From childhood, we’re told that love is about finding a prince to rescue us. But what if the true love story has already been written? As widows, as women, we long for safety, intimacy, and love—but God is already fulfilling that role. It’s time to recognize that we are the Bride of Christ, fully loved and cherished by the One who has already come to rescue us.

Life often feels like a never-ending climb—steep, exhausting, and unpredictable. But what if peace isn’t found in reaching the summit, but in trusting Jesus along the way? After a tough hike, I realized that just like in grief and trials, our peace isn’t about the destination—it’s about where we place our trust.

How do you put your life back together when a piece is missing? The truth is—you don’t. You let God build something new. As I prepare to say goodbye to our home and all it represents, I see now that I’m not supposed to force the old pieces to fit. I’m meant to trust Him with the new.

This season of life feels like a whirlwind—weddings, graduations, big moves, and major transitions, all while carrying the weight of loss. Two years ago, I couldn't imagine stepping into this much change, yet here I am. And through it all, one question keeps running through my mind: Am I making the right decisions? In the tension of grief and forward motion, God whispers reassurance. I don’t have all the answers, but I do know this—He’s with me, and that’s enough.

Leading into my first Widow’s Retreat, I’ve wrestled with one key section: identity. Not because I don’t know who I am, but because I believe so much of our grief as widows is tangled in identity. From the moment Joe died, I thought, I was his wife, now I’m his widow. But something deep inside me knew there was more to the story. The enemy wants us to define ourselves by loss, but God calls us to more. Here’s how He pulled me back to shore, rewrote my identity in Him, and how you can do the same.

I just want my brain back. That was the thought that hit me like a ton of bricks. Grief has changed everything—not just my heart, but my actual brain. I didn’t realize how much I was struggling until I said it out loud. If you’ve ever felt like you're not yourself after loss, there’s a reason. Science backs it up, but so does faith. Here’s what I’ve learned about the brain’s journey through grief, and how God is leading me toward healing.

Becoming a whole new person after loss is raw, agonizing, and beautiful. It strips you down to the foundation and asks you to rebuild—carefully, intentionally, and with purpose. This is my journey of rediscovery, healing, and stepping into the identity God has prepared for me.

Life has a way of forcing us to stop when we won’t do it ourselves. I hit a wall—hard. I had been running on empty, trying to do it all, until my body and spirit said, “Enough.” This is my reflection on exhaustion, grief, and learning to extend grace to myself in this season of life.

Grief can sneak up on you when you least expect it. I thought I was past the hardest waves, but then I found myself back in the ring, battling emotions I didn’t even recognize at first. This is the story of realizing I was grieving again, learning to surrender, and finding my way back to solid ground.

Widow. A word that felt like an identity crisis the moment it entered my life. But God had a different story to write. When my world changed, He called me to step into my true identity—not as a widow defined by loss, but as His daughter, redeemed and empowered. This is my journey of reclaiming strength, finding purpose, and refusing to let the world define me.

Why did Jesus refuse the first cup of wine on the cross but drink the second? This small but significant detail reveals a profound truth about suffering, endurance, and the purpose of pain. In this reflection, I explore how Jesus’ choices teach us to lean into suffering rather than numb it—and how His ultimate sacrifice offers us a path to redemption and healing.

What do you do when the future you envisioned disappears in an instant? When the dreams you built your life around are suddenly no longer possible? Grief has a way of shattering not just the present but the dreams of what was to come. In this reflection, I share my journey of moving forward, rebuilding hope, and learning to trust God with a new vision for my life.

The day Joe passed, I had a choice to make. Would this loss define me, or refine me? In the midst of unimaginable grief, with my father holding space for me, I made a decision—I would figure it out. I would walk forward, one breath at a time, leaning into faith.

And that’s what I’ve done. God met me in my pain, held me in my sorrow, and gave me the strength to move forward. Today, I live big, love big, and embrace the life I have with open arms.

One year ago, grief entered my life like a tidal wave, pulling me under. Today, I look back at that broken woman and tell her all the things she couldn’t see then—the strength she would find, the faith that would sustain her, the transformation that was waiting on the other side.

Healing is hard, but it is holy work. Every battle was fought with God’s hand over me, guiding me through grief, stripping away fear, and restoring my identity in Him. The old me is gone. The new me walks forward with confidence, joy, and unwavering faith.

We serve a limitless God, yet we allow the enemy to shackle us with limiting beliefs. Why? Because strongholds are built slowly, foothold by foothold—until we’re stuck. But here’s the truth: God speaks, and everything can change.

Obedience is the key to unlocking transformation. It’s how we close the gap between the word of God and the work of God in our lives. When we move in obedience—before we feel ready—chains break, strongholds fall, and our identity is secured in Christ.

Seasons change, and when God calls you forward, He doesn’t wait for a date on the calendar—He moves. My journey of healing didn’t require a trip across the world; it required seeking Him right where I am. Now, He’s changing my season, and I’m embracing it fully. No more writing in two chapters—this is the start of Part Two.

Spiritual warfare is real, and the enemy doesn’t just attack where you are—he attacks what you could become. This past year, I’ve battled grief, doubt, and fear, but I’ve learned to fight back with the most powerful weapon: prayer. In the fight for healing and hope, I’ve discovered my battle cry. I am victorious—not because the war is over, but because I now know how to win.

Distraction and chaos can fill our lives so easily, leaving no room for what truly matters. Lately, I’ve felt the pull to declutter—not just my home, but my heart and mind, too. God doesn’t fill full cups; He fills the empty ones. Creating space for Him means intentionally pruning the distractions and making room for more of what fills my soul.

Grief changes the way you see the world. Over the past ten months, I’ve realized that life is viewed through shifting lenses—grief, sorrow, anxiety, healing. But the clearest lens I’ve put on is Jesus. His presence brings everything into focus, adjusting my perspective and guiding me forward. When life feels blurry, I’m learning to trust Him as my vision clears.

Hold me, Jesus. Those were the only words I could whisper when I got the call that Joe’s father had passed away. Grief has a way of resurfacing when you least expect it, but I’m learning that healing isn’t linear—it’s an upward spiral. Every layer of pain is an invitation to deeper faith. Growth happens in the rain, and even when the storm feels relentless, God is there, holding us through it all.