little...