Where Grace Found Me

There was no loud revival or earth-shattering moment. Just quiet nudges. Gentle whispers. A slow rebuilding of trust and faith that came to me like a slow morning sunrise.

For a while, I was in survival mode. Single motherhood has a way of stripping life down to its bare essentials—what needs to be done, what must be held together, and what can’t afford to fall apart. I poured everything I had into my child. I made it through days that felt never-ending, nights that stretched long with worry, and moments when I thought I couldn’t possibly carry any more.

But through that weight, through the exhaustion, something unexpected started to happen: I began to notice the little things. The way my child laughed, wild and free. The peace in a walk through the trees. The comfort of a cup of coffee in a quiet moment. The help that showed up in the form of family, friends, and unexpected kindness. And I began to feel something shift.

Gratitude. Gratefulness. Blessings.

Not the kind you force when you’re told to “stay positive,” but the kind that catches you off guard. The kind that wells up when you realize you’re still standing. Still breathing. Still being provided for, even when you thought you had nothing left.

It was in that gratitude that I felt Him again. God, not as a distant figure, but as someone who had been walking with me the whole time. Through every solo bedtime routine and every tear I shed after my child was asleep and my mind had a moment of quiet.

And then… love came again. Not just the kind of love I had for my child, but the love of a partner who saw me—truly saw me—and chose to stand beside me. Adam embraced my son as his own. He brought laughter and energy into our home. He reminded me that I was never too broken to be loved.

Through him, through my children, through the family and friends who carried me when I couldn’t carry myself, I began to understand the fullness of God’s grace. Not just grace for the good days, but grace for the days I fell short. For the times I doubted. For the seasons I felt forgotten.

Nature became my church—roaring rivers, sun beams through storm clouds, in awe of the towering trees above me. I felt Him in the world He created and in the people He placed in my life to remind me I’m not alone. I saw His hand in my small miracles: in the giggles echoing through the forest, in muddy boots by the door, in Adam’s steady presence, and in the healing of my heart.

My relationship with God feels different now. It’s not built on fear or obligation. It’s built on never ending gratitude—for the strength He gave me when I had none, for the people who walked with me when I couldn’t take another step, and for the deep, abiding love that I see in my children’s eyes.

This journey hasn’t been easy. But it’s been holy in its own messy, real, and beautiful way. I’m no longer just surviving. I’m living. I’m rooted. I’m held.

And I’m deeply, endlessly thankful.

Psalm 46:1 “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.”