“And they continued daily with one accord in the temple, and breaking bread from house to house, they ate their food with gladness and simplicity of heart.”
— Acts 2:42

The early Church was marked by something powerful, something deeply countercultural: true fellowship.

Not just shared meals.
Not just showing up in the same space on a Sunday morning.
But a spiritual oneness that went beyond friendship or community—something Spirit-wrought and soul-deep.

They were in one accord—united in purpose, devotion, joy, and simplicity of heart.

And they lived it out daily.

Fellowship: More Than Social Connection

Today, we use the word “fellowship” in a lot of contexts—church potlucks, small group events, ministry outings. But true biblical fellowship is far more than shared social time.

It’s more than an association or a club.
It’s more than participation in a shared cause.

True Christian fellowship is something the Holy Spirit creates.
It’s something He does in us and among us.

The Spirit Who Knits Us Together

When we become believers, the Spirit of God comes to dwell within us. And that same Spirit, dwelling in each of us, begins to bind our hearts to one another.

He creates a union—deeper than shared interests or personality compatibility.
He unites our lives.
He shapes our purposes.
He knits our hearts together.

Through the Spirit, we become one body.

We share burdens.
We share joys.
We share gifts.
We grow together, serve together, weep and worship together.

This kind of fellowship isn’t optional. It’s part of the life we’re called into.

Christianity Is Personal—But Never Private

Faith begins as a personal relationship with Christ.
But it never stays there.

It immediately extends outward—drawing us into relationship with others.

Christianity makes me a saint.
But Christianity is made up of saints.

We are part of something much bigger than ourselves—a living, breathing, growing body of believers.
A spiritual organism that becomes a spiritual organization.
Not built on rules or hierarchy, but on grace, love, humility, and service.

We are called to live out the fruits of the Spirit—love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.
And we can only do that in relationship with others.

What a Gift Fellowship Really Is

Sometimes we forget what a gift it is to be part of the Body of Christ.

To be accepted.
To be encouraged.
To find others who understand, support, and challenge us.
To feel our hearts knit together by something (Someone) far greater than shared preferences or personalities.

God requires us to live in fellowship.
But more than that, He blesses us through it.

A Final Thought

If you’ve ever felt disconnected or unsure about the role of community in your faith—remember this:

We weren’t meant to walk alone.
We weren’t made to grow in isolation.
We were designed—created—for fellowship.

To laugh together.
To serve together.
To eat with gladness and simplicity of heart.
To carry one another’s burdens.
To be one in Spirit and purpose.

Let the Holy Spirit draw your heart to others.
Be willing to connect.
Be open to receive.
And watch how God blesses and builds His people—together.

“The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart,
And saves such as have a contrite spirit.”
— Psalm 34:18

There are stories in Scripture that are painful to read.
Stories that don’t wrap up neatly.
Stories that leave us longing for justice, for comfort, for healing.

Tamar’s story in 2 Samuel 13 is one of them.

She was the daughter of King David, a young woman of beauty and innocence. But she became the victim of a horrible deception and a terrible crime—raped by her half-brother Amnon, a man driven by obsession and enabled by poor counsel and unchecked desire.

Tamar begged for mercy.
She even offered Amnon a way forward that would have restored honor.
But he refused—and after the assault, he did what many abusers do: he cast her aside in shame and anger.

Scripture tells us that Tamar “lived in her brother Absalom’s house, desolate.”
Her father, David, though angry, did nothing.

Her pain was deep.
Her support was weak.
Her voice was silenced.
And the injustice led to long-standing bitterness and vengeance from her brother Absalom, who would later kill Amnon.

The Tragedy of a Desolate Life

Tamar’s story is heartbreaking.
Not only because of what happened to her—but because of what didn’t happen after.

No healing.
No restoration.
No voice.

Her grief is preserved in Scripture not as a passing detail, but as a sobering reminder of how sin shatters lives—and how silence and inaction compound the pain.

We don’t know how Tamar’s relationship with God unfolded.
Scripture doesn’t tell us whether she found comfort, hope, or peace.
But we know this: God saw her.

And He sees us, too.

When People Fail, God Remains

People hurt us.
They disappoint us.
They fail to protect, to defend, to acknowledge.

Sometimes we look around, like Tamar must have, and feel completely alone.

But we are not.

“The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart.”
— Psalm 34:18

God doesn’t abandon the brokenhearted.
He doesn’t look away from abuse.
He doesn’t minimize our pain.
He draws near.

And for the believer, that nearness isn’t just a comfort—it becomes a source of strength.

Trials Come, But So Does Joy

As painful as trials are, they hold the potential to transform us—not by the weight of the suffering, but by the grace that meets us in it.

“Count it all joy when you fall into various trials,
knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience.”
— James 1:2–3

“You have been grieved by various trials,
that the genuineness of your faith… may be found to praise, honor, and glory
at the revelation of Jesus Christ.”
— 1 Peter 1:6–7

These trials—whether brought on by others’ sin or the brokenness of the world—are not wasted.

They are tools in the hands of a loving God who is shaping us, refining us, and conforming us to the image of Christ.

The Good That God Promises

Romans 8:28 is often quoted, but verse 29 holds the key:

“And we know that all things work together for good
to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose.
For whom He foreknew, He also predestined to be conformed to the image of His Son…”

The “good” is not always comfort or resolution.
The good is that we are being shaped to look more like Jesus.

Even through heartbreak.
Even through injustice.
Even through desolation.

A Final Word

Tamar’s story reminds us that pain is real—and not every story ends with earthly restoration.
But Scripture also reminds us that God is not done writing our story when we are hurting.

He draws near.
He sees.
He saves.

And He works, even through the ashes, to form something new.

So if you are walking through grief, injustice, or heartbreak—know this:

You are not alone.
God is close.
And He will not waste your pain.

Unpacking the Weight: Finding Peace in a Stress-Filled Life
A reflection on exhaustion, transformation, and the God who carries us through

You know, I’m just beginning to realize the toll the last few years have taken on me.

I didn’t fully see it at the time—the slow buildup of physical, emotional, and spiritual exhaustion. It crept in quietly as I poured myself into my work. First at a juvenile justice facility, then as the primary therapist for an adolescent intensive outpatient rehab. Both good jobs. Both worthwhile. Both heavy.

It’s been a little over two months since stepping into private practice, and for the first time in a long time, I’m starting to feel like myself again.

The Quiet Cost of Carrying Too Much

I think we all hit these seasons—the ones where we run hard, carry more than we realize, and only stop long enough to feel the weight when we finally set it down.

Now that I’ve had a little space to breathe (and time to reflect), I’ve started considering all of this from a Biblical point of view. And, as always, God’s Word speaks directly into it.

James 1:2–4 reminds us to “count it all joy when we face trials of various kinds.”
Not because the trials themselves feel good—but because they produce something good.

These difficulties are not wasted. They refine us. They transform us.
They shape us into the image of Christ.

Romans 8:28–29 echoes this: All things work together for good—not just for comfort, but for conformity—that we might be shaped more and more into Christlikeness. Sometimes that good is patience. Sometimes it’s endurance. Sometimes it’s simply learning to let go.

Just knowing God is in control and working things for good has helped ease some of the stress.
This is how Paul was able to persevere through suffering with peace and joy (2 Corinthians 4:16–18). He didn’t ignore the pain—he anchored himself in God’s promises.

The Rhythms of Jesus

Jesus Himself modeled a life that included intentional rest and time away.

He carved out moments for solitude.
He stepped away from the crowd.
He prayed often—not just to ask, but to align. To be with the Father.

Psalm 16:8–11 reminds us of what happens when we keep our eyes on God: we will not be shaken. His presence becomes our peace. And often, it’s not our situation that changes first—but our hearts.

Guarding Our Thoughts, Choosing Our Focus

Jesus told us not to let our hearts be troubled (John 14:27). But stress has a way of stealing our peace and focusing our thoughts on everything that’s going wrong.

Proverbs 4:23 reminds us to guard our hearts, because everything flows from them.

That means paying attention to our thoughts—bringing them under the authority of Christ (2 Corinthians 10:5). It means recognizing when our thinking spirals into fear, pessimism, or pressure, and gently redirecting our focus.

I’ve been thinking a lot about Psalm 90:12:
“Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”

That verse feels more real to me now than it ever has.
Lately, the phrase “major on the majors and minor on the minors” has been running through my head—sometimes at odd times (and no, for you therapists reading this, I’m not becoming obsessive, I promise!).

But I am becoming more deliberate.

I’m considering how I spend my time.
What I give my energy to.
What matters enough to carry—and what I can finally set down.

Cultivating Gratitude in the Middle of It All

One practice that’s helping me in this process is giving thanks.

1 Thessalonians 5:18 reminds us to “give thanks in all things.”
Not for all things—but in them.

There’s power in pausing to count what’s still good. To name what we’re thankful for even in seasons of stress or uncertainty. Gratitude doesn’t erase the hard things—it shifts our perspective so we can see the whole picture more clearly.

Learning Peace, One Day at a Time

I’m still learning how to live in this world—how to do meaningful work, carry real burdens, and still protect the inner peace God promises.

It’s not easy.
But it’s possible.
And it starts with small, deliberate choices:

• To rest when needed.

• To pray often.

• To replace lies with truth.

• To be present.

• To give thanks.

• To trust the One who holds all things together—even me.

A Final Thought

If you’ve been carrying more than you realized…
If you’re just starting to feel like yourself again…
If you’re trying to find peace in a world that pulls at your soul—
You’re not alone.

God isn’t asking you to be perfect.
He’s inviting you to walk with Him.
To breathe.
To rest.
To trust.

And He promises that in the midst of it all—He will be your peace.

When Fear Creeps In: Learning to Anchor My Heart in God’s Peace
A reflection on fear, trust, and the comfort of Scripture

Fear.
Not just anxiety.
Not just stress.
Not just a passing moment of nervousness.
But fear—deep, gripping fear—has, at times, been the overriding emotion in my life.

Fear has shaped my decisions, my silence, my words, and my hesitations.
It has caused me to step into things I shouldn’t have—and to back away from things I was called to.
It’s insidious.
It creeps in slowly, slyly—until I suddenly realize it has overtaken me.

And the truth is, fear takes many forms.

Sometimes it’s the fear of death.
Sometimes it’s the fear of failure.
Sometimes it’s the fear of what others will think or how they’ll respond.
Sometimes it’s the fear of the unknown—and sometimes, it’s the fear of what I know all too well.

But ultimately, it’s not the source of fear that matters most.
It’s what we do with it.

Fear Is a Natural Response—Until It Isn’t

Fear, in its truest form, is a God-given emotion.
It’s the internal alarm system that sounds when danger—real or perceived—is near.
Fear can protect us. It’s a necessary survival mechanism.

But when fear becomes chronic, when it shifts from helpful caution to anxious obsession, when it starts whispering what ifs and worst-case scenarios—it becomes bondage.
And that’s not what God intends for us.

Fear is not meant to be a prison.

So what do we do when fear shows up and refuses to leave quietly?

When I’m Afraid, I Turn to Truth

There are several Scripture passages I return to again and again when fear starts to take over. These verses have anchored me in some of the darkest and most uncertain moments of my life—reminding me that God is present, that He is trustworthy, and that I am never alone.

1. I turn to God.

“Cast all your care upon Him, for He cares for you.” — 1 Peter 5:7

When my husband was battling cancer in 2000, this verse became a lifeline. The little chorus “Cast all your cares upon Him” played on repeat in my heart. It reminded me that the same God who had cared for me before would continue to do so—faithfully, tenderly, completely.

2. I focus on the solution, not the storm.

In Matthew 14, Jesus calls Peter to step out of the boat and walk toward Him on the water. Peter obeys—but then he looks at the wind and becomes afraid. He starts to sink.

“Lord, save me!” he cries. And Jesus immediately reaches out and catches him.

The moment Peter shifted his focus from Jesus to the storm, fear took over. I try to remember that when my mind begins to spiral. The solution is always found by looking to Christ—not the chaos.

3. I stop borrowing trouble.

“Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things.” — Matthew 6:34

Fear loves to live in the future. It thrives on hypotheticals. But God invites me to stay in today. To deal with what’s in front of me and trust Him to handle tomorrow.

4. I fix my thoughts on God.

“You will keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on You, because he trusts in You.” — Isaiah 26:3

When I notice my thoughts spiraling into fear, I gently bring them back to God. His character. His promises. His presence. Peace doesn’t come from having all the answers—it comes from knowing Who holds the outcome.

5. I pray. Really pray.

“Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God…” — Philippians 4:6–7

There’s something powerful about bringing fear into the light of prayer. It’s not about saying all the right words—it’s about opening my heart and letting God meet me there. Peace follows—not always immediately, not always easily—but it comes.

6. I return to my refuge.

“I will say of the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress; my God, in Him I will trust.’” — Psalm 91:2

When fear presses in, I remind myself that I have a refuge. I have a hiding place. I have a God who defends, shelters, and strengthens me—no matter what the storm looks like.

Learning to Live Free

I wish I could say that I’ve mastered the art of living without fear. I haven’t.
But I am learning.
I’m learning to notice when fear starts to rise.
I’m learning to turn my heart back toward truth.
I’m learning that even when fear shows up, it doesn’t get to stay in charge.

God never asked me to be fearless.
He just asked me to trust Him more than the fear.

So today, if fear is creeping in—whispering its lies, tightening its grip—remember this:

You are not alone.
You are not powerless.
And you are not without peace.

“The Lord is my light and my salvation—whom shall I fear?”
(Psalm 27:1)