I’m still learning how to stand firmly in who I am in Christ. Some days, it feels like I’m discovering myself for the first time; other days, like I’m returning to a version of me that’s always been there beneath the surface—steady, true, and quietly growing. This season isn’t about achieving something impressive; it’s about being developed. I sense it deeply. God is forming something lasting, and I can’t keep interrupting the process every time things shift or someone questions my path or I grow restless with waiting.
I’ve done that long enough—hesitated, overanalyzed, doubted the very path I prayed to be shown. But now I know: that kind of fear only slows down the progress. Every moment I spend second-guessing is a moment I delay the unfolding of what’s already in motion. It’s time to stop hesitating. I can’t keep holding back out of fear of being wrong or misunderstood. I’ve been called. I’ve been entrusted. And I’ve been equipped—whether or not I feel like it doesn't matter. It’s time to give this season my full attention and my full effort—not striving, but surrendering. That means walking boldly, even if the path curves. That means choosing obedience over opinion, and peace over performance. I trust that if God needs to redirect me, He will. That’s His job. Mine is to show up fully and follow Him with courage.
This is not about perfection. It’s about participation.
Sometimes I get caught in the loop of what I think I deserve—or more often, what I believe I don’t. It’s subtle but powerful, this belief that I have to earn the goodness that comes my way. I can feel it creep in when I dream too big or receive too much. I tell myself, “You’re not worthy of this,” as if the abundance of God has limits tied to my performance.
But the truth is, grace was never about deserving.
No, I don’t deserve a partner in life and future ministry—but I belong with my person, when that door is opened. I don’t deserve to sit among visionary leaders and entrepreneurs—but belonging is written into my calling, and I won’t shrink back from the table anymore.
I don’t deserve the home I long for—but I belong in the space God is preparing for me, where my family will rest, create, and thrive.
I don’t deserve to homeschool these daughters of mine—but I belong in that sacred role, chosen for it, even in my inadequacy.
And grace—grace is the banner over it all. I don’t deserve it. I could never earn it. But I am in it, surrounded by it, upheld by it every step of the way.
So I’m learning to stop disqualifying myself from the very things God is calling me into. This is not about entitlement. It’s about trust. He decides where I belong. My job is to stop arguing with Him and start living like it's true.
There’s this ongoing interweaving between the upper story and the lower story—between what is promised in heaven and what is still unfolding on earth. I live in the tension of the already but not yet. I know who I am in Christ. I know what I’ve been promised. And yet, the gravity of this earthly dwelling—its limitations, its pressures, its delays—has a way of pulling me into survival mode. It convinces me I need to hustle, strive, hold everything together. That it’s all up to me.
But deep down, I know that isn’t true.
Victory is already mine—not because I’ve earned it, but because Christ has secured it. Still, I’m being prepared for what I’m not yet ready to carry. There’s a difference between being called and being released. And sometimes that space between is the most sacred stretch of all—the refining, reshaping, rooting place.
It’s hard, though. Living in this in-between often feels like carrying weight I was never meant to hold. I forget that provision has already been made. That strength is supplied, not manufactured. That grace goes ahead of me, behind me, and within me.
So I breathe. I remember.
It’s not all up to me.
But I do have a part to play.
My role is to stay open, stay obedient, and stay grounded in the truth that I am being made ready.
Every delay, every detour, every deep ache for more—it’s not the absence of God. It’s the evidence of His care. He won’t release what I’m not yet able to carry in joy and peace. He’s not withholding—He’s preparing.
And so I walk forward, even with shaking knees, trusting that this middle place is not meaningless. It is the sacred space between promise and fulfillment, and I belong even here.
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I am already chosen and dearly loved.
But I am not yet living in perfect harmony.
I don’t deserve this love—but I belong in it.
I am already partnered in heart with someone who reflects the kind of love I’ve prayed for.
But I am not yet living in that reality.
I don’t deserve that kind of connection—but I belong in it's purpose.
I am already launching my daughters into strength, faith, and identity. But I am not yet finished guiding their steps.
I don’t deserve the honor of shaping their lives—but I belong in their story.
I am already thriving in my calling,
bearing fruit from the seeds of joy and obedience.
But I am not yet seeing the full harvest.
I don’t deserve the abundance I see—but I belong in this field.
I am already walking in my purpose,
but I am not yet standing in the fullness of the vision.
I don’t deserve to carry this calling—but I belong in this mission.
I am already at home—in Spirit, in peace, in who I am becoming.
But I am not yet in the house that holds my future memories.
I don’t deserve a place prepared—but I belong wherever He leads.
