Introduction:
Before you read this, I asked that you pause, not to prepare your mind, but to prepare your heart. What you hold in your hand is not just a collection of memories or reflections. It is the unfiltered truth of my life. The pieces I once had to hide just to survive. These words are my legacy, written with trembling hands and a soul that has fought for every ounce of peace. It now carries. You will read things here that are painful, human, raw, and holy. This includes not only the trauma I endured and the strength I had to build, but also the parts of me that have often been misunderstood or silenced — my softness, my sexuality, my scared connection to my husband, and the way I came to know God in the most intimate bodily ways. The parts of me that make up who I am. I do not separate the spiritual from physical in these pages, because God never asked me to, and I was never truly alone. I believe He met me in both.
This story is not just about who God is, but also about who I am. It’s about the human I was: not perfect, not always brave, and not always right. But reaching. Feeling. Wanting. Loving. Failing. Be coming. It’s about the beauty of being flawed —and the quiet glory of being worthy. It is about a woman who was shaped by pain, but not defined by it. Who found freedom in devotion, softness in surrender, and redemption in places religion often skipped over. This is not a sanitized testimony. This is the truth– the kind that holds scars and devotion, ache, and beauty, weakness and power, a type of brokenness and glory. I wrote this not for pity, not for praise, but for freedom– mine and maybe yours too. Suppose you are willing to read with reverence and not curiosity, with compassion and not judgment. Then I welcome you to the deepest parts of me. Let this speak for me when I can no longer.
~ Flawed by life. Glorious by grace.