Spring has sprung. Wrens are singing to the north wind again. Trees are awakening ever-so-calmly as they welcome a new season. I am content. I am at peace for the first time in a long time.
My heart feels fulfilled because it has grown. Beauty has bloomed from seeds that once seemed unforgivable. I have found joy in stillness, in prayer, and in listening to the sweet spring wind that brings me joy wherever I go.
Grace is true. It is real. It gifts me hope when I am hopeless, love when I feel unloved, and security when time seems insecure. It is laced with intent and promise. It is something I found only when I traded running for resting—the kind of slowness I could only see when I welcomed faith as my guide and my way.
My story is proof that healing is true. It is possible. It shows that faith can move mountains. I say this with such heartfelt clarity because I now trust that hope can always be found, even in wake of the wilderness.
I may always have mountains to climb and valleys to face, but I trust that purpose is perfectly woven through each and every one. And while it may be true that healing takes time, I am blessed to say that my graves have now become my gardens. My thorns have blossomed into hope. I feel as if I am being called home, both to a place I am destined to be and a woman I am meant to become.
I only ever prayed for a life of simplicity. Each morning, my heart is grateful to find it again and again in the smallest and sweetest of moments. I am reminded that faith strengthens and grace is always present. It may have taken me a while to discover, but it was always there, waiting for me to hold it close forevermore and never let it go.