I’ve been walking with You for years.
Not perfectly — but faithfully.
Verses memorized,
worship songs on repeat,
teaching Sunday school,
Scripture notes in the margins of my Bible.
But lately?
I don’t recognize myself.
Love feels like duty.
Joy—like a memory.
Peace? I’d pay for a quiet heart.
Patience, kindness, goodness…
I think I left them behind somewhere.
I’m snappy.
Tired.
Easily undone by spilled milk.
or another “Maammmaaa she’s hitting me!”
And the guilt sits heavy —
because I should be bearing fruit.
Shouldn’t I?
Isn’t that what mature faith looks like?
But here I am —
a seasoned believer
with soil that feels dry
and a tree that bears rotten fruit.
Still,
something tells me…
You know my heart.
You’re not disappointed.
You’re not measuring me
by how calm I was at breakfast
or how gently I spoke at bedtime.
You see the hidden things.
The whispered prayers
over folded laundry.
The surrender in the middle of
another meltdown — mine or theirs.
The love that keeps showing up
even when it doesn’t feel lovely.
You see the unseen.
The tiny seed sprouting
in the quiet, unseen parts of me
where You still live
and still love me.
Even when I feel empty.
So here I am, Lord —
tired hands, tangled thoughts,
a heart that wants to love well
but keeps coming up short.
I can’t do this without You.
Grow Your fruit in me —
love that lingers, joy that lasts,
peace that steadies the storm inside.
Make me a better Christian,
A kinder wife,
a gentle mother,
a better woman,
a truer branch on Your vine.
Not by my effort,
but by Your Spirit.
Because I’m still Yours —
and You’re still enough.
