I was raised in a Methodist church.
Sunday mornings, familiar hymns, quiet prayers—I always knew God. His name was never foreign to me. Faith was part of my upbringing, woven into the rhythm of my life in a way that felt steady and unquestioned.

But knowing of God is not the same as knowing Him.

It wasn’t until a few years ago that I came face to face with that truth. Somewhere in the middle of ordinary life, it became undeniable: I had spent years aware of God’s presence, but I hadn’t built a relationship with Him. I hadn’t truly invited Him into the depths of my daily life—the messy, uncertain, unpolished parts.

That realization changed everything.

What followed wasn’t instant clarity or perfection. It has become a journey—one marked by questions, learning, and a hunger I hadn’t experienced before. In the past two years, I’ve studied more, sought more, and continued to lean in more than I ever have. Scripture has begun to feel alive. Prayer is now a conversation instead of a ritual. Faith has shifted from something I inherited to something I actively live.

And yet, life didn’t suddenly become easier.

Storms came.
Some staying longer than I expected.
Tides shifted in ways that changed things permanently.

There were moments when I wondered if I was doing something wrong—after all, shouldn’t a closer relationship with God mean smoother waters?

But that’s not what I’ve found.

What I’ve found is grace.

Not the kind that removes every hardship, but the kind that meets me right in the middle of it. Grace that shows up daily—sometimes quietly, sometimes overwhelmingly—but always exactly when I need it.

It’s in the deep breath I didn’t think I could take.
It’s in the unexpected peace during uncertain times.
It’s in the reminder that I am not walking through anything alone.

There’s a kind of peace that doesn’t make sense on paper. The kind that isn’t dependent on circumstances improving or answers arriving. The kind that simply is—steady, grounding, and unexplainable.

That peace has become the anchor of my days.

Grace, I’ve learned, isn’t something we earn or arrive at. It’s something we receive—over and over again. Every morning. Every misstep. Every moment we feel like we’re falling short. Especially then.

These days, I don’t measure my faith by how much I know, but by how deeply I trust. I don’t strive for perfection; I lean into presence. And I’ve come to understand that a relationship with God isn’t built in grand, dramatic moments—it’s built in the quiet, consistent turning toward Him, day after day.

Through every storm and every shifting tide, one truth remains:

I am held by grace. And that is more than enough.

Note: If you want to follow my journey in much more detail, check out Lord, I Am Here!