Category: General

When Faith Feels Fragile: Wrestling with God’s Plan and Finding Peace Again

When faith feels fragile and life doesn’t match your prayers, God’s sovereignty and grace still hold firm. This gospel-centered reflection helps women wrestle honestly with disappointment, trust God’s plan in suffering, and find peace again in His unchanging goodness.


Let’s take a deep breath together. No filters. No pretending. Just faith that’s been tested, hearts that are still healing, and grace that refuses to let go.

When I reconnected with my husband after 23 years apart, it felt like God was redeeming something long broken. We married quickly, full of hope that the Lord might restore what was lost—the child we lost as teenagers, the years that felt wasted. I prayed for a second chance, a redemptive blessing that would prove God was still writing good things in our story.

But soon after, life shifted. My husband suffered a stroke only a few years into our marriage. Overnight, I became the sole provider for a family of five. The emotional, physical, and financial weight was crushing. I was serving, praying, and trusting—but everything seemed to unravel.

And yes, I got angry.

Not because I stopped believing in God, but because I did believe. I couldn’t understand why the God I loved would allow more loss when my desires felt so good, so holy, so aligned with His purposes.

Maybe you’ve been there too—where faith feels fragile, prayers feel unanswered, and hope feels out of reach.

Here’s what I’ve learned: God is not offended by your honesty. The One who knit your heart together (Psalm 139:13) is not surprised when that same heart aches or questions. We see it in Scripture—Job cried out in confusion (Job 3), David poured out anguish in the Psalms (Psalm 13), and even Jesus wept at the tomb of Lazarus (John 11:35).

God invites us to bring our pain to Him, not hide it from Him.

During that season, Romans 8:28 became my lifeline:

That verse doesn’t promise that everything we want will happen. It promises that God will weave every detail—joy and sorrow, gain and loss—into His sovereign plan for our good and His glory.

Trusting God isn’t about escaping suffering. It’s about clinging to the truth that even in suffering, He remains sovereign, wise, and good. (Psalm 119:68; Isaiah 55:8–9)

So, if your faith feels fragile right now—if you’re staring at unanswered prayers and wondering where God is—I see you. More importantly, God sees you (Genesis 16:13).

He has not abandoned you.
He has not changed His mind about you.
And He is still working, even when you cannot see the purpose.

Because the gospel reminds us that God’s greatest work came through the greatest pain—the cross. If He brought resurrection out of crucifixion, He can bring beauty out of your brokenness too.


Let’s pray:
Lord, for every woman whose faith feels fragile, draw near. Remind her that You are not distant from her pain but present in it. Teach her to rest, not in outcomes, but in Your unchanging character. Strengthen her heart to trust that even the hardest chapters are under Your sovereign care. In Jesus’ name, amen.


Sis, you are not alone.
There’s no shame in the wrestle.
There’s grace in the waiting.
And there’s peace—deep, unshakeable peace—in knowing that God’s hands never slip.

We’re walking this road together—crowned, called, and covered in His steadfast love.

What Revival Really Looks Like

Real revival isn’t emotional hype or social momentum—it’s repentance, renewal, and a return to Christ. This post defines true revival through the lens of Scripture and reminds us where real transformation begins.

Revival is one of those words that gets used a lot in church spaces. We host revival nights, advertise revival conferences, and post about revival fire. But the biblical kind of revival—the kind that shakes heaven and transforms hearts—doesn’t start with lights or loudness.

It starts with brokenness.

True revival is God breathing life into humble hearts. It’s not an event we schedule—it’s a mercy He sends.


Many of us have learned to equate revival with noise, crowds, or emotional moments. But revival is not a vibe—it’s a visitation.

It doesn’t begin when the band starts playing louder; it begins when God’s people start confessing deeper. It’s when tears of repentance replace tears of excitement. It’s when sin gets named, not normalized.

When the gospel takes center stage again, idols fall. Pride bends. Division heals. That’s what revival looks like.


Every true revival in Scripture and church history has one thing in common: it exalts Christ.
Not man. Not movements. Not emotions.

When Peter preached at Pentecost, the people weren’t impressed with him—they were cut to the heart (Acts 2:37). When revival comes, Jesus becomes irresistible, sin becomes intolerable, and grace becomes unthinkably precious.

Revival is not God giving us more excitement about ourselves—it’s Him giving us more affection for His Son.


If the church today wants revival, we must stop asking for new experiences and start asking for new hearts.
We must stop chasing relevance and start pursuing righteousness.

The revival we need won’t start on a stage—it’ll start on our knees.
It won’t be televised or trending. It’ll be quiet, deep, and holy.

And when it comes, the fruit will speak for itself:
• Sin confessed.
• Souls converted.
• Christ exalted.
• Love multiplied.

That’s what revival really looks like.


A Prayer for Our Time


Soli Deo Gloria.

A Form Without Power

When the church substitutes movement for ministry and justice for Jesus, we risk having a form of godliness that denies its power. This post calls the Black church—and all believers—back to the gospel that alone gives life and strength.

Our churches are often alive with energy. The choirs are full, the preaching is fiery, and the programs never stop. We march for justice, host community drives, and push voter initiatives. It all looks good. It all feels godly.

Paul warned Timothy about this very thing:

There’s a kind of “godliness” that performs well in public but is powerless in private. It sings loudly but prays rarely. It organizes tirelessly but repents little. It can quote slogans but not Scripture.


An appearance of godliness can take many forms—justice rallies, worship concerts, social campaigns. But without the gospel of Jesus Christ—His atoning death and victorious resurrection—there is no true power.

That includes the “works” of social activism. You can shout “Black Lives Matter” until your voice is gone, but if your heart has not bowed to Christ, you remain spiritually unchanged.


Charles Spurgeon said it best: “A Christless Christianity is the most Christless thing in the world.”

And that’s what too many churches—Black, white, and otherwise—have embraced: a Christless Christianity. One that comforts without conviction. It builds movements but not disciples. It fuels outrage at injustice but neglects repentance toward God.

When the gospel becomes a footnote to our cultural causes, we trade the cross for a campaign.


We must not confuse moral busyness with spiritual power.
Justice work is good—it reflects the heart of God. But justice work without Jesus is powerless.

The world doesn’t need a louder church.
It needs a holier one.
The church doesn’t need more marches.
It needs more men and women falling at the foot of the cross.

Because that’s where real change begins—
not in the streets, but in the soul.


Soli Deo Gloria.

Abortion Is Not Freedom, It’s Erasure

We march against white injustice, but we won’t say a word about the genocide happening in our own neighborhoods. Black women are 15% of America’s women of child bearing age, yet we account for nearly 40% of abortions. That’s not freedom. That’s erasure. Whole generations of us are gone, and we’re still calling it choice. And that’s why Black people have been stuck at 13% of the population since 1973.

Biblical Lens:
Psalm 139:13–16 says God forms every life in the womb. He sees us before we’re even born. So abortion isn’t just a political issue. It’s sin against the One who gives life.

The Hypocrisy:

  • We’ll call out white supremacy for destroying Black lives, but abortion has taken more of us than police ever have.
  • If a white person says this, we scream “racism.” If one of us says it, we call it “anti-woman.” Either way, the truth doesn’t change.
  • Even in the church, too many stay quiet. Afraid to offend. Afraid to lose popularity. Meanwhile, babies die in silence.

The Reality:
Abortion doesn’t just end a pregnancy. It ends legacy. It keeps men from taking responsibility. It leaves scars on women that no protest sign can heal. It makes death look like empowerment.

The Call:
We can’t fight for justice outside our community while killing justice inside the womb. We can’t shout “Black Lives Matter” while agreeing that the smallest Black lives don’t. This isn’t politics. It’s repentance. God has already spoken. Life is His.

Closing Prayer Thought:
Lord, forgive us for treating Your creation like it’s disposable. Heal our hearts and give us the courage to protect life, no matter who tries to silence us.

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