I didn’t understand stillness at first.
I thought it was loneliness. I thought it was punishment.
I even thought it meant God had forgotten about me.
But the more I sat in it—the more I prayed, cried, and read His Word—the more I realized God hadn’t
left me.
He wasn’t punishing me; He was preparing me.
He was teaching me how to become a better steward over the very things I once mishandled.
Truth is, I fumbled the bag in some big areas of my life.
And when God brought me into that valley, it was uncomfortable.
I cried a lot. I questioned everything.
But He surrounded me with grace—through my husband, through the Word, and through quiet
moments that softened my heart instead of hardening it.
And then He did something I didn’t expect—He started shifting my circle.
He made it smaller, but stronger.
He surrounded me with faith-filled friends, with couples who loved each other out loud, with people who
smiled, encouraged, and celebrated growth right where they were.
I didn’t know how much I needed that until I had it.
That’s where He filled me back up.
That’s where He showed me how my pain could serve a purpose.
Now I get to walk with women through those same valleys—the loneliness, the transitions, the doubt,
the places where confidence feels out of reach.
I remind them what I had to learn:
Stillness doesn’t mean stop.
Stillness means preparation.
Smile in the valley the same way you smile on the mountaintop—because both are part of your
becoming.