There was a time when I thought life was supposed to flow in a straight line — that if I just worked hard, prayed hard, and held everything together, things would somehow fall into place.
But then life did what it always does — it bent.
And somewhere between holding babies, paying bills, keeping up appearances, and trying not to fall apart, I lost myself.
I woke up one day in a quiet house that didn’t feel like home anymore, staring out at the water near the river, wondering how everything I’d built could crumble so fast.
That morning, I didn’t feel strong.
I didn’t feel faithful.
I didn’t even feel hopeful.
I just felt… empty.
For a long time, I lived in survival mode — doing what I had to do for my kids, for our life, for the next meal or the next bill.
You stop dreaming when you’re just trying to make it through the day.
If you’ve ever been there, you know: survival mode is loud. It’s messy. It’s all-consuming.
You forget what peace even feels like.
But even in that noise — in the chaos and the heartbreak and the exhaustion — something sacred still whispers.
It didn’t come as a lightning bolt or a miracle moment.
It came as a quiet thought on a gray morning by the river:
“You don’t have to fix everything to be loved.”
I think that’s how grace works — not as something we earn by getting our lives in order, but as something that finds us right in the middle of our mess.
That day, I didn’t promise to have it all together.
I just decided to start again — gently.
To make coffee.
To open my Bible.
To breathe.
To trust that even here, God was rebuilding something new.
Now, when life feels heavy, I remind myself that peace doesn’t come from perfection.
It comes from presence — from slowing down long enough to remember that God isn’t waiting for me to clean up the chaos before He shows up.
He’s already here.
In the dishes.
In the carpool lines.
In the tears and the tiny victories.
Grace isn’t the reward at the end of your story — it’s the companion walking beside you through it.
If you’re reading this and you feel like everything’s falling apart, I want you to know something:
You are not broken beyond repair.
You are not forgotten.
You are not alone.
You are simply standing at your riverbend — that sacred turning point where the current slows just long enough for you to breathe again.
Let grace find you there.
It’s been waiting all along.
Before you move on with your day, pause for one small moment and whisper this truth to yourself:
“I don’t have to have it all together to be loved.”
Then exhale — and let that be enough for today.
With love,
Sarah
On the Riverbend
Where faith meets motherhood — and chaos finds grace.