Returning to Center

Returning to Center

There has been a quietness here for a little while, and honestly, that was intentional.

Over the past season of my life, I needed to step back and take a breath. Not because I stopped caring about Ula & Violet, but because I needed time to process, heal, pray, and reconfigure parts of my life on a personal level. Sometimes you reach a point where your spirit knows you cannot keep pouring outward if you have not first returned inward.

That is where I found myself.

Over the last several months, I have been on a very personal journey with God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit to return to my center. Not the version of myself shaped by stress, overthinking, pressure, fear, or trying to hold everything together all at once. The real center. The grounded place. The quiet place where peace actually lives.

I think sometimes we believe faith means constantly moving, constantly producing, constantly doing. But lately, God has been teaching me that rest can be holy too. Reflection can be holy. Pulling back can be holy.

There were things in my personal life that needed my attention. My heart needed my attention too.

And during that process, something interesting happened. The deeper I rooted myself spiritually again, the clearer my purpose started becoming. Not just creatively through Ula & Violet, but practically too.

A lot of my energy lately has also gone into building MyCountyHelp, a resource project focused on helping people find real-world support in their communities more easily. It is very different from Ula & Violet on the surface, but at the core, they actually come from the same place in my heart: helping people feel less alone.

One speaks more to the spirit.
One speaks more to practical need.
Both matter.

So this is not really a “coming back” post as much as it is a “moving forward differently” post.

I am learning that life is seasonal. There are seasons where you plant, seasons where you water, seasons where you rest, and seasons where things begin blooming again. I think I am entering a blooming season slowly, gently, and with far more intention than before.

Thank you for staying here through the quiet.

I mean that deeply.

Whether you found Ula & Violet yesterday or you have been here from the beginning, thank you for allowing me the space to be human while also continuing to grow in faith.

I am still learning.
Still healing.
Still building.
Still walking with God one day at a time.

And I think that honesty matters more than pretending to have everything figured out.

I am grateful to be here again.

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Resurrection Sunday

There is a holy kind of gratitude that comes from not rushing past the cross to get to the empty tomb.

Resurrection Sunday is breathtaking in its beauty, but that beauty becomes even deeper when the heart pauses long enough to remember what came first. Before the stone was rolled away, Jesus endured betrayal from one of His own, abandonment in His darkest hour, public humiliation, physical agony, and the unbearable weight of the cross.

He did not endure it because it was easy.

He endured it because love is willing.

Because mercy stays.

Because redemption had a cost, and He chose to pay it.

The beauty of the resurrection is not only in the miracle that He rose. It is in the humility of knowing what He walked through to get there. Every lash, every wound, every mocking voice, every painful step toward Calvary became part of the story of a Savior who loved humanity too deeply to leave it bound.

There is something profoundly grounding in remembering that the victory did not erase the suffering. It redeemed it.

That is what makes today so beautiful.

The empty tomb is not just a symbol of life after death. It is a reminder that even the darkest places are not beyond the reach of God’s power. What looked sealed, final, and hopeless was only the place where glory was about to break through.

Today, the posture is gratitude.

Today, the posture is humility.

Today, the heart simply says thank You.

Thank You, Jesus, for enduring what love required.

Thank You for the cross.

Thank You for the grave that could not hold You.

Thank You for the mercy that still reaches us now.

He is risen, and because He lives, hope does too.

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Jesus Saves: Returning to the Shepherd

There are moments in life when a person can look back and clearly see that God had been present long before they fully understood Him.

For some people, faith arrives suddenly. For others, it has always been quietly there, like a thread woven through childhood memories, guiding moments, and unexplained feelings of comfort or protection. Jesus has a way of making His presence known even when the heart is still learning how to recognize Him.

That has been true in this life.

From a very young age, there was always a sense that Jesus was near. His presence showed up in quiet moments and in times when strength seemed to come from somewhere beyond human ability. Even before faith had language, there was an awareness that He was there.

But like many people, there came a season when that path was ignored.

The desire to take control of life, to call the shots, and to walk a path built on personal understanding can feel powerful at first. Independence can seem freeing. The belief that everything can be handled alone can feel convincing for a while.

Yet life has a way of revealing the limits of that thinking.

When a heart moves away from the Shepherd, the journey eventually becomes heavier. What once felt like freedom slowly turns into confusion. The road becomes uncertain. The soul begins to feel lost, alone, and worn down from trying to carry more than it was ever meant to hold.

That slippery slope is familiar to many.

Trying to handle everything alone leads to exhaustion. The weight of life was never meant to rest entirely on human shoulders. It belongs to the One who created those shoulders in the first place.

Eventually there comes a moment of realization.

A turning point.

The moment when a wandering sheep hears the voice of the Shepherd again.

Jesus calls His sheep with patience and love. Sometimes that call comes through scripture. Sometimes through quiet conviction. Sometimes through circumstances that gently guide a person back toward the truth they once knew.

Turning back toward Him does not feel like failure.

It feels like coming home.

The peace that follows is unmistakable. His presence becomes clearer every day. Gratitude becomes a daily conversation. Faith becomes something lived rather than something simply believed.

Each day begins with thanks. Each day ends with love spoken back to Him.

Thank you.

I love you.

Guide me.

Protect the people I love.

Faith becomes relationship.

And at the center of that relationship is the most incredible truth of all: Jesus gave His life so humanity could be reconciled with the Father.

The cross was not just a moment of suffering. It was the bridge that restored what had been broken between creation and the Creator. Through Jesus, the barrier between humanity and God was torn open.

Because of Him, the path back to the Father is no longer closed.

The kingdom of Heaven is not distant or unreachable. Through Christ, it is an invitation extended to every soul willing to return to the Shepherd.

That kind of love is difficult to fully comprehend.

But it is impossible not to be grateful for it.

Jesus saves.

And when the wandering sheep finally turns back toward the flock, the Shepherd is already waiting with open arms.

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Pray for Them Anyway

There are verses in Scripture that feel comforting the first time you read them. And then there are verses that confront you.

One of the most confronting teachings Jesus gives is found in Gospel of Matthew 5:44, where He tells us to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us. That sounds noble in theory. It feels holy on paper. But in real life, it can feel almost impossible.

Because praying for someone who is actively wounding you is not easy.

It is not easy when someone is saying things about you that are untrue.

It is not easy when someone twists your words.

It is not easy when someone projects their anger, insecurity, or pain onto you.

Our human instinct is to defend. To explain. To clear our name. To replay the conversation in our head and build a better argument. We take it personally because it feels personal.

But here is the quiet truth: most persecution is projection.

Hurt people wound people.

Unhealed insecurity looks for somewhere to land.

Shame often disguises itself as accusation.

That does not excuse harmful behavior. It does not mean boundaries disappear. It does not mean you allow yourself to be mistreated. But it does change how you carry it.

When someone comes at you from a place of distortion, what you are often witnessing is not clarity. It is pain leaking out sideways.

And those are the people who need prayer the most.

Not because they deserve it.

Not because you are minimizing what happened.

But because prayer is not about rewarding behavior. It is about aligning your heart with Christ.

When you pray for someone who has hurt you, something shifts.

You step out of the courtroom and into compassion.

You stop rehearsing defense and start releasing offense.

You refuse to let bitterness build a home inside your spirit.

That does not mean you feel warm toward them overnight. It does not mean the wound vanishes. Sometimes prayer starts very simply:

“Lord, I do not even want to pray for them right now. But I am choosing obedience over emotion.”

That kind of prayer is powerful.

Jesus did not say love only those who love you well. He modeled radical love in the middle of betrayal. And that kind of love is not weakness. It is spiritual strength.

When you pray for those who persecute you:

You guard your own heart. You break cycles of retaliation. You refuse to become what hurt you.

And here is something else that matters: when someone speaks falsely about you, your identity is not actually in their hands.

God sees clearly.

You do not have to defend yourself in every room.

You do not have to correct every narrative.

You do not have to carry what was never yours.

Sometimes the most powerful response is prayer and peace.

Sometimes the most Christlike posture is to say, “Father, heal whatever is hurting inside them.”

Because if someone is cruel without cause, something inside them is already bleeding.

The Kingdom does not respond to bleeding with stones. It responds with intercession.

Praying for those who persecute you does not make you passive. It makes you anchored. It keeps your spirit soft when circumstances try to harden it.

And in the end, that protects you more than any argument ever could.

Love them.

Pray for them.

Release them.

Not because it is easy.

But because it is holy.

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Closed Doors, New Opportunities

Not every closed door is obvious.

Sometimes, God doesn’t shut a door. He simply removes your ability to stay comfortable inside it.

A place that once felt right begins to feel restrictive.

A situation that used to make sense now feels heavy.

You notice irritation where there used to be ease.

What once flowed now feels forced.

We tend to interpret this as something going wrong. Often, it is something going exactly right.

God is not interested in keeping us where we are familiar. He is interested in growing us. And growth rarely happens in spaces we have already outgrown.

Scripture shows this pattern again and again. God calls His people forward, not because where they were was evil, but because it was no longer where they were meant to remain. The wilderness was not Egypt, but it was not the Promised Land either. It was movement. It was transition. It was preparation.

We struggle most in these in-between places because we want clarity before obedience. We want assurance before movement. We want to understand before we let go.

But God often works the other way around.

He allows discomfort to surface so that we loosen our grip.

He lets inconvenience interrupt what we were trying to preserve.

He permits friction where we were trying to maintain permanence.

Not as punishment.

As redirection.

If you find that things are becoming consistently harder without producing growth, it may not be resistance to push through. It may be a signal to begin looking for where He is leading next.

We are not meant to stay indefinitely in every place we are called to. Some seasons are assignments. Some relationships are for refinement. Some environments serve a purpose that has an end point.

Recognizing that end is not failure. It is discernment.

God does not call us to cling to what was. He calls us to walk into what is being prepared. And what He prepares is always more aligned, more purposeful, and more life-giving than what we are reluctant to release.

Letting go is rarely dramatic. More often, it is a quiet decision to stop forcing something to work and to trust that obedience is better than familiarity.

You do not have to tear anything down.

You do not have to manufacture an exit.

You simply have to be willing to move when the next door opens.

And it will open.

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Look Up

It does not take much looking around to see that our world feels heavy right now. Division is loud. Fear spreads quickly. Anger gets more attention than kindness. If someone said, “It feels like evil is everywhere,” many would understand exactly what they mean.

The Bible actually speaks to this feeling. Scripture acknowledges that there is real spiritual influence at work in a fallen world. Sin distorts. Deception distracts. Darkness tries to pull focus away from what is true and life-giving. That influence is real, and we can see its fingerprints in the way our culture often celebrates what harms and ignores what heals.

But the Bible never says Satan is the ruler of the earth.

“The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it.” (Psalm 24:1)

God has never stepped off His throne. He has never handed creation over. Influence is not ownership. Noise is not authority. Chaos is not sovereignty.

Jesus Himself spoke of a broken world, but He also made it clear that evil’s time is limited. The story of Scripture is not about darkness winning ground. It is about redemption unfolding, often quietly, often slowly, but always under God’s authority.

One day, and we are not told when, Christ will return to make all things right. Not to try to fix what got out of hand, but to complete what He has already secured through the cross and resurrection. The ending is not uncertain, even if the timeline is.

Because of that promise, believers are not called to obsess over every headline, every argument, every wave of outrage. Constant consumption of fear and conflict does not strengthen faith. It weakens our focus.

Philippians 4:8 gives a different posture:

Whatever is true.

Whatever is noble.

Whatever is right.

Whatever is pure.

Whatever is lovely.

Whatever is admirable.

Think about such things.

This is not denial of the world’s problems. It is a refusal to let darkness dictate attention. We are called to live anchored in what is good, to love well, to act justly, to walk humbly with God, and to trust that He is still at work even when the world feels unsteady.

Satan may influence the noise of this age, but he is not the author of the ending.

Christ is.

So sometimes the most faithful thing to do is turn down the media, open Scripture, step into prayer, and live out goodness in the ordinary places God has put us. That is how light answers darkness while we wait in hope for the day Jesus makes everything new.

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Making Time While We Still Can

There is a quiet truth that most people try not to think about too often: time is not promised. We plan for tomorrow, assume there will be another holiday, another visit, another phone call. Life feels like it stretches out endlessly ahead of us, until something reminds us that it does not.

Right now, I am on vacation with my mom. We are spending time together, doing simple things, making memories, laughing, sitting side by side, just being. This trip carries a deeper meaning because she is living with an incurable illness. There is no fixing it. No undoing it. There is only the time we have, and the choice of how we use it.

And that changes everything.

When you understand that time is finite, the small moments stop feeling small. A conversation becomes something to treasure. A shared meal becomes sacred. Even the quiet stretches, when nothing remarkable is happening, become meaningful because you are together.

So often, life convinces us to delay connection. We get busy. We assume there will be another chance. We put off the visit, the phone call, the hug, the “I love you.” But none of us actually knows how many opportunities we are given. The calendar may look full, but the future is never guaranteed.

Love is not meant to be saved for later. It is meant to be lived out now.

Spending time with the people you love is not about doing something grand. It is about showing up. It is about being present instead of distracted, listening instead of rushing, choosing togetherness instead of convenience. These are the moments that last, the ones that stay in your heart long after circumstances change.

This season has been a reminder to slow down and lean into what truly matters. Work can wait. Chores can wait. Even plans can shift. But time with the people we love is something we never get back once it passes.

If there is someone you have been meaning to call, call them.

If there is someone you have been meaning to see, go see them.

If there are words you have been holding back, say them.

Not because something is wrong.

But because something is right: you still have today.

And today is a gift.

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Unshaken

Life is not one steady emotion. It is not one constant state of clarity or joy or certainty. Life is layered. It can be beautiful in one breath and heavy in the next. It carries laughter, grief, anticipation, confusion, gratitude, and heartbreak, sometimes all in the same day.

Every emotion is available here.

And yet, in the middle of all of it, there is an invitation.

An invitation to rest.

Psalm 62 reminds the soul to settle itself. To return to quiet trust. To remember where hope actually comes from. Not from circumstances. Not from people. Not from outcomes lining up the way we imagined.

Hope comes from God.

He is described as rock, salvation, fortress, not fragile things and not temporary things. A rock does not panic when the wind blows. A fortress does not collapse because a storm rolls in. These are images of stability in a world that often feels unstable.

There is a question that lingers in the heart: Why fear the created and not the Creator?

Why give so much weight to the opinions of people, to situations, to what might happen tomorrow, and not give greater weight to the One who formed tomorrow?

Yes, God allows growth. He allows lessons. He allows refinement. Mistakes are not wasted. Seasons are not random. But protection is woven into His nature. Love is constant in His character. Even in correction, there is care. Even in silence, there is presence.

There are moments in life when loneliness feels thick. When confusion clouds the mind. When emotions surge and it feels like there is nothing solid to stand on.

But there is.

God is not shaken by what shakes us. He is not intimidated by what intimidates us. He does not step back when life becomes complicated. He steps closer.

Resting in Him does not mean life becomes emotionless. It means the emotions no longer own you. Trusting Him does not mean storms disappear. It means you are anchored through them.

Hope placed in God does not stay small. It grows. It deepens. It becomes something steady and unmovable inside of you.

Life will continue to carry every emotion. But the soul that learns to rest in its Rock will not be shaken.

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Hope in Trust

In today’s world, it can feel hard to trust anything.
We scroll through headlines that change by the hour.
We hear opinions that contradict each other.
We watch people say one thing and do another.

Trust has become fragile.

So many of us have been hurt by people who were hurting themselves. Words were broken. Promises were forgotten. Intentions were misunderstood. And after enough of those experiences, it becomes natural to build walls around our hearts just to feel safe.

But walls that protect can also isolate.

Sometimes I catch myself wanting to believe in people again the way I did when I was younger. I want to have hope in trust. I want to believe that goodness still exists, that honesty still matters, and that sincerity is not a rare thing.

And the truth is, it does exist. But it will never be perfect in human form.

People are flawed. We all are. We misunderstand. We react from pain. We make mistakes. Expecting perfect trust from imperfect people is a heavy burden to carry.

That is why I am learning to place my deepest trust in the only place it truly belongs.

We can always trust God.

Even when life feels confusing.
Even when prayers seem unanswered.
Even when the road ahead looks nothing like we imagined.

God always knows what He is doing. And He always does what is best for us, even if we cannot see it at the time.

Trusting God does not mean we understand everything. It means we believe that He does.

Little by little, I am learning that hope in trust begins there. Not in the changing world around me, but in the steady presence of the One who never changes.

And from that place, I can learn to trust again.

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The Nation of Myself

This morning, I am reading God’s Covenant with David, a message by John Piper. In it, he writes:

Israel learned over the centuries following David and Solomon that disobedience in her king always brought the nation to ruin.

When I read that sentence, I had to stop and reflect.

When I was born, my mom, dad, and I lived with my great-grandmother. We stayed with her until I was about a year, maybe a year and a half old. Even though I was so small, I remember the love I felt from her. She loved Jesus with her whole heart, and the love she gave me was hers, mixed with the love of Jesus.

To this day, I still remember that feeling, because it became part of the foundation of who I am. Whether I have always been aware of it or not, that foundation has always been there.

There have been many times in my life when I turned away from God and tried walking my own path. On those journeys, I found hardship. Nothing about them was easy. I turned away from my faith. I dabbled in things like witchcraft. I experienced darkness that nearly broke me.

Reading what Mr. Piper wrote made me pause and apply that truth to my own life.

I have learned over the course of my life that disobedience to God always brought the nation of myself to ruin.

While I was turned away and walking my own way, I relied on alcohol and marijuana. I treated people disrespectfully. I showed no love, grace, or mercy to others because I wasn’t able to show those things to myself. I had constant money troubles. My heart became hardened.

I didn’t like who I was.
I didn’t like where I was.
I didn’t like who I was around.

And I felt stuck.

Coming back to faith has required many honest conversations — with myself and with God. I’ve had to admit my sins, ask for forgiveness, and repent of the life I once lived because it no longer served me.

And now, at this point in my renewed journey of faith, I feel whole.

I still have moments where I stumble. I have moments where memories of my past surface and remind me of who I used to be. In those moments, I ask for forgiveness again. I repent again. And each time, God meets me with clarity and peace.

What I am learning is this: when I walk in obedience to God, the nation of myself thrives. When I try to rule my own life without Him, everything within me falls into chaos.

Obedience is not about restriction. It is about alignment.
It is about returning to the foundation that was placed in me long ago — the love of Jesus, first shown to me through the arms of my great-grandmother.

And it is about choosing, every single day, which path I will walk.

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