31 was heavy.
Not in ways you could always see,
but in the quiet stretching,
the unseen becoming.
I grew—
as a woman,
a wife,
a daughter,
a nurse,
a mother.
I reached beyond what felt comfortable,
found new edges of myself…
and met my limits there too.
I broke my foot.
Twice.
The first time felt like a mistake.
The second felt like a story I wouldn’t have chosen—
but somehow still needed.
And even there—
especially there—
God met me.
Not after I had it all together,
not once I found the “right” words,
but right in the middle of it all.
Reminding me:
nothing I feel scares Him.
Not the doubt,
not the frustration,
not the quiet ache I don’t always name.
Abba stays.
Through the busy,
through the still,
through the chaos that feels too loud
and the silence that feels too long.
There were glimmers—
small, steady lights
tucked into ordinary days.
Love that showed up.
Prayers I didn’t have to carry alone.
Grace that met me before I asked for it.
And somewhere along the way,
I began to stand a little taller in who I am.
Still learning.
Still growing.
But rooted in something deeper than doubt.
I am capable.
I am called.
And I am not here by accident.
31 changed me.
So here’s to 32—
not perfect,
not easy,
but grounded.
Softer where I need to be,
stronger where it matters,
and steady enough to notice the light
when it finds me.
Fearless at Heart 