In turning another year older this week, I felt God ask me not just to look back—but to name what He has done. These are not polished lessons, I am far from having it all together. They were carved into me through joy, loss, endurance, and grace. Some were learned gently. Others were learned on my knees. This is Part 1 of 26 lessons from 26 years.
1. Treasure every moment—big or small
Life does not wait for us to feel ready. It moves forward—quietly, relentlessly, beautifully. God often hides Himself in the moments we rush past. Not to keep himself hidden, but to bring us into a new focus. A slow morning before the world wakes. The warmth of laughter shared without pretense. A sunset that reminds you the day still ended with beauty, even if it began with pain. A call from a friend just to catch up or to cry together. They are all beautiful.
When everything feels like it’s falling apart, God still gives us today. Not tomorrow. Not the healed version of ourselves. Today. “This is the day the Lord has made.” Not the day we wish for. Not the day we planned. This one.
Some of my most sacred memories weren’t marked by achievement but by presence—sitting at camp, stringing beads with kids and friends, sharing space without needing words. These moments tether me to hope. They remind me that even when I feel lost, God has not left the room.
2. Not every good opportunity is obedience.
I used to believe saying yes meant being faithful. But God began teaching me that discernment is deeper than availability. A door being open does not mean it was opened for me. Some opportunities drain us because they were never meant to be carried by our hands.
Saying no has required trust—trust that God is not offended by my limits. Trust that obedience sometimes looks like stepping back, not stepping up. Every no spoken in faith makes room for the yes God has already prepared.
3. Pain is not proof that God is absent.
There are pains that do not just hurt—they undo you. Pain that strips away control. Pain that humbles the body and exposes the soul. I have known pain that drove me to cry out for God to take it all away because I could not bear it another second.
And yet—God stayed. Even when I asked Him to leave.
Romans tells us suffering produces perseverance, character, and hope, but no verse captures what it feels like in the moment. What I know now is this: God does His deepest work in the places we cannot survive without Him. He gives us more than we can handle because it is in the more that we press in. I did not emerge unchanged. I emerged refined. Scarred, yes—but anchored. Strong in ways I never asked to be. But proud to be now.
4. Gratitude is a form of seeing.
To thank someone is to acknowledge that what they did mattered. That they mattered. Gratitude slows us down long enough to notice God moving through people.
I treasure the moments when someone says, “Thank you—I saw that.” Those words tell me I wasn’t invisible. They heal a piece of me that I didnt know what still broken. And in turn, I want to offer that same gift. Gratitude opens hearts. It reminds us we were never meant to walk unseen or unappreciated. By simply saying "thank you", you are giving someone worth and honor in a way that can radically transform them.
5. God does not ask us to earn His approval.
I have pushed myself beyond healthy limits chasing validation God had already given. Striving to be enough. Strong enough. Worthy enough. I confused endurance with holiness and exhaustion with faithfulness.
Ive forced myself into a box that society made. To be skinnier, dont eat and get sick and take the meds because no one wants a "fat girl". Cover up with makeup and clothes because no one wants to see the scars. Hide away, cover up your pain because it brings everyone down. When in reality, this is just the enemy constantly lying and trying to tear me down.
But God never asked me to break myself to prove devotion. God never asked me to fit into the mold that society has tried. Grace was always the invitation. When I stopped punishing myself for being human, healing finally had room to breathe.
6. Letting go is sometimes an act of faith.
There were friendships I clung to long after God was asking me to release them. I thought loyalty meant enduring pain indefinitely. But God taught me that not all loss is tragedy—some loss is protection. He hears conversations that we never do and sees into hearts in ways that we never saw.
Pruning hurts. But without it, nothing new can grow. Releasing what once mattered does not erase its meaning. It simply acknowledges that seasons change—and God is still faithful through the ending.
7. The past holds wisdom the present often forgets.
Of course. Here’s a shortened version of Part 7 that keeps the depth and heart, but matches the length and flow of the other lessons:
7. The past holds wisdom the present often forgets.
Stepping into the past has taught me the value of slowing down. Through swing dancing, antiques, phonographs, and pre-WWII cars, I’ve learned that presence matters more than speed. My friend Nick has hosted many shows and events that opened my eyes to a different rhythm of life—one where phones fade, conversations deepen, and music gathers people together.
Being in those spaces reminded me how much intention once lived in everyday life. Things were built to last, moments were shared, and community was formed face-to-face. God met me there, quietly teaching me that slowness is not inefficiency—it is reverence. The past doesn’t pull us backward; it grounds us, reminding us how to live fully and faithfully now. Swing dancing taught me rhythm and trust. Phonographs taught me patience and presence. I imagine the hands that once saved for years to own these things, the lives built around them. God meets me there—reminding me that life does not need to be rushed to be full.
8. Small victories are still victories.
Some days the triumph is simply standing back up. Some days it’s choosing rest. Some days it’s surviving. Some days its just the made bed from the morning or the meal I threw together.
God does not judge the same way the world does. So we shouldn't either. Small victories are still victories. Wars are not won with one battle but by small battle wins that add up to the big final ines. So don't lose heart and count each victory as you should.
9. Rest is holy resistance.
Rest pushes back against a world that demands constant output. God designed rest not as an escape but as a declaration: I trust You to keep working even when I stop.
When I rest, I am not falling behind. I am realigning with God’s design. We are called to rest, not to have constant motion and contant movement. We are called to simply rest to allow our bodies to heal, to bring us into alignment, and to recenter us.
10. Truth without love is noise.
Words carry weight. They can heal or wound, build or break. Speaking truth requires humility—an understanding that correction should never come from superiority but from care.
Calling someone higher should never crush them. Love must always be the foundation.
11. Waiting is not wasted time.
I would not have written my story this way. There are desires I still hold with open hands—marriage, family, a future that looks different than I imagined. If it were up to me, life would already be settled. Id be married in an old house, multiple kids running around, and financially strong. But God has made me wait.
But God is not late. He sees what I cannot. He honors trust even when the path feels unclear. Waiting has taught me surrender. And surrender has taught me who God really is. He honors our hearts when we trust Him in the waiting, even when it’s hard, even when it hurts, even when we don’t understand.
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There are the lessons for day one. God breathed through me for each mini sermon here. I pray they speak to you and help you grow as well. Stay tuned for the next set!