08/09/2026
"The love of most will grow cold." (Matthew 24:12)
Jesus said that. Not as a prediction to scare us — as a warning so that when we feel it, it doesn't undo us. It confirms His word instead of confirming our hopelessness. I felt actual relief reading it. Like, oh — He already told me this was coming. I'm not crazy. I'm not alone in noticing it.
That heaviness followed me into tonight. Wide awake in bed, I finally faced Him with all of it. No noise, no distraction, just talking to Him like the door was wide open. And I remembered — most of what I've struggled with in life traces back to one wound: feeling unchosen. On the playground. In friendships. In marriages. Always waiting to see if I'd be picked.
But I already am chosen. I had to remember that tonight, not just know it as an idea, but let it move into the parts of me still bracing for rejection.
And here's the piece I didn't expect: I've been wanting a husband. But I realized — the version of me still carrying old coping habits would only attract a man with those same habits. Like draws like. So if I want God's best, it's not just about waiting on Him to bring the man. It's about letting Him keep growing me, so I'm actually a match for what I'm asking for. Waiting on His timing isn't passive. It's participation.
Somewhere in all of that heaviness tonight, I did the thing Philippians 4:6-7 tells us to do — prayer, petition, thanksgiving — and the weight physically lifted off of me. Not eventually. Right then. His peace doesn't just comfort you, it stands guard afterward so the heaviness can't just walk back in.
If you're awake right now holding something you don't know how to put down — yo
