Finding strength in faith

When people ask me why I chose to be baptized at 39 years old, the answer is simple, but also hard to explain without telling my whole story.

Sometimes prayer is a whisper that barely leaves your lips, a quiet confession carried on a trembling breath. Sometimes it feels like falling to your knees, words spilling out in desperation as you ask for forgiveness, for another chance, for a heart made new. Other times, prayer is softer, gentler—like cupping your hands around something fragile as you ask for grace, for mercy you know you don’t deserve but hope for anyway.

Tears streamed down her face—hot, relentless, unashamed. The sermon had been about faith, but this… this was something deeper than words. It was the kind of feeling that cracked you open from the inside out. When the final prayer rose, voices trembling together in fragile harmony, something in her broke loose.

Who is God? How do we know He’s real? What makes the Bible any different from a story or a fairytale?

They call her strong, like it’s a simple thing.

Loss doesn’t arrive politely. It doesn’t wait until you’re older, steadier, more prepared. Sometimes it comes far too early—before you’ve even figured out who you are.