The Word Became Flesh

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
He was in the beginning with God.
All things were made through Him, and without Him nothing was made that was made.
In Him was life, and the life was the light of men.
And the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it.”
— John 1:1–5

Before the first sunrise, before a single grain of sand lay on the shore, before time had a name, the Word already was. He did not emerge from creation. Creation emerged from Him. The Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was the living voice of heaven, the divine expression of all that the Father is. Every star, every breath, every heartbeat came from His sound.

And then, in verse 14, the truth that changed eternity entered human language:

 “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth.”
— John 1:14

Jesus is not a messenger sent from God. He is not a reflection of God. He is God. The eternal Word who stepped into the world He created. Heaven wrapped itself in human form. The infinite took on the limitations of flesh so that the invisible could be seen, the untouchable could be held, and the unknowable could be known.

The One who spoke light into being stood under its warmth. The One who divided the waters walked upon their surface. The One who breathed life into man drew His first breath through human lungs. Every step He took was creation recognizing its Creator. The winds obeyed Him because they remembered His voice. The waters stilled because they had heard that tone before. The demons trembled because the same Word that had set their boundaries now stood before them in flesh.

When we read, “The Word became flesh,” we are not reading poetry. We are hearing the heartbeat of redemption. This is the moment heaven invaded earth, the eternal stepped into time, and the holy took on our humanity. It is the miracle that crowns every other miracle. God did not send a substitute. He came Himself.

When people ask, “Show me God,” we do not need to look to the sky or chase a sign. We can look to Jesus. He is the visible image of the invisible God. He is not one way to God; He is God made visible. He said, “He who has seen Me has seen the Father.” (John 14:9)
He said, “I and the Father are one.” (John 10:30)
He said, “Before Abraham was, I AM.” (John 8:58)

Every word He spoke was not only the truth; it was the very sound of God’s heart made audible. Every act of compassion was divinity reaching into humanity. Every healing was heaven interrupting the decay of a fallen world. When Jesus lifted the broken, it was the same power that lifted creation from the void.

He did not come to show us what God might be like. He came to show us what God is. The fullness of deity lived in Him bodily. (Colossians 2:9) The Word did not just visit the world. He became part of it, redeeming it from the inside out.

And look how He came. Not clothed in glory but wrapped in humility. The King of Kings entered through a womb. The Almighty rested in a manger. The voice that once shook the earth now cried softly in His mother’s arms. The Word became flesh and chose weakness, not because He needed to, but because love demanded it.

He grew, He walked, He wept, He suffered, He bled. The Word who was in the beginning allowed Himself to be nailed to a cross by the very creation He made. Yet even in death, the Word was not silenced. The tomb could not hold Him. The grave could not mute Him. On the third day, the Word spoke again — life answering death, glory swallowing decay.

“In Him was life, and the life was the light of men.” That light still shines. It shines in the hearts of all who believe, and the darkness still cannot comprehend it, cannot overcome it, cannot extinguish it.

So when the world says, “Where is God?”
Say this: He is here. He always was. His name is Jesus.
He is the Word who became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen His glory, full of grace and truth.

The same Word that spoke galaxies into existence still speaks today. He speaks peace over chaos, purpose into confusion, life into what feels dead. Every time you open Scripture, the same Word that walked the earth still breathes into your spirit. Every time you worship, that same Word dwells among you. Every time you call His name, heaven answers.

He is not an echo of God. He is God.
He was in the beginning. He is now. He will forever be.

Jesus in the Wilderness: When Identity Is Tested

The wilderness has never been empty. It is not simply barren land or a dry stretch of time—it is the battleground where identity, trust, and destiny are tested.

When the Spirit led Jesus into the wilderness, it was not for His destruction but for His demonstration:

“Then Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. And after fasting forty days and forty nights, He was hungry. And the tempter came and said to Him, ‘If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread.’” (Matthew 4:1–3, ESV)

The wilderness was not a mistake; it was ordained. The same Spirit who descended on Jesus at the Jordan now drove Him into desolation. And it was there—at His weakest in flesh—that His true strength was revealed.

We have heard this voice before. In Eden, the serpent approached Eve and said,

“Did God actually say, ‘You shall not eat of any tree in the garden’?” (Genesis 3:1, ESV).

The serpent’s goal was not about fruit but identity. Eve was already created in God’s image, already clothed in glory, already whole. Yet Satan planted doubt about what God had spoken.

“So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise, she took of its fruit and ate, and she also gave some to her husband who was with her, and he ate.” (Genesis 3:6, ESV)

Adam and Eve surrendered identity for appetite. They doubted God’s word and chose their own way.

Generations later, Israel found themselves in a similar trial. Freed from Egypt, yet wandering, hungry, and restless, they too gave in to doubt.

“And the people of Israel said to them, ‘Would that we had died by the hand of the LORD in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the meat pots and ate bread to the full, for you have brought us out into this wilderness to kill this whole assembly with hunger.’” (Exodus 16:3, ESV)

The wilderness revealed their hearts, and again and again, they failed the test. They questioned His provision, worshiped golden calves, and longed for slavery rather than trusting God’s promise. The garden shows us humanity’s first fall. The wilderness shows us humanity’s repeated fall.

But when Satan came to Jesus, the story shifted.

The devil said, “If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread.” (Matthew 4:3, ESV). Jesus answered with the very words Israel had once forgotten:

“It is written, ‘Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.’”(Matthew 4:4, ESV; quoting Deuteronomy 8:3).

Then the enemy twisted Scripture itself, tempting Him from the temple’s height:

“If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down, for it is written, ‘He will command His angels concerning you,’ and ‘On their hands they will bear you up, lest you strike your foot against a stone.’” (Matthew 4:6, ESV).

But Jesus replied:

“Again it is written, ‘You shall not put the Lord your God to the test.’” (Matthew 4:7, ESV; quoting Deuteronomy 6:16).

Finally, Satan offered the kingdoms of the world if only Jesus would bow:

“All these I will give you, if you will fall down and worship me.” (Matthew 4:9, ESV).

But Jesus commanded him with final authority:

“Be gone, Satan! For it is written, ‘You shall worship the Lord your God and Him only shall you serve.’”(Matthew 4:10, ESV; quoting Deuteronomy 6:13).

And with that, the test was over.

What Satan aimed to destroy, Jesus used to demonstrate. The Son did not need to prove Himself. Right before this trial, the Father’s voice had already declared:

“And behold, a voice from heaven said, ‘This is My beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.’” (Matthew 3:17, ESV)

The enemy pressed Jesus to question His identity, but Jesus stood rooted in the Father’s Word. Unlike Adam, unlike Eve, unlike Israel, He did not waver.

Paul would later write:

“For as by the one man’s disobedience the many were made sinners, so by the one man’s obedience the many will be made righteous.” (Romans 5:19, ESV)

The wilderness shows us that Satan’s greatest weapon is not force—it is deception. He whispers doubts about God’s goodness, twists His words, and attacks identity. But in Christ, identity is settled. His victory becomes ours.

And still today, the enemy whispers:

• If you are really loved, why are you struggling?

• If you are really forgiven, why do you still stumble?

• If you are really chosen, why don’t you feel it?

But we overcome in the same way Jesus did—not with feelings, not with striving, but with the Word of God. Our identity is not proven in the wilderness; it is proven at the Cross and declared at the empty tomb.

The garden reminds us of what was lost. The wilderness reminds us of what was tested. And the Cross reminds us of what was won.

The serpent may whisper, but he cannot undo what Christ has done. The wilderness is not the end—it is the proving ground where victory begins.

Jesus Loved Judas Too

We don’t like to talk about Judas. Peter, we can handle. He denied Jesus three times, yes, but he wept bitterly, and we love that part of the story. We admire his comeback in John 21, when the risen Christ restores him by asking three times, “Do you love Me?” We celebrate Peter’s failure because it ends in redemption.

But Judas? We write him off. Traitor. Betrayer. Done. Yet if we’re honest, Judas’ story is one of the clearest mirrors of our own humanity. And if we’re not careful, we’ll miss the staggering grace Jesus extended to himeven to the very end.

When Judas arrived in the garden with soldiers, betraying Jesus with a kiss, Jesus didn’t call him an enemy. He didn’t spit words of condemnation. He looked at him and said, “Friend, do what you came for.” (Matthew 26:50). That word matters. Judas was not friendly at that moment, but Jesus’ love did not fracture. He loved Judas to the end, and He named him “friend” while betrayal was still fresh on his lips.

We often stop Judas’ story with his death. He threw the silver back into the temple, overcome with guilt, and went out and ended his life. And we nod sadly, as if it were inevitable. But it didn’t have to end there. Judas could have returned. He could have fallen at Jesus’ feet the way Peter did, weeping bitterly, and he would have been forgiven. That’s the part we forget: Jesus would have forgiven Judas, too.

The blood shed at Calvary was not “all but Judas.” It was for the world. Every sin, every betrayal, every denial, every failure. His mercy was wide enough for Peter, wide enough for the thief on the cross, wide enough for you and me, wide enough for Judas too.

The difference between Peter and Judas was not the depth of their sin but the direction of their sorrow. Both were broken. Both felt the weight of their failure. Peter wept toward Jesus. Judas wept away from Him. And that’s where the story split.

And maybe this matters most when tragedy hits, when heartbreak is real, when the world shakes, when our nation grieves. The Bible doesn’t tell us to dismiss pain with quick phrases or shallow comfort. It tells us plainly: “Mourn with those who mourn” (Romans 12:15). Jesus Himself wept at Lazarus’ tomb, even knowing resurrection was coming. Real love doesn’t rush people past their grief; it enters in and sits with them there.

And what about enemies? The Bible doesn’t let us off the hook there either. Jesus said, “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Matthew 5:44). That’s not easy, and it’s certainly not natural. But it is exactly what Jesus did, even with Judas. He called him a friend. He loved him to the end. That same radical love is what He calls us to embody when tragedy, betrayal, or hatred hits close to home.

It’s easy for us to side with Peter and distance ourselves from Judas, but if we’re honest, we’ve all had Judas moments. Times we’ve sold Jesus out for lesser loves. Times we’ve betrayed Him with lips that honor Him but lives that don’t. And we’ve all had Peter moments too, times we’ve denied Him when it felt too costly, times when fear made us small. The good news is the same for both: Jesus’ love doesn’t quit.

This isn’t cheap grace. Jesus didn’t ignore sin; He carried it. He didn’t excuse betrayal; He absorbed it. He didn’t dismiss denial; He forgave it. The grace of Jesus is not weak; it’s bold enough to call Judas “friend” and strong enough to restore Peter after three denials. And if it was enough for them, it is enough for us.

So maybe today you feel more like Judas than Peter. You’ve betrayed trust. You’ve turned your back. You wonder if your story is already over. Hear me: it’s not too late. If Judas could have come back, and he could have

So can you. The same Jesus who restored Peter would restore you. The same Jesus who called Judas a friend calls you beloved. The scars in His hands are proof that your failure, however deep, is not final.

Judas’ story could have ended differently. Peter did. And yours still can. Because the defining factor is never the failures, it is always the Savior. And His grace, His forgiveness, His love? Still strong enough. Still wide enough. Still deep enough. Even for Judas. Even for you.

Spiritual Warfare: Beyond the Battle

Many believers think spiritual warfare is a one-time fight—a single battle you step into with prayer, fasting, and Scripture, and then step out of, hoping for victory. But the truth is far bolder, far deeper: spiritual warfare doesn’t end with the battle. It’s not an occasional clash; it’s a daily, relentless reality that shapes our hearts, our minds, and our destiny.

The enemy doesn’t only attack our circumstances. He doesn’t only try to stop our progress. He goes deeper. He attacks our identity, our purpose, our intimacy with God. You might win a single battle, experience temporary relief, and yet find yourself exhausted, discouraged, or even defeated in the next trial. Why? Because the war isn’t over when the battle ends. The real victory comes when you walk in the fullness of Christ’s authority, unshaken by what the enemy throws at you.

Here’s the boldest truth: the war is already won in Christ. The cross has settled the ultimate score. What remains is walking in that victory daily, living as one who is free, unafraid, and unstoppable—not just reacting when the enemy strikes. Every temptation you resist, every truth you claim, every step of obedience, pushes you beyond the battlefield into a place of supernatural freedom.

Spiritual warfare beyond the battle is about transforming the fight into freedom, the struggle into strength, and the trial into testimony. It’s about refusing to let the enemy define your life, even when circumstances scream otherwise. It’s about walking boldly in the identity Christ purchased for you—whether you feel the victory or not.

Here’s how you can move beyond the battle:

1. Root Your Identity in Christ – The enemy thrives on shame, doubt, and insecurity. When you know who you are in Jesus, no attack can shake you. Your value, your purpose, your calling—none of it depends on circumstances.
   
   

2. Discipline Your Spirit – Prayer, fasting, worship, and meditating on God’s Word are more than tools—they’re weapons that sharpen your spiritual senses. A disciplined spirit sees the enemy coming before he strikes.
   
   

3. Stand Firm in Obedience – Victory isn’t measured by one dramatic moment. It’s measured by faithfulness in the quiet, unseen moments. Obedience builds resilience. Obedience cultivates authority.
   
   

4. Guard Your Mind – Thoughts are the battlefield. Every lie you reject, every truth you embrace, strengthens your spiritual foundation. Your mind is the command center; what you feed it dictates your spiritual posture.
   
   

5. Engage in Kingdom Action – Beyond the battle means taking your victory into the world. Your testimony, service, acts of love, and courage push back darkness. Victory is never meant to be kept to yourself—it is meant to transform the world around you.
   
   

6. Stay Alert, Stay Expectant – Spiritual warfare is constant, but God’s power is limitless. Expect His intervention. Watch for His strategies. Move when He moves. The battle may rage, but so does His glory.
   
   

The boldest warriors aren’t just those who fight—they are those who walk in freedom after the fight, unshakable, unafraid, and unstoppable. Spiritual warfare is not simply about surviving; it’s about stepping fully into your God-given authority and purpose. Every battle prepares you, but it does not define you.

You are not a soldier who merely survives the fight—you are a victor who walks in the victory Christ purchased on the cross. You will face battles, yes, but you will walk beyond them. Your life, your heart, your calling—they are secure in Him. And when the enemy roars, he only reminds you of the greater roar of God that is already on your side.

Step beyond the battle. Walk in freedom. Live in the victory. The war is won, but your life is the battlefield of your triumph.

|Fearfully & Wonderfully Wired|

David’s words in Psalm 139:14—“I am fearfully and wonderfully made”—are not just poetic sentiment; they are a scientific reality. As modern research continues to uncover the mysteries of the body, it only amplifies the truth that Scripture proclaimed long ago: we are woven together with breathtaking intentionality. At the center of this divine design is the nervous system—the body’s communication network, the living thread that keeps the whole temple in order.

The nervous system is composed of billions of neurons, firing like sparks of holy lightning. These neurons send electrical signals from the brain throughout the body, coordinating every movement, every sensation, every breath. Without this system, the body collapses into chaos. Paul’s image of the Church as a body “joined and held together” (Ephesians 4:16) is not an abstract metaphor; it is a reflection of biology itself. Without Christ as Head, the body of believers spasms in disorder, just as a body without neural direction falls apart.

Medical science tells us that heart rate variability (HRV) is one of the clearest indicators of nervous system health. Higher HRV shows resilience, flexibility, and capacity for connection. Lower HRV reflects stress, exhaustion, or disease (Shaffer & Ginsberg, Frontiers in Public Health, 2017). Scripture anticipated this truth in another tongue: “When I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long” (Psalm 32:3). David was describing the toll of unresolved grief and sin—dysregulation long before science gave it a name.

The vagus nerve, often called the “wandering nerve,” runs from brainstem to gut, touching nearly every organ. Neuroscientist Kevin Tracey’s research has shown that vagal activation can reduce inflammation, calm the body, and promote healing (Nature Reviews Immunology, 2002). How does one stimulate the vagus nerve? Through deep breathing, singing, crying, prayer, or even the simple act of being held. Is it any wonder, then, that Scripture commands: “Sing to the Lord a new song” (Psalm 96:1), “Devote yourselves to prayer” (Colossians 4:2), and “Bear one another’s burdens”(Galatians 6:2)? The practices of faith double as practices of physiological regulation. What the Word commands, the body confirms.

Stephen Porges’ Polyvagal Theory describes three primary states of the nervous system: ventral vagal (safe and social), sympathetic (fight or flight), and dorsal vagal (shutdown) (Neurophysiology of Emotion, 2011). In spiritual terms, when we abide in Christ, our relational circuits are online; when fear and sin dominate, we live in fight or freeze. Jesus’ words—“Peace, be still” (Mark 4:39)—were not only to the sea, but to every storming body. Neuroscience calls it regulation. The gospel calls it shalom.

The unity of the body is also echoed in how all systems depend on one another. The heart cannot function without the lungs; the lungs without the blood; the blood without the nervous system guiding its flow. Paul wrote, “The body is not made up of one part but of many” (1 Corinthians 12:14). Biology preaches the same sermon: disconnection means death, connection means life.

Jesus Himself ministered directly to the body. He touched lepers. He placed His fingers in deaf ears. He laid hands on the blind. He called a paralyzed man to walk—and suddenly, signals began firing down legs that had been silent for years. These were not merely symbolic miracles; they were nervous-system restorations. They were the Kingdom breaking in through flesh and nerve.

Even the sacraments testify. Baptism immerses the whole body, communion nourishes through taste and touch, and the laying on of hands communicates both blessing and regulation. These are embodied acts. They settle anxious systems, strengthen weary frames, and remind us that salvation is not abstract—it is incarnate.

Research in embodied cognition emphasizes that our very thoughts are shaped by our bodily experiences (Varela, Thompson, & Rosch, The Embodied Mind, 1991). The Bible has always affirmed this truth: we are not disembodied souls but integrated beings. Our worship, our tears, our trembling hands—all are part of our faith.

So what does this mean for us? It means that every breath you take, every song you sing, every hand you hold, is both spiritual and physiological. It means that the trembling you feel in fear or shame is not weakness, but a signal. And it means that healing in Christ is not reserved for your soul alone, but for your whole being—body, mind, and spirit.

You are fearfully and wonderfully wired. Your nervous system, your immune system, your beating heart—they are all part of the same sermon. And the message is this: life flows through connection. Christ is the Head. Stay with Him, and every part will live.

I Almost Gave It All Up for a Bowl of Stew

I feel like I’ve been tasked to write this. Not just because I want to, but because I have to.

When I look back on the past few years, it doesn’t feel like it flew by. People say time moves fast, but honestly, for me, growth has been slow and gritty. Not just year by year, but moment by moment. Minute by minute. Hard decision by hard decision. And yet, here I am. Still standing. Still called. Still chosen. Not the same woman I was three years ago—and I say that with a full heart of gratitude. Because I shouldn’t be who I am now. By all natural accounts, I should’ve self-sabotaged my way right out of the promise. But God.
This Month ( August) marked nine years of living on the East Coast. Nine years since I followed God’s leading away from everything familiar. Nine years of learning how to become rooted in places I didn’t plant myself. I went back and read some of the words I wrote during those early years. I let them sink in.

And I wept.

Because I remember how close I came to forfeiting it all. I almost sacrificed what was permanent on the altar of something temporary. I almost walked away from what was eternal because of what felt urgent. I almost chose to feed my pain instead of facing it. But the mercy of God intervened. He rescued me before I ruined myself. And He did it with the kind of fierce, holy love that doesn’t flatter you—it frees you. There was a point—I remember it clearly—where the Lord whispered to me: “Call it by name or it will rename you.” That moment changed everything. I had to call the pain out. I had to face the bitterness I was nursing, the fear I was hiding, the validation I was chasing. I had to acknowledge the part of me that was clinging to what was broken because it felt more familiar than healing. I had to admit I was betraying myself just to keep people who were never meant to stay. And that’s when Jesus called me closer. That’s when He untethered me from a version of myself I had grown comfortable with, but was slowly suffocating in. That’s when He reminded me that what He called me to be was not up for debate.

I think of Esau. Genesis 25. How he gave away his birthright—his inheritance, his identity, his legacy for a bowl of stew. Just to feel full for a moment. He gave up what would’ve lasted a lifetime for what barely lasted minutes. And if I’m honest, I almost did the same. There was a season where I was tired of waiting. Tired of pressing. Tired of being misunderstood. Tired of trusting God and not seeing what I hoped for unfold. And that’s exactly when the enemy offers you “stew,” a temporary fix dressed up in satisfaction. Something that promises relief but costs you everything. Something that smells good but can never sustain. I’m so thankful the Lord blocked me. I’m so thankful He didn’t give me what I thought I wanted. I’m so thankful He didn’t let me settle for survival. Because I would’ve sold off the very thing I was born for. I’ve grieved a lot these past few years. I’ve lost people I thought would always be there. I’ve wept over doors I once begged God to open—only to watch Him close them with compassion I couldn’t understand at the time. But looking back now, I see the rescue. I see the mercy. And I see the strength He gave me in the breaking. I may have lost some things. But I gained myself.
Not the “me” shaped by trauma, expectation, or people-pleasing. Not the version of me that constantly second-guessed the calling. Not the version that confused busyness with purpose.
I gained the woman God made. The one who trusts His timing. The one who’s not moved by applause or abandonment. The one who has scars and a mission—and knows they’re not in conflict. I’m still on course. The call hasn’t changed. The assignment hasn’t shifted. I didn’t miss it.
I’m more in alignment now than I’ve ever been. And here’s what I want to say to whoever’s reading this: Don’t trade your inheritance for a bowl of stew. Don’t give up what’s permanent because of what feels urgent. Don’t confuse hunger with identity. If you're in a hard place right now, I get it.
If you're grieving, tired, tempted to take the shortcut—you're not alone. But trust me when I say: There’s more at stake than you can see. Let God rescue you. Let Him snatch you out, even if it’s uncomfortable. Let Him strip away the version of you that was never built to carry your calling.
Let Him heal you not just for your sake, but for the sake of everyone your life is going to impact.
Because of the pain? It won’t last forever. But the purpose? That’s eternal. And if you’ve almost forfeited your future, you’re not too far gone. Jesus restores birthrights. Even when we’ve tried to give them away.

Teach Me to Abide

Abide: means to remain, dwell, or stay closely connected,

“And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in them.” ( 1 John 4:16)

There is a kind of love that doesn't leave. A type that doesn’t rush past your heart or grow tired of your need. A kind that welcomes you—not because you’ve done everything right, but simply because you belong. That’s the love 1 John 4:16 speaks of. God is love. And to live in love is to live in Him. It’s easy to think abiding is something we must master or strive for. But it’s an invitation—a gentle, steady call back home. To come close and stay close. To let go of every pressure to perform and rest in the arms of the One who never lets go. Abiding is less about effort and more about trust. It’s leaning into the truth that we are held. Not just sometimes, but always. We were never meant to visit God’s love like a weekend retreat—we were created to live in it. To settle in. To breathe deeply. To find our rhythm and rest in the nearness of the One who is love. And when we do? Everything changes. Peace returns. Joy wakes up. The striving quiets, because love has a way of softening what’s been hard, healing what’s been hidden, and reminding us—we’re not alone.

Prayer:

Lord, teach me to abide. Not just on the good days, but in the messy middle. Teach me to stay when my heart wants to run, to rest when my mind wants to race. Let me find joy in being with You—not just doing things for You. Let Your love become the place I call home. Because abiding isn’t about getting it all right. It’s about being with the One who already made it right. And I don’t want to just know about Your love, Lord, I want to live. In Jesus’ Name, Amen

Who is My Enemy?

If God tells me to love my neighbor and my enemy… could they be the same person?

We’re comfortable with the idea of loving our neighbor. We might even pride ourselves on it, serving in the community, showing kindness to those around us, doing what we can to “be the hands and feet of Jesus.” But then Jesus goes a step further. He doesn’t just call us to love our neighbors—He commands us to love our enemies. And that’s where it gets uncomfortable.

It’s one thing to love someone we like. It’s another to love someone who has hurt us, betrayed us, or opposed us. The command is clear. In Matthew 5:44-45, Jesus says, “But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven.” This isn’t an optional add-on for the super spiritual. It’s part of what it means to be a child of God.

In His Sermon on the Mount, Jesus wasn’t softening the Old Testament Law. He was fulfilling it and elevating it. He wasn’t telling us to merely tolerate our enemies—He said love them. Pray for them. Bless them. The Greek word for “enemy” in this passage is echthros, meaning someone who is actively hostile or opposed to you. Not just a difficult personality or a person who annoys you, but someone who stands against your peace, your purpose, or your God-given identity. And yet, we are still called to love them. Not with shallow sentiment, but with the love of Heaven, a love that doesn’t come from us but flows through us when we yield to the Spirit.

Here’s the part we don’t like to admit: enemies aren’t always far away. They’re not always “out there” in some vague political or cultural category. Sometimes, they’re people we know, people we trusted.

They might be the classmate who bullied you behind your back and then smiled to your face.
They might be the friend who disappeared when you needed them most.
They might be the church leader who betrayed your confidence or used their position to manipulate.
Suddenly, “enemy” gets personal. And that’s exactly what Jesus addresses when a lawyer in Luke 10 asks, “Who is my neighbor?” hoping to justify himself. In response, Jesus tells the story of the Good Samaritan—a man considered an enemy of the Jews, who becomes the hero by showing mercy and compassion. The religious leaders pass by, but the outsider acts in love.

The message is unmistakable. Jesus is saying: Your enemy might be your assignment.

So why love them? Why choose mercy when everything in us wants justice, or at least distance?

Because Jesus loved us when we were His enemies.

Romans 5:10 says, “While we were God’s enemies, we were reconciled to Him through the death of His Son.” Before we ever repented or turned toward Him, Jesus bore our sin and welcomed us into His mercy. He didn’t wait for us to deserve forgiveness; He gave it freely. That’s our example.

Loving your enemy doesn’t mean trusting them again. It doesn’t mean pretending that what happened didn’t hurt. It means choosing to surrender your right to hate. It means refusing to carry bitterness like a badge of protection. It means asking God to bless someone you may never speak to again, not because they deserve it, but because you’ve been loved undeservedly, too.

We forgive not because they’re worthy, but because we want to be free. We bless not because they’re good, but because God is. We pray not because it’s easy, but because we know that resentment will rot our hearts if we don’t.

And what’s really at stake here?

Not just your peace. Your heart. Your witness. Your freedom.

Unforgiveness can feel like protection. It can even feel righteous. But it’s a trap. It keeps us bound to what they did. It holds us hostage to pain that Jesus already died to heal. When we refuse to love our enemies, we’re the ones who stay stuck. But when we love them as Christ did, when we bless, release, and forgive, the kingdom of God begins to break through in us.

So who is your enemy?

Maybe it’s someone from your past you swore you’d never think about again. Maybe it’s someone you still sit across from at the dinner table or see on Sunday mornings. Maybe it’s a person who never said sorry and never will.

Jesus isn’t asking you to feel warm fuzzies toward them. He’s not asking you to deny the hurt. He’s asking you to carry your cross. Because the cross doesn’t just forgive you, it teaches you to forgive others. It reshapes your definition of love, not based on who deserves it, but based on who God is.

Your enemy may never change. But love will change you. And maybe that’s where real healing begins, not when they make it right, but when you release the need for them to.

Cowriting Studio: More Than Community It’s Discipleship

At Cowriting Studio, we talk a lot about community.
But let’s be honest—community isn’t the goal. Discipleship is.

We don’t gather just to write together, dream together, or even pray together.
We gather to grow.

Because Jesus didn’t say, “Go and build tight-knit writing circles.”
He said, “Go and make disciples.” (Matthew 28:19)

That’s the foundation.
That’s the mission.
That’s the whole reason Cowriting Studio exists—to call writers, dreamers, and creatives into something deeper than connection.

We believe in sharpening each other.
We believe in calling out the gold.
We believe in growing into the image of Christ, together.

This isn’t a place for a shallow community.
This is a space for Kingdom transformation.

So if you're here for comfort, you may feel a little stretched.
If you're here to hide, you'll be gently called out of the shadows.
But if you're here to grow, to be discipled, and to walk boldly in your calling, welcome home.

Cowriting Studio isn’t just about writing.
It’s about walking with Jesus.
It’s about building disciples who create, speak truth, and carry the Kingdom into every space they write, lead, and live.

We’re not just finding our voices.
We’re following His.

Back in Rhythm: A New Chapter at Cowriting Studio

There are moments in life when even the most beautiful rhythms need a pause.

Cowriting Studio was born out of a passion for writing in community—a place for collaboration, creativity, and calling. Over time, as life shifted and things sped up, we realized we were pouring out without pausing to refill. So, we stepped back. Not because we were giving up, but because we were making space to breathe, recalibrate, and realign with what matters most.

That break was not a setback. It was a blessing.

In the quiet, God reminded us why Cowriting Studio exists: to cultivate a space where writers of all backgrounds can grow in their craft, walk boldly in their calling, and experience authentic community. A place rooted in the truth of Ephesians 2:10 — "For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do."

And now... we’re back.

But not as we were.

We’re stepping forward with new clarity, a stronger foundation, and some exciting new things in the works.
Here’s what you can expect in this next chapter:

• ✍🏽 Fresh blog posts and writing prompts that stir creativity and spark action
  
  

• ☕ Cowriting sessions (virtual + local) to bring writers together in real time
  
  

• 📚 Resources and workshops to sharpen your skills and support your writing journey
  
  

• 💬 Community spaces that go beyond likes and comments—a place to be seen, known, and encouraged
  
  

Cowriting Studio is not just a platform. It’s a movement. A reminder that you don’t have to create alone. That your voice matters. That the words you carry were planted for a reason.

Whether you’ve been with us since day one or are just discovering us, welcome.
Let’s write. Let’s grow. Let’s build something meaningful, together.

– Ann, Founder of Cowriting Studio

A Letter to All Moms

There’s something sacred about the role of a mother. It’s not just in the late nights or early mornings, the meals made, the rides given, or the band-aids placed on scraped knees. It’s in the way she carries hearts, not just responsibilities.

Motherhood isn’t one-size-fits-all. It comes in countless forms:
The woman raising littles with love and laundry baskets,
The empty-nester still sending care packages and prayers,
The foster mom opening her heart wide for a child who needed home,
The spiritual mom pouring wisdom into the next generation,
The mother-in-waiting, believing for the day her arms will be full,
And the grieving mom, who holds love in one hand and loss in the other.

To every kind of mom, thank you.

Thank you for showing up when no one sees.
For holding families together when it feels like the world is pulling them apart.
For the courage to keep loving deeply, even when it costs everything.
You reflect God's heart in a unique and irreplaceable way.

Your love does not go unnoticed.
Your sacrifices are not in vain.
Your presence matters more than you know.

So today, may you feel celebrated not just for all you do, but for who you are.
You are strong. You are beautiful. You are needed.
And you are deeply, deeply loved.

Happy Mother’s Day.
We see you. We honor you. We thank God for you.

Discipleship: A Journey of Love, Not Performance

Discipleship is not a task on a spiritual to-do list.
It is not reserved for the “mature” or the “qualified.”
It is not about how many Bible verses you know or how long you've been walking with God.

At its core, discipleship is an invitation to follow Jesus closely—not as a servant earning favor, but as a beloved friend learning to walk in step with Love Himself.

It is the sacred process of becoming more like Christ, not through pressure or performance, but through presence and proximity.

Jesus didn’t invite His disciples into a classroom—He invited them into His life.

He said, “Come, follow Me” (Matthew 4:19).
Not, “Prove yourself.”
Not, “Fix yourself.”
Not, “Figure it out.”
Just: Come. Be with Me. Watch Me. Walk with Me. Learn love by being loved.

That is the essence of discipleship.

Discipleship Begins with Being

Before we can make disciples, we must first become one.
That means surrendering the idea that we must do more to earn what Jesus already gave freely: belonging.

Discipleship begins when we stop trying to impress God and start trusting Him.

It’s in the quiet mornings when you open your Bible not to mark a box, but to meet a Person.
It’s in the stillness when you realize He’s been speaking—you just needed to slow down and listen.
It’s in the late-night prayers, the tears, the worship songs on repeat when your heart is heavy.

Discipleship happens there.

In the everyday. In the ordinary. In the obedience that doesn’t make headlines, but shakes heaven.

Discipleship Is Love in Action

Jesus discipled through presence—by walking with His followers, not lording over them.
He corrected, yes. But always with compassion.
He spoke the truth, yes. But always wrapped in grace.

True discipleship looks like this:

• Sitting across from someone and asking how their soul is, not just their schedule.

• Holding space for someone else's process without rushing them toward the "right" answer.

• Sharing your scars without shame, because healing is meant to be handed down.

• Walking with someone long after the crisis is over, simply because love stays.

Discipleship is love with shoes on.

It listens. It lingers. It lifts.
It doesn’t rush the process. It doesn’t offer formulas.
It says, “I’ll walk with you as you walk with Him.”

You Don’t Need to Be Perfect to Disciple

Jesus called fishermen. Tax collectors. Outsiders.
None of them had it all together. But they were willing to follow.

You don’t need to have all the answers.
You don’t need to be a theologian or a ministry leader.
You just need to say: “Come with me. Let’s follow Him together.”

Have you seen His faithfulness? Share it.
Have you stumbled and gotten back up? That’s a testimony.
Have you learned how to stay when it would’ve been easier to run? That’s discipleship.

Every healed place in you becomes a light for someone else’s path.

Discipleship is not about hierarchy. It’s about humility.
Not about leading from a stage, but about serving from a place of love.
It’s the long road. The honest road. The road Jesus Himself walked, with dust on His feet and love in His hands.

So if you’re wondering where to begin, start there.
At his feet.
Let Him teach you how to love. How to lead. How to live.

And then, extend that invitation to someone else.

Because discipleship isn’t about you having it all figured out.
It’s about pointing to the One who’s been faithful every step of the way.

You are called.
You are ready.
You are enough—because He is with you.

Discipleship is the slow, beautiful work of becoming more like Jesus, together.

And that kind of love will change the world.

Reflections on the Year So Far

“But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong.”
—1 Corinthians 1:27

As we step fully into spring (despite my quiet protest as a lifelong fall girl), I’m taking time to reflect on where we’ve been, what’s growing, and how God has been gently shaping this journey—both personally and within Cowriting Studio.

There’s something about this time of year—especially in the midst of Lent—that calls for stillness and reflection. It’s a season where I’m reminded that surrender doesn’t mean giving up but giving over. Giving over my plans. My pride. My timing. My fears. All of it.

I’ve been slowly working my way through 1 Corinthians, and even though I’m only a few chapters in, it’s already been humbling and grounding. Paul doesn’t sugarcoat anything—he speaks truth with clarity, and it’s been holding up a mirror to the way I think, create, lead, and lean on God. One verse that’s stayed with me is 1 Corinthians 1:27, where we’re reminded that God often chooses the weak things to show His strength. That line wrecked me—in the best way.

Because that’s where I’ve found myself lately: aware of my limits, aware of my “lack,” and yet also deeply aware that God’s power meets me there. That I don’t need to carry the weight of this community or my calling alone. He’s the one holding it all together when I feel like I can’t.

And wow, has He been faithful.

Cowriting Studio started as a simple idea—a hope-filled corner of the internet where writers could feel less alone. A place where faith and creativity could walk hand in hand. Where stories matter and voices are seen. But what God is growing here is far beyond anything I could’ve designed on my own.

In just a few short months this year, our community has expanded. The newsletter has become a favorite gathering spot, full of creative prompts, encouragement, and updates on all things Cowriting. I’ve loved seeing how many of you are engaging with it—it truly feels like a shared table we’re gathering around.

We’ve also been adding fresh resources every month, and (can you believe it?) summer merch is already here! Whether you're jotting down journal prompts on your porch or scribbling poetry at the beach, we've got something that brings your writing life into every season. Even if I’m personally still burning pumpkin spice candles and pretending it's October.

Spring is officially here—whether my wardrobe is ready or not—and Cowriting Studio is blooming right alongside it.

So what’s next?

More growth. More connection. More opportunities to explore your voice and your calling through writing. We’re dreaming big, but staying rooted in what matters: community, creativity, and the call God places on each of our hearts.

If you’re new here, welcome. If you’ve been walking with us for a while, thank you. I don’t take a single writer, reader, or friend for granted. You are the heartbeat of this studio.

Here’s to the rest of this year—whatever it holds. May we lean in, trust deeply, write bravely, and rest often in the truth that His strength is made perfect in our weakness.

Holding Fast in the Wilderness: A Lenten Reflection on Faith, Trust, and Heavenly Citizenship

Lent calls us to strip away distractions and realign our hearts with God. It is a season of spiritual wrestling, where we confront our weaknesses and deepen our trust in the One who calls us forward. This week’s readings—Genesis 15:5-12, 17-18, Psalm 27:1, 7-8, 8-9, 13-14, and Philippians 3:17—4:1—remind us of God’s unwavering promises, the strength we find in seeking Him, and the hope we hold as citizens of heaven.

Faith in the Promise – Genesis 15:5-12, 17-18

Abraham is asked to trust in something unseen—to believe God’s promise of countless descendants, even when his present reality suggests otherwise. He believes, not because he sees, but because he trusts in the faithfulness of God.

Lent invites us to that same kind of trust. We may be waiting on God, unsure of what’s ahead, wrestling with doubts or unanswered prayers. But as with Abraham, God’s promises are not dependent on our immediate circumstances. They are anchored in His faithfulness. Our role is to believe, to surrender, and to keep walking forward.

Seeking His Face in the Darkness – Psalm 27

David’s words are both a declaration and a plea: “The Lord is my light and my salvation—whom shall I fear?” (Psalm 27:1). Yet, even as he proclaims confidence, he also cries out, “Do not hide your face from me.” (Psalm 27:9).

Lent is often like this—a time of deep seeking. We long for the nearness of God but may also feel the weight of silence. Still, David shows us what to do in these moments: seek. Call out. Keep our eyes fixed on the Lord. Even when answers seem distant, we hold to the truth that we will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living (Psalm 27:13).

Standing Firm as Citizens of Heaven – Philippians 3:17—4:1

Paul warns against living as enemies of the cross—those who fix their minds on earthly things. It’s easy to become consumed by temporary comforts, to resist the refining work of Lent. But Paul redirects our focus: “Our citizenship is in heaven.” (Philippians 3:20).

Lent is not about mere self-denial; it is about realignment. We fast, pray, and repent not as empty rituals but to stand firm in Christ, remembering where our true home is. As Paul urges, “Stand firm in the Lord in this way, dear friends!” (Philippians 4:1).

Lent: A Call to Trust, Seek, and Stand Firm

These passages call us to:

• Trust in God’s promises, even when they seem distant.

• Seek His face, especially when we feel lost.

• Stand firm in Him, knowing that our true home is not here but in heaven.

Lent is not about perfection but about transformation. It is about stepping into the wilderness and allowing God to shape us. As we continue this journey, may we surrender our fears and distractions, saying, “Lord, I trust You. I will seek You. I will stand firm in You.”

And as we wait on the Lord, we take heart in this promise:

“Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord” (Psalm 27:14)

Looking Ahead: The Cross and the Empty Tomb

The beauty of Lent is that it does not end in the wilderness. It leads us to the cross—but beyond the cross, to the empty tomb. The struggles we face, the refining work God does in us, the sacrifices we make, and the prayers we offer are not in vain. They are part of the preparation for resurrection life.

Jesus endured the cross not for the sake of suffering, but for the joy set before Him (Hebrews 12:2), And that joy is our joy, too—the promise of renewal, redemption, and a life forever with Him. So, as we continue through Lent, let us not grow weary. The journey may feel long, but Easter is coming.

Let us walk forward with faith, seek God with persistence, and stand firm in His truth. Because in the end, Lent is not just about what we give up—it is about what we gain: a heart more fully surrendered, a faith more deeply rooted, and a life more in tune with the One who loves us beyond measure.

Keep pressing on, dear friends. The best is yet to come.

Ash Wednesday: A Call to Repentance and Renewal

Tomorrow marks the beginning of Lent, a sacred season of reflection, repentance, and renewal. Ash Wednesday is more than just a ritual; it’s an invitation—a call to draw closer to God, to examine our hearts, and to realign our lives with His purpose.

Remember That You Are Dust

The ashes placed on our foreheads in the shape of a cross come with a sobering reminder:

"Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return." (Genesis 3:19)

This phrase humbles us, reminding us of our mortality. But it’s not meant to leave us in despair. Instead, it points us toward our need for Christ. We are not just dust—we are dust redeemed by the love of God. The cross in the ashes is a sign of both repentance and hope.

A Season of Surrender

Lent is often associated with fasting, prayer, and giving. These practices are not about empty religious duty but about making space for God. When we set aside distractions—whether food, social media, or other comforts—we create room for His presence to work in our lives.

Joel 2:12-13 reminds us of God’s heart:

"Even now," declares the Lord, "return to me with all your heart, with fasting and weeping and mourning. Rend your heart and not your garments."

God desires true repentance, not just outward displays of religion. He calls us to return to Him with sincerity, with hearts ready to be transformed.

Hope in the Cross

While Ash Wednesday begins a season of solemn reflection, it ultimately leads us to the greatest hope—the resurrection of Christ. We are invited into a journey of dying to sin and rising to new life in Him.

So as we receive the ashes, let’s not wear them as just a symbol. Let’s carry them as a reminder to seek God more deeply, to walk in humility, and to trust in His grace.

May this Lent be a season of renewal in your faith, a time to let go of what weighs you down, and a journey that draws you closer to the One who gives life.

Embracing Lent: A Season of Reflection, Renewal, and Drawing Closer to God

As the Lenten season approaches, believers around the world prepare to embark on a sacred journey of introspection, repentance, and spiritual renewal. Lent is more than a time of abstaining from certain pleasures—it is a divine invitation to realign our hearts with God, to seek His presence with greater fervor, and to cultivate a life marked by grace, humility, and love.

Understanding the Heart of Lent

Lent is a 40-day pilgrimage (excluding Sundays) that mirrors Jesus’s time of fasting and prayer in the wilderness (Matthew 4:1-11). Rooted in the traditions of the early church, it calls us into a deeper awareness of our spiritual condition. Through prayer, fasting, and almsgiving, we create space in our lives to hear God’s voice more clearly and respond to His refining work within us.

Preparing for Lent: A Sacred Examination

Before we enter Ash Wednesday, we are invited to examine our hearts with honesty and humility. Consider these reflective questions:

• What areas of my life are misaligned with God’s will?

• What distractions are keeping me from fully experiencing His presence?

• How can I deepen my prayer life and cultivate a listening spirit?

• In what ways can I extend Christ’s love to those around me?

Preparation is essential for a meaningful Lenten journey. Ask God to reveal what He desires to transform in you and embrace this season as a time of refinement and renewal.

Intentional Practices for a Transformative Lent

1. Fasting with Purpose – The practice of fasting is not just about deprivation but about redirection. Whether giving up food, social media, or a comfort that has taken too much space in your life, let your sacrifice draw you into deeper reliance on God.

2. A Life of Prayer – Cultivate an intentional and consistent prayer rhythm. Create space for silence, intercession, and Scripture meditation. Consider journaling your prayers as a way to reflect on God’s movements in your life.

3. Extravagant Love and Generosity – Lent calls us not only to look inward but also to pour outward. Whether through financial giving, volunteering, or small daily acts of kindness, seek ways to be the hands and feet of Christ.

4. Immersing in God’s Word – Deepen your understanding of Christ’s journey to the cross by meditating on Scripture. Walk through passages in Isaiah, the Psalms, and the Gospels that reveal the weight of His sacrifice and the beauty of redemption.

Walking in the Spirit of Lent

Lent is not about religious obligation but about the transformation of our hearts. It is about stepping into a sacred space of surrender, allowing God to work within us so that we emerge on Easter morning renewed, restored, and ready to celebrate the victory of Christ.

As we begin this journey, may we open our hearts fully to the refining love of God. May this season be one of profound renewal, leading us deeper into the mystery and majesty of His grace.

What will you surrender this Lent so that you might gain more of Christ? How will you walk this journey with greater intention?

Let us step forward in faith, embracing this sacred invitation with open hands and expectant hearts.

Writing & Collaboration: An Outlet for Creativity, Connection, and Leadership

For many writers, the act of putting words on a page is more than just a skill—it’s an outlet. Writing provides a space to explore emotions, tell stories, and make sense of the world. But writing doesn’t have to be a solitary pursuit. collaboration can transform writing from an introspective act into a shared experience that fosters growth, creativity, and connection.

Writing as an Emotional and Creative Outlet

Writing is a deeply personal endeavor. It allows us to pour out our thoughts, work through emotions, and create something meaningful. Whether through journaling, storytelling, poetry, or essays, writing gives us a voice—a way to express what might be difficult to say out loud. It can be therapeutic, helping to process feelings, reduce stress, and bring clarity.

At the same time, writing is a creative act. It enables us to build worlds, develop characters, and explore ideas beyond our everyday reality. Whether we write fiction, nonfiction, or poetry, the act of creating something new fuels our imagination and pushes us to think in fresh ways.

The Power of Collaboration in Writing

While writing is often viewed as a solo journey, collaboration introduces a new layer of inspiration and accountability. Working alongside other writers brings fresh perspectives, constructive feedback, and a sense of community. It turns writing from an isolated activity into a dynamic conversation.

Collaboration can take many forms:

• Cowriting Projects: Partnering with another writer to craft a story, article, or script.

• Workshops & Critique Groups: Sharing work with others for feedback and improvement.

• Brainstorming Sessions: Generating ideas and overcoming writer’s block with a group.

• Editing & Revisions: Helping each other refine and polish writing to make it stronger.

The energy that comes from working with others uniquely fuels creativity. It pushes writers to step outside their comfort zones, experiment with different styles, and grow in their craft.

Writing and Collaboration Make Better Leaders

Strong leadership requires the ability to communicate effectively, think critically, and work well with others—skills that are naturally developed through writing and collaboration. Writers who engage in collaborative work learn how to navigate different perspectives, provide constructive feedback, and manage creative projects, all of which are essential qualities of effective leaders.

By engaging in discussions, organizing writing projects, and guiding group efforts, writers enhance their problem-solving and decision-making skills. They also learn to inspire and motivate others, fostering an environment where ideas and creativity can thrive. Whether leading a writing group, mentoring fellow writers, or contributing to a collaborative project, the ability to listen, adapt, and guide others strengthens leadership capabilities.

Building a Writing Community

Writing communities, both online and in-person, create safe spaces for writers to share, learn, and collaborate. They provide encouragement, motivation, and opportunities to connect with others who understand the struggles and joys of writing. These communities foster an environment where ideas flow freely, constructive criticism is valued, and support is readily available.

Cowriting Studio is built on these very principles. It’s a place where writers can find not only inspiration but also a community that uplifts and challenges them. Whether you’re writing a novel, crafting poetry, or working on personal essays, the support of fellow writers can make the journey more fulfilling.

Finding Your Outlet

If writing is your outlet, consider how collaboration might enhance your process. Join a writing group, partner with a fellow writer, or engage in discussions about storytelling and creativity. Writing doesn’t have to be a lonely endeavor—it can be a shared experience that deepens your connection to your craft and others.

The Influence of Community in Writing and Beyond

Writing is often viewed as a solitary activity—just a writer, their thoughts, and an empty page. While solitude is essential for deep concentration and creativity, the impact of community within writing circles is immense. A supportive group of like-minded individuals nurtures growth, accountability, and inspiration, enriching the writing experience and making it more fulfilling. Furthermore, community is a vital aspect of the human experience, profoundly influencing our personal and professional lives.

Why Writing Circles Are Essential

Writing circles, whether in-person or virtual, create a space for writers to share their work, receive feedback, and stay motivated. Here’s why they hold such value:

1. Encouragement and Support

   • Writing can be disheartening, especially when faced with self-doubt or writer's block. A community offers emotional support, reminding writers that they are not alone in their challenges.

2. Constructive Criticism

   • Feedback is crucial for growth. Writing circles provide a safe environment for honest critiques, helping writers refine their skills and gain new insights into their work.

3. Accountability and Motivation

   • Procrastination can be tempting without accountability. Writing groups set deadlines and challenges, inspiring members to persist even when motivation declines.

4. Networking and Opportunities

   • Many writers discover publishing opportunities, collaborations, and professional connections within their writing communities. Networking with fellow writers, editors, and publishers can unlock doors that might otherwise remain shut.

5. Diverse Perspectives

   • Engaging with varied voices and experiences enriches one’s writing. A vibrant community exposes writers to fresh ideas and cultures, enhancing their storytelling abilities.

The Greater Significance of Community

Beyond writing, community is vital for human happiness and success. Whether in families, workplaces, or hobbies, strong communities promote:

1. A Sense of Belonging

   • As social beings, humans thrive in groups that provide identity, purpose, and emotional well-being.

2. Support During Challenges

   • Life is filled with ups and downs. Having a network to rely on during tough times can significantly enhance resilience and recovery.

3. Inspiration and Learning

   • Communities introduce us to diverse viewpoints and experiences, fostering intellectual and emotional growth.

4. Collaboration and Innovation

   • Many groundbreaking ideas and advancements arise from teamwork. In business, science, or the arts, collaboration often leads to breakthroughs that wouldn't occur in isolation.

5. Personal and Professional Growth

   • The individuals we surround ourselves with shaping our habits, goals, and ambitions. A strong community encourages individuals to reach higher and evolve into better versions of themselves.

Building and Sustaining Community

Whether in writing or life, cultivating a strong community requires effort. Here are some ways to foster meaningful connections:

• Engage Regularly

  • Show up, contribute, and take part in discussions and activities.

• Offer Support and Encouragement

  • Give as much as you receive; reciprocity strengthens relationships.

• Be Open to Feedback

  • Constructive criticism fosters growth.

• Celebrate Successes Together

  • A thriving community uplifts its members, acknowledging achievements both large and small.

Writing circles and communities, in general, extend beyond personal aspirations; they focus on uplifting each other and growing collectively. Whether you are a writer in search of inspiration or an individual seeking connection, investing in a strong, supportive community can yield immense rewards. Ultimately, no matter how solitary some pursuits may appear, we are always more powerful together.

The Journey to Cowriting Studio

What began as Find Your Story in 2022 has grown into something far greater than I could have ever imagined. By 2025, I find myself completely rebranding—a step I never expected but one that feels so beautifully aligned with the journey I’ve been on. Looking back, I see a story of discovery, transformation, and undeniable growth. Through it all, the Lord knew I was ready for more, and He’s been with me every step of the way.

And so, Cowriting Studio was born.

This journey has been so much sweeter than I ever anticipated. What started as a simple blog has blossomed into a heart and soul, a passion, and a calling. Cowriting Studio is not just a website—it’s a creative haven where you’re encouraged to embrace your unique story, live out your purpose, and connect with others who are doing the same. It’s more than I could have ever dreamed, and I’m so grateful to share it with you.

Here, we live out the truth of Ephesians 2:10: We are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do. I pray that as you explore this space, you feel inspired, supported, and empowered to cultivate your creativity and be part of the vibrant community we’re building together.

I’ve added so many resources to help you along your journey—community forums, opportunities to connect, and ways to grow as a writer and creator. This is only the beginning. There is so much more to come in the months ahead, and I promise, you will love it.

Welcome to Cowriting Studio, formerly Find Your Story. I’m so glad you’re here. Let’s create something amazing together.

Writing with Purpose: Embracing Your Unique Voice

Your voice as a writer is your superpower—a unique blend of your experiences, values, and imagination. It’s what sets you apart and allows your words to resonate with others. But discovering and refining your voice isn’t always easy. You may feel the temptation to imitate writers you admire or conform to what you think readers expect. However, embracing your God-given calling as a writer means leaning into authenticity and trusting that your voice truly matters.

1. Reflect on Your Life Experiences

Your life story is a treasure trove of inspiration. The joys, challenges, lessons, and even mundane moments you’ve lived shape how you see the world and express yourself. Take time to reflect on these experiences:

• What pivotal moments have defined who you are?

• What values have emerged from your journey?

• How do your passions and beliefs influence your perspective?

By mining your own story, you’ll uncover themes and insights that are uniquely yours. These elements infuse your writing with depth and authenticity. No one else has lived your exact story—your voice is an irreplaceable gift to the world.

2. Embrace Your Strengths and Style

Your writing voice is shaped by your personality and preferences. Maybe you’re naturally witty and playful, or perhaps you gravitate toward introspection and poetic imagery. Recognize what feels most true to you as you write.

• Do you favor storytelling, humor, or vivid descriptions?

• Are there recurring phrases, themes, or rhythms in your work?

• What topics ignite your passion?

Rather than suppressing these tendencies to fit trends, celebrate them! Your natural style is part of what makes your voice distinct.

3. Quiet the Noise of Comparison

It’s easy to fall into the trap of comparing yourself to other writers, especially in the age of social media. While learning from others can be valuable, don’t let comparison steal your joy or authenticity.

Focus on what makes your voice unique. Reflect on your “why”: Why do you write? What message do you feel called to share? Grounding yourself in your purpose helps you resist the urge to mimic others.

As Galatians 6:4 reminds us:
“Each one should test their own actions. Then they can take pride in themselves alone, without comparing themselves to someone else.”

4. Practice Vulnerability

Authenticity in writing often requires vulnerability. Sharing your voice means opening yourself up to others, which can feel daunting. But it’s through vulnerability that your words create meaningful connections.

Take small steps toward openness in your writing. Share a personal story, express an honest opinion, or explore a topic that deeply matters to you. With practice, it becomes easier to let your true self shine through your words.

5. Invite God into the Process

As a writer, you have the unique privilege of reflecting God’s creativity and truth. Your voice isn’t an accident—it’s part of the calling He’s placed on your life.

Pray for guidance as you write, and ask God to use your voice for His glory. Remember Ephesians 2:10:
“For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.”

Writing with purpose begins with trusting that God has a plan for your words.

6. Keep Growing

Your writing voice will evolve. As you experience new things and gain fresh insights, your perspective will naturally shift. Embrace this growth. Experiment with different genres, challenge yourself with new projects and seek feedback from trusted mentors and peers. Growth isn’t just part of the journey—it strengthens your voice.

Your Voice Matters

Discovering and embracing your unique voice as a writer is a journey—but it’s one worth taking. Your voice has the power to inspire, connect, and bring light to the world. It’s a reflection of your God-given calling and the beautiful complexity of who you are.

So write boldly, authentically, and with purpose. The world needs your words, and your voice is a gift only you can share.