justice
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What are you carrying in your hands today? Is it strife, injustice — unworthiness? It’s an interesting question. What we carry in our hands may be a direct result of what is happening in our hearts. If our hearts are confused and full of chaos, I suppose our life will show the fruits of that.…
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There’s a wound we carry — an ache buried so deep within us that it becomes part of the architecture of our soul. For those who’ve endured a traumatic childhood, that wound is more than a scar. It’s a shaping force, a silent architect that builds walls around our hearts, telling us that safety is…
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On the question of fear, ask yourself: Am I healed? A pilgrim “is a person who journeys to a sacred place for religious reasons.” What better journey than one of healing, but what does that that look like? My daughter and I spend countless hours sharing our stories for the very purpose of exposing our…
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Discipline can feel like a double-edged sword for those of us who grew up under heavy-handed control or abuse. When rules were weapons and mistakes met with punishment, the very idea of self-discipline can trigger rebellion or shame. Yet, as adults, embracing discipline—redefined and self-chosen—can be an act of profound healing and self-respect. It’s about…
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On the question of fear, ask yourself: Do I fear myself? Holding up a mirror to yourself, what do you see? Is the person looking back at you trustworthy? Reliant? Does that person speak kindly to you or is there a voice of disturbance that speaks back to you? Seeing yourself is the key to…
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On the question of fear, ask yourself: Do I fear growing up and being responsible for myself? God is in the job of maturing or growing up his children. I heard that the only word God uses for us is His “children.” Not grandchildren, not friends, not just acquaintances. Father God calls us his children.…
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I grew up a woman with a father-shaped shadow draped over my shoulders, a weight I carried from room to room, year to year. My father was supposed to be my first shelter, a map to the world. Instead, he became my lesson in survival. I learned early that to make it, I’d have to…
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The ghosts linger, don’t they? They nestle in the marrow, whispering their truths through the bloodline. Trauma isn’t just a word; it’s a tide that laps at the edge of every generation, rewriting our stories with ink invisible yet indelible. It hides in the small gestures: in the sighs between sentences, in the silences that…
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Once, my voice was a thief’s prize. Silenced, stifled, taken in the dead of night—an offering to someone else’s story, not mine. I became a hollow woman, a puppet on their stage, lips moving but soundless, thoughts shriveled into whispers I dared not hear. I was nothing but a shadow stretched long over years, my…
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I am not the rare butterfly, the lone flame burning bright in a sea of shadows. I am not the chosen one, not the anomaly, not the girl with the golden key to the kingdom of suffering. The truth, stark and bitter as the taste of raw earth, is that I am ordinary in my…