Tag: Faith

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10 Bible Verses for When You’re Overthinking Everything

10 Bible verses for overthinking and anxious thoughts

Last week I had one of those days.

The kind where it feels like all the little doubts you normally keep neatly tucked away suddenly collide into one big manure pile of solid poop.

My pastor used to call it stinking thinking.

I’m way past the monthly PMS chaos. Honestly, menopause and HRT have stabilized my hormones in a way I’ve never experienced before. I’m a pretty calm and steady gal these days.

Except, apparently, when I forget to order my estrogen and go without it for five days.

Then, not so steady Freddy.

Last Monday, I was eagerly awaiting my estrogen in the mail. What I may have forgotten was that I also needed a little extra grace that day.

I woke up convinced my face was wrong. My hair was too long. Basically, the entire situation from the neck up needed immediate intervention.

So naturally, I called my daughter and asked for a haircut.

I had literally been in the salon five days earlier getting a new color and hairstyle that I loved. So this must have come as somewhat of a surprise to her.

But why stop at hair?

Within a few hours, I had also decided I couldn’t write anymore.

I wasn’t good at anything.

And I was probably going to end up like some dried up old spinster from a Jane Austin novel.

There was exactly zero evidence supporting this theory. My relationship is wonderful and my safety net of family and friends is wide. But apparently my estrogen-deprived brain was not interested in evidence.

It was interested in building a case.

By 10 a.m., I had managed to mentally dismantle my appearance, career, all relationships and general usefulness to society.

I haven’t spiraled like that in probably 20 years.

Thanks a lot, estrogen.

Then my writing partner called.

He could hear it in my voice immediately and asked what was wrong. And it all came spilling out. Every irrational fear, every insecurity, every ridiculous conclusion I’d managed to reach before most people finished their second cup of coffee.

He listened to my teary confession and snotty hiccups and then asked if he could pray for me.

Of course I said yes.

And something shifted.

Clearly not every problem in my life vanished. To be fair, I don’t even have any major problems right now. It was that suddenly I could see the difference between an actual problem and the gloomy little cloud I’d created in my own head.

It reminded me of something I sometimes forget:

Spiritual warfare is real.

And apparently, hormones are too.

I had woken up overthinking everything and spent the morning basically torturing myself with thoughts that weren’t even true.

But once I brought God into the picture, things started to clear.

I spent the rest of that day praying scripture and reminding myself of who God says I am instead of listening to the unreliable narrator living inside my head.

And because God has a droll sense of humor, my estrogen arrived that very afternoon.

I got back on track, and within a day or two, I felt completely normal again.

But the experience stayed with me.

It reminded me of the power of prayer. Of God sending us a lifeline when we need one. And of how important it is to have Scripture tucked away for the days when our minds start telling us stories that simply aren’t true.

Whether your dark day is caused by a hormone crash, heartbreak, fear, exhaustion, uncertainty or absolutely nothing you can identify, these are some of the verses I come back to when my brain won’t shut up.

1. Philippians 4:6–7 — When your mind won’t stop spinning

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.”

I love that we’re not simply told, Stop worrying.

We’re told what to do instead.

Pray. Ask. Thank Him and Hand it over.

And then comes the promise of God’s peace guarding our hearts and our minds.

Sometimes I need that last part most.

2. 2 Corinthians 10:5 — When your thoughts start running the show

“We take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.”

Not every thought deserves to be believed.

That sounds ridiculously obvious until you’re three hours into a completely fictional crisis your own brain created.

Sometimes I have to stop and ask myself: Is this actually true? Or is this just a thought I have allowed to move in, unpack its suitcase and redecorate?

Take it captive.

3. Isaiah 26:3 — When you need to redirect your focus

“You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in you.”

Notice where the mind is pointed. It’s not inward or conversely, towards every possible worst-case scenario.

It’s towards God.

Peace doesn’t always come because the circumstances change. Sometimes it comes because we change where we’re looking.

4. Romans 12:2 — When your thinking needs a reset

“Be transformed by the renewing of your mind.”

I love the word renewing.

Because sometimes my mind needs exactly that. It needs a reset. It doesn’t need another hour analyzing the problem or another conversation with myself. Not another imaginary scenario.

It just craves Truth.

5. Psalm 139:23–24 — When you can’t tell what’s real anymore

“Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts.”

This is such an honest prayer.

God, you know what’s happening in here. Show me what is true.

Show me what’s fear or simply insecurity. What’s this old baggage or story I’m clinging to? What’s something I genuinely need to address?

And what’s just five days without hormones.

6. Matthew 6:34 — When you’re living tomorrow before it gets here

“Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.”

Overthinkers are excellent time travelers.

We can experience Thursday’s hypothetical catastrophe on Monday morning.

Jesus keeps bringing us back to today.

What actually needs my attention right now?

Usually, it’s far less than I’ve convinced myself.

7. Proverbs 3:5–6 — When you desperately want to figure everything out

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.”

This one gets harder the more capable you are.

Figuring things out pleases me. I like solutions. I like knowing where things are going.

But sometimes there isn’t enough information yet.

Sometimes trust has to fill the space where answers haven’t arrived.

8. Psalm 46:10 — When you need to stop

“Be still, and know that I am God.”

Not fix it.

We aren’t called to analyze it, ask AI, send an unnecessary text, or replay the conversation for the 47th time.

We are told to be be still.

This may be one of the hardest Bible verses ever written for an overthinker.

9. 1 Peter 5:7 — When you’re carrying something you weren’t meant to carry

“Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.”

I sometimes picture myself physically handing Jesus the thing I’m obsessing over. I imagine myself standing at a waterfall as I fork over my burdens one by one. He tosses them over the side of the falls and poof they are gone. Lost in a torrent of grace and mercy.

Here Jesus. You take it. Because clearly, I am not doing particularly well with it.

There’s something incredibly tender about the reason Peter gives us: because He cares for you. We aren’t bothering God with our worries. He wants us to bring them to Him.

10. Philippians 4:8 — When you need to change the channel

“Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable…think about such things.”

There it is.

Whatever is true.

Not what might happen.

It isn’t what you’re afraid someone secretly thinks.

Or the imaginary conversation you’ve already had twelve times.

It’s not the conclusion you reached with absolutely no receipts before 8 a.m.

What is true?

Last Monday, the truth was that I could still write.

My hair was fine. Actually, thanks to my hairstylist daughter it’s beautiful.

My face was still my face. Stuck with that.

I was still lovable.

God hadn’t gone anywhere.

And FedEx was bringing estrogen.

All was not lost.

When Your Brain Won’t Be Quiet

I wish I could say I learned this lesson once and never needed it again.

That would be adorable.

But overthinking has a sneaky way of returning when we’re tired, hormonal, hurt, afraid or simply carrying too much stuff around.

What I’ve learned is that I don’t have to believe everything my mind tells me.

I can choose to stop the spiral and pray.

I can open my Bible for encouragement.

I can call someone who knows me well enough to recognize when I don’t sound like myself.

I can go get a blow out from the salon and feel a million times better with a little self-care.

And I can come back to what is true.

Sometimes God changes our circumstances and sometimes He simply changes our perspective.

And every so often, He sends a friend to pray for us at exactly 10 a.m. on a Monday while the estrogen is still somewhere on a delivery truck.

I’ll take all three.

A Simple Guide for Memorizing These Verses

You don’t need to memorize all ten verses by Friday. This is Scripture, not a pop quiz.

The goal is to have a few truths tucked away so deeply that when your thoughts start heading south, you have somewhere else to go.

Start With One Verse

Pick the verse that speaks most directly to whatever you tend to struggle with.

If you worry about the future, start with Matthew 6:34.

If your thoughts tend to run wild, start with 2 Corinthians 10:5.

If you need peace, start with Philippians 4:6–7.

If you struggle to separate fear from fact, start with Philippians 4:8 and those three little words: Whatever is true.

Write your verse on a sticky note. Put it on your bathroom mirror. Make it your phone wallpaper. Write it in your journal. Say it out loud while you’re driving.

(My sweet daughter Kolby has about 100 sticky notes and encouraging verses on the walls next to her bed. She can’t open her eyes without seeing a word for the day)

Give yourself a week with one verse before moving on to another.

Try the 10-Second Reset

When you feel yourself starting to spiral, stop for ten seconds and ask:

What am I thinking right now?

Then ask:

Is it true?

Finally:

What does God say?

That’s where your memorized verse comes in.

Instead of letting the thought continue unchecked, replace it with something you know is true.

Grab Your Journal and Turn the Verse Into a Prayer

You don’t need an eloquent prayer.

If you’re anxious, Philippians 4 might become:

God, I’m anxious right now. I’m giving this situation to You. Please guard my heart and my mind and give me Your peace.

If you’re imagining the worst:

God, help me focus on what is true instead of what I’m afraid might be true.

Sometimes that’s enough to interrupt the mental meltdown.

Build a “Bad Day” Note on Your Phone

Create a note called something like:

READ THIS BEFORE LOSING YOUR SPIT

Put your favorite verses in it.

Then add a few reminders that are personally true:

God is still here.

I don’t have to solve everything today.

Feelings aren’t the truth.

I can wait before reacting.

I can call someone I trust.

I can pray before I panic.

And, in my particular case:

Check whether you’ve taken your estrogen before making any major life decisions.

Give Yourself a 24-Hour Rule

When you’re in a genuinely bad mental moment, sometimes the wisest thing you can do is nothing yet.

Don’t end the relationship.

Don’t quit the job.

Don’t send the five-paragraph rant text.

Don’t cut your own bangs.

Pray. Sleep. Eat something. Take a walk. Talk to someone wise. Read Scripture.

Then revisit the situation when the emotional fog has lifted.

Finally, Don’t Do It Alone

One of the biggest lessons from my estrogen-deprived Monday wasn’t simply that I needed Scripture.

I needed another person. I call those Jesus with skin on.

My writing partner heard something in my voice that morning that I couldn’t recognize in myself. He stopped and prayed for me when I wasn’t doing a particularly good job of finding my own way out.

We need people like that.

Find one or two people you can call when your thoughts are getting dark, anxious or irrational. Give them permission to remind you of what is true.

Because sometimes we memorize Scripture so we can preach truth to ourselves.

And sometimes God lovingly sends someone else to preach it back to us.

-Sam

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The Exhaustion of Almost

unrecognizable female traveler strolling on path towards ocean

There’s a strange kind of exhaustion that happens in the last mile.

Not the dramatic beginning where everything falls apart. Not the messy middle where adrenaline and caffeine carry you through while you pretend you’re “fine” and accidentally use dry shampoo as a personality trait.

No, I’m talking about the last stretch.

The part where the rainbow is finally visible, but your legs suddenly feel heavier than ever.

That’s where I’ve been lately.

Back in January, I started writing another book. It pulls from real-life emotions and situations that hit close enough to home that sometimes the lines between fiction and reality blur a little more than I expected.

And somewhere along the way… I got stuck.

Not because life is bad. Ironically, life is actually good.

Work is good.
My kids are good.
My friends are incredible.
I’m healthy.
I laugh a lot.
There’s love in my life.
Peace, even.

Which honestly feels suspicious sometimes because I spent years functioning like a woman emotionally trained by plot twists.

This summer, another book I co-authored with Paul Aubin called The Family Secret comes out in August, and I’m genuinely excited about it. It’s currently in final proofing and typesetting with the publisher which sounds very glamorous until you realize it mostly involves staring at commas and wondering why chapter headers suddenly feel deeply personal.

I think this new project was my attempt to keep the momentum going. Keep producing. Keep building. Keep creating.

Because when you’re a writer, there’s this weird pressure to always have “the next thing” cooking.

Like sourdough moms.
But emotionally unstable.

But maybe what I actually needed wasn’t more momentum.

Maybe I needed a breath.

An emotional tune-up.
A rebuilding season.
A quieter pace without guilt attached to it.

After sixteen years of writing books, blogs, articles, and stories, I’ve learned something important:

Sometimes creative burnout isn’t about failure.
Sometimes it’s about emotional saturation.

Sometimes you’ve simply lived too much of the story while trying to write it.

And maybe that’s where I’ve been.

I think for years I created from adrenaline:
heartbreak,
reinvention,
survival mode,
stress,
hope,
grit,
coffee.

Definitely coffee.

But peace is quieter.

Peace doesn’t bang pots and pans demanding to become art immediately. Peace just sits softly in the room waiting for your nervous system to stop pacing long enough to notice it.

And maybe that changes creativity too.

Maybe the spark doesn’t disappear forever.
Maybe it just gets tired.
Maybe it needs rest instead of pressure.
Maybe it comes back slower, steadier, healthier.

I’m beginning to think maybe peace plus a tiny spark is actually enough fuel for the next chapter.

Not frantic striving.
Not proving.
Not forcing.

Just a little hope.
A little rest.
A little curiosity returning.

Maybe creativity comes back the same way healing does:
quietly…
gradually…
without announcing itself first.

And maybe the last mile feels the hardest because deep down, somewhere underneath the weariness, you already know you’re going to make it.

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Is Working From Home ‘Career Suicide’… or Just Motherhood

light blinding woman driving car

The Truth About Working From Home (No One Talks About)

I read an article about Emma Grede from Skims saying working from home is basically “career suicide.”

And I get what she’s saying.

But also… I don’t.

Because here’s the part no one puts in the headline:

Working from home can be a little lonely.

Yes, I have client meetings. Zoom calls. A few in-persons sprinkled throughout the week.
But there are days I realize I haven’t really interacted with another human in hours.

I find myself living for the gym—just to be around people.
Craving the end of the day when my girls walks through the door.
Missing the easy camaraderie of workplace friendships… the “grab a coffee and vent for five minutes” kind of connection.

That part? It’s real.

But here’s the other truth…

I only have two more years with my youngest at home.

And for the past two years, I’ve spent about three hours a day driving her around.

Yes. Three hours.

Was it inconvenient? Absolutely.
Did it interfere with work? Definitely.
Would I have been able to do that from an office?

Not even close.

And would I trade it?

Not for one second.

Because those car rides?
They weren’t just car rides.

They were conversations.
They were laughter.
They were the quiet, unplanned moments where your child opens up about things they wouldn’t say across a dinner table.

Moments I would have missed.

The Part We Don’t Say Out Loud

Emma Grede talks about being a “three-hour mom” on the weekends to her four kids.

And I thought—that’s interesting.

Because I’m a three-hour mom too.

Just… every day.

In the car.
In the kitchen.
In the in-between moments where she wanders into my “office” (which is really just my bedroom) and flops on the bed to decompress and tell me about her day.

Those moments aren’t scheduled.

They’re not efficient.

They don’t show up on a productivity tracker.

But they are everything.

The Trade-Off No One Wants to Admit

Being a deeply engaged mom—really present—comes with sacrifice.

And if we’re being honest?

It’s usually women making it.

Do men have to make that same trade-off? Not often.
Do their careers take a hit? Rarely.

Has mine?

Probably.

But here’s the thing…

The value of what I’ve gained isn’t measurable in promotions or paychecks.

It’s intrinsic.
It’s eternal.
It’s priceless.

So… Is Working From Home “Career Suicide”?

Maybe.

Or maybe it depends on what you think your life is for.

Do I miss the office sometimes?

Yes.

Do I miss the energy, the people, the structure?

Also yes.

Will I go back one day?

Maybe I’ll open an office again when she graduates.

But right now?

I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Soaking up the last of these years.
Being available.
Being present.
Being her mom—not just in title, but in real, everyday life.

And I can say this with absolute certainty:

These years of mothering my three kids…
have been the most precious gift God has ever given me.

-Samantha

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The Power of Surrender in Healing

person with white flag standing on rock near nevado de toluca in mexico

I love a good plan.
A timeline.
A tidy little beginning–middle–end story arc where everything heals on schedule and I get to feel productive about it.

This season did not RSVP to that plan.

I’m dealing with autoimmune issues right now, most likely thanks to taking round after round of antibiotics for an infection I never even had. Fun twist: turns out I didn’t have an infection at all — I just bruised my kidneys in a car accident. So yes, misdiagnosis, medicine overload, and now my immune system is out here freelancing.

10/10 experience. Would not recommend.

My body hurts. Everything I eat inflames me. And there is no button to push that says “expedite healing, please.” No hack. No shortcut. No cute productivity system.

Just… time.

Which is rude.

And the truth is, worrying about it doesn’t help. Overthinking it doesn’t heal me faster. Spiraling about timelines doesn’t magically regenerate organs. It just steals joy from today — quietly, efficiently, and without asking permission.

And I’m done donating joy to anxiety.

Katherine Mansfield said it perfectly:
“Everything in life that we really accept undergoes a change.”

Not what we fight.
Not what we resent.
Not what we obsess over.
What we accept.

So today, I’m practicing surrender.

Not the dramatic kind.
Not the “give up on life and lie on the floor” kind.
The soft kind.
The holy kind.
The quiet kind.

The kind that says:
Okay. This is what is.
This is the body I’m in today.
This is the season I’m walking through.
This is the pace of healing.

And I stop trying to argue with reality.

Spiritually, it looks like this:

Hands up.
Control down.
Ego seated.
Expectations released.

“You are enough, God.
This thorn I carry is mine.
Okay. Here I am, Lord.
Use me.”

Not when I’m better.
Not when I’m stronger.
Not when I’m fixed.
Not when the story is prettier.

Now.

Because surrender isn’t quitting — it’s trusting.
Acceptance isn’t weakness — it’s wisdom.
And healing doesn’t start when the situation changes…
it starts when the posture does.

So today, I’m letting go of the struggle.
Letting the healing process begin.
Letting God hold what I keep trying to micromanage.

And choosing peace over panic.
Presence over pressure.
Faith over force.

Soft. Surrendered.
Still standing. Still believing. Still becoming.

–Sam

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The Cling of Faith: Lessons from a Holiday Hug

I was Christmas shopping at the mall with my boyfriend and my daughter—the kind of outing that feels festive and exhausting all at once.

I was not at my best.

I had a cold. I was run down. Fatigued in a way where your soul needs a nap, not just your body. All I wanted in that moment was hot peppermint tea and mercy.

So we stopped at a Coffee Bar and ordered.

As we waited, I turned to my boyfriend and said, “I’ve basically felt like a sloth all week.”

Without hesitation, he laughed and said I was his little sloth, opened his arms, and pulled me in for a big, warm hug. The kind that makes your nervous system exhale.

And because I was fully committed to the bit, I wrapped one leg around him—sloth-style—like I was clinging to a tree branch for dear life.

We cracked up.

A man walking by stopped and stared. Like really stared. Which made us laugh even harder. My boyfriend joked that the guy probably wasn’t used to seeing that much affection—and honestly, there was a look of longing on his face that stuck with me.

At the time, it was just a funny moment. One of those unscripted flashes of joy you don’t plan for.

But God had plans.

Later that night, I sat down to do my devotion, and the topic was union with God.

The exercise was simple:
Place your palms together. This represents intimacy.
Now, intertwine your fingers. This represents union.

And instantly, my mind went back to the mall.

The hug earlier that day? That was intimacy. Close. Warm. Comforting.

But when I wrapped my leg around my boyfriend—when I clung—that was something more. That was union. Not in a sexual way. Just connection. Integration. Two becoming linked instead of merely touching.

And suddenly, I realized…

That’s what I want with God.

I don’t just want moments of closeness.
I don’t want drive-by prayers or once-in-a-while spiritual hugs.

I want union.

I want to intertwine my life with Him.
I want to cling.
I want to be the little sloth wrapped so tightly around the tree that separation doesn’t even make sense.

His Spirit in me.
Me holding onto Him.
God in me, and I in Him.

Because life apart from God? That’s a barren wilderness. Dry. Exhausting. Performative. I’ve lived there. I know that terrain well.

But abiding? Remaining? Union?

That’s where life flows.

Jesus said, “I am the vine; you are the branches.”
Branches don’t visit the vine.
They don’t check in occasionally.
They stay connected—or they wither.

I don’t want to visit God anymore.
I want to abide.

I want to know Him deeply. Live integrated. Become one. Not striving, not grasping, not white-knuckling my way through life—but clinging in trust.

Like a sloth on a tree.
Held. Supported. At rest.

And maybe the healing we’re all longing for isn’t found in trying harder…
but in holding closer.

-Samantha

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God, the Stag, and My Control Issues

Sometimes the most jarring wake-up calls are the sacred ones.

It was early morning, the darkest hour before dawn, when the world feels both half-asleep and half-holy.
My mind raced ahead: carpool, client calls, meal planning. It was the usual pre-sunrise chaos.

The roads were empty as I crossed the bridge into Ladera Ranch—a deep canyon below, a sports park to the side. Routine, until suddenly, it wasn’t.

Out of the darkness, a flash of a movement in front of me.

A stag appeared, massive and majestic, impossible to miss. We locked eyes for a single breathless second. Beauty, strength, power. And then came the impact.

The front right side of my car struck him hard. It felt like I’d hit a brick wall. My hands clutched the steering wheel as the car buckled and screeched, metal groaning beneath me. Somehow, I managed not to lose control.

I slowed to a stop and looked back just in time to see the great animal stagger, then collapse. I sat there frozen, tears already spilling, unsure what to do. I was on a bridge with nowhere safe to pull over, and my car sounded like it was falling apart. Truthfully, I was falling apart too. Every light on the dashboard flashed red, screaming at me. I whispered frantic prayers, hoping the awful clicking sound wasn’t his antlers caught under my car.

When I made it home, I rushed inside sobbing. My girls hugged me and let me cry. We rearranged carpool.

Then I called my dad. He’s the one person who always picks up before dawn. He talked me down, guided me through insurance and accident reporting, and reminded me to breathe.

The repair bill was close to $10,000.
But the damage to my spirit? It raised far deeper questions.

Because I didn’t just hit a deer.
It was a stag.

The Weight of What It Meant

That morning has haunted me. Every time I drive over that bridge now, especially at night, my chest tightens. I slow down. I look both ways. And I wonder what God was trying to show me.

I felt like I’d just murdered Bambi—well, a grown-up, fully-antlered version of him anyway. I took down one of God’s creatures, and my heart just broke. It wasn’t roadkill; it felt personal.

The stag has always symbolized strength and masculinity, this noble, almost sacred energy. In myth and Scripture, he’s the king of the forest, the protector, even a reflection of Christ Himself. So why on earth did I have to collide with that?

Maybe because I needed to.

You see, I’m writing a book right now about faith and femininity, about reclaiming softness in a world that applauds hustle. That morning felt like a divine object lesson, one I never would have asked for.

I could almost hear God’s sigh, “Sweetheart, you can ease off the gas now. You’ve been driving in your masculine lane way too long.”

It felt like a turning point. It was one of those moments when God gently reminds you that strength isn’t about control anymore. It’s about humility. About letting go of the striving so something softer, wiser, and truer can rise up in its place.

And that pierced me deeper than the impact.

What the Stag Showed Me

As a single mom and business owner, I’ve lived in masculine energy for years, always leading, fixing, and solution finding. It kept me afloat, but also made me guarded.

Now I’m with a beautifully masculine man who cherishes and protects me, making it safe to soften. For (almost) two years now, I’ve been learning to exhale. With him, I can live in lightheartedness and peace, enjoying the grace of being emotionally cared for. I get to be the woman who laughs easily, moves slowly, and radiates calm.

I can release the control.
I can choose quietness over power.
I get to live in that quiet confidence of the feminine that trusts she’s protected and secure.

And not in some cringey, submissive way—please, I’m way past that—but in a beautiful rhythm where the masculine and feminine actually dance instead of me clumsily stepping on his toes and trying to lead.

A Cosmic Collision

Hitting a stag stays with you. It doesn’t just bruise your bumper; it leaves a mark on your soul. The beauty of the creature and the violence of the moment exist together in this unbearable tension.

And maybe that’s the point.

The coexistence of beauty and destruction in transformation.
The reality that awakening often costs something sacred.
And a deep reverence for life itself.

-Samantha

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Gracefully Removing Yourself from a Dumpster Fire: How-to

a hand holding a mug near the wooden table with letter board

There comes a moment in most women’s lives, usually somewhere between the group text meltdown and post-dance mom competition, when it hits you:
“Wait… are we just… gossiping right now?”

And then there’s the slow horror of knowing it’s your turn to say something. Or not.
You feel it in your stomach. Your conscience is squirming. Your inner people-pleaser is sweating bullets.
You want to shut it down.
You also want to avoid sounding like a total jerk.

Because let’s be honest:
Most of us don’t want to be that girl.
(You know, the one who starts quoting Proverbs mid-convo while everyone’s still passing guac and chips.)

But you also don’t want to sit there and give approval while someone verbally sets fire to another human being’s reputation.

So what’s a grown ass woman, with decent boundaries and a heart for Jesus, supposed to do?

First off: It’s going to feel weird, and that’s okay.

Standing up to gossip feels uncomfortable. Especially when it’s subtle. When it’s dressed up in concern. Or half-whispers. Or Christianese.

No one hands you a script. No angel shows up and says, “Speak now, O daughter of the King!”
It’s just you, your conscience, and your internal dialogue freaking out:
“Do I say something? Do I fake a bathroom emergency? Do I order another drink and hope this goes away?”

Here’s the good news: you don’t have to make it awkward. You just have to make a choice.

Here are my 5 Favorite Ways to Shut It Down

1. The Casual Pivot

“Oh wow. Hey, have you tried that new taco place by Target? So yummy.”

This is your smooth redirection, like you used to do with your toddlers when they wouldn’t give up a friend’s toy. Your emergency exit. Bonus points if it’s a totally unrelated topic like gluten-free muffins or microblading your eyebrows. No one will know what hit them.

2. The Unexpected Compliment (my personal favorite)

“You know, I’ve actually seen her handle that really well. She’s been through a lot.”

It lands softly, but it hits hard. You just quietly reminded everyone there’s a whole human behind the tea.

3. The “It’s Me, Not You” Move

“I’m working on not repeating stuff I didn’t hear firsthand. Could we change the subject?”

It’s the modern vibe of “Girl, you do you, and I’ll do me.” You’re not calling them out. You’re owning your own growth. No shame. Just a quick shift of gears with a side of maturity.

4. Poof! Gone

“Be right back!”
(This is where you hide in the bathroom)

You’re allowed to leave the conversation. Even mid-sentence. Even if it’s your mom group, small group, or carpool crew.

5. Stop and Pray

“Let’s pray for her.”

Depending on your audience, this may bring things to a halt. Or it may get awkward. Real awkward. But hey, sometimes, doing the right thing isn’t easy. At the very least, it plants a seed and shifts the topic.

The Harsh Truth

“A gossip betrays a confidence; so avoid anyone who talks too much.”
— Proverbs 20:19

Look. This doesn’t mean ghost your friend for life because she shared something she shouldn’t have.
It just means, don’t match her energy.
Don’t pick up what’s not yours to carry.
Don’t toss logs on a fire you weren’t called to ignite.

A Few Reminders

  • You can be wise and warm.
  • You can protect peace without preaching a 3-point sermon.
  • You can excuse yourself from the table without making a scene.

This isn’t about shutting people down. It’s about not letting someone else’s verbal diarrhea suck you in.

You’re not the gossip police.
You’re just trying to honor truth more than drama…and that is more aligned with the heart of Jesus.

Reflect

  • When was the last time I sat in a gossip-y conversation and said nothing, but felt awful?
  • What would it look like to leave one of those moments with quiet dignity instead of regret?
  • What phrase should I keep in my back pocket to pull out for next time? And I promise you, there will be a next time. With women…there always is.

Keep fighting the good fight.

—Sam

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10 Bible Verses for Anxious Moms (That Actually Help)

Personal Note from One Mama to Another

I’m watching my darling daughter-in-law juggle two babies under two, and I’m taken right back. I remember those days of complete surrender—when a quiet time, a shower, and maybe a quick workout (AKA a brisk walk with the stroller) defined self-care and sanity. In those early years, there was a fine line between letting go of anxiety and letting in the moments that took my breath away: tiny arms wrapped around my neck, first words and giggles, the magic of seeing the world through brand-new eyes. Was I terrified a seagull might eat my itty-bitty newborn when we walked on the pier? Yes-but I pushed through the new mommy phase and gained confidence one sippy cup at a time.

But then life got busier—school drop-offs, sports, scraped knees, and building a life that felt both full and complete. And then, the bottom fell out. I became a single mom. And anxiety? It stopped being an occasional visitor and became a constant companion. When you’re carrying the financial weight, the emotional load, and the spiritual burden alone—it’s no longer just stress. It’s survival.

During that season, quiet time wasn’t a sweet addition to my day—it was my oxygen. I couldn’t breathe without God’s presence. I still can’t.

Motherhood will test you in ways you never imagined. It will grow you, stretch you, and sanctify you. These verses below are the ones I’ve clung to in the early years, the single-parent years, and now—as I raise my youngest teen daughter and watch my children become parents themselves.

If you’re reading this while wiping tears or eating leftover macaroni off your toddler’s plate and calling it lunch—these verses are for you, too.

You’re Not Alone: What the Research Says

If you’ve ever wondered, “Is it just me?”—the answer is a compassionate no.

  • The American Psychological Association found that 46% of moms report high levels of stress, especially those with children under 18.
  • A 2023 study in The Journal of Affective Disorders revealed that moms are especially vulnerable to anxiety and depression due to role overload, sleep deprivation, and cultural expectations.
  • And here’s the hope: A 2019 study in Psychology of Religion and Spirituality found that spiritual practices—like prayer, scripture meditation, and trusting in God—are linked to reduced anxiety and greater emotional resilience.
  • Neuroscientist Dr. Andrew Newberg even found that consistent spiritual habits can physically change the brain to help you stay calmer and more emotionally grounded over time.

In other words, your quiet time isn’t just a spiritual discipline—it’s a healing practice.

The Scriptures That Carried Me—And Still Do

Here are 10 verses that helped anchor me in the stormiest seasons of motherhood. I return to them often—and I pray they speak life and peace over you today:

1. Philippians 4:6–7

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God…”
➡️ God invites you to release the worry and come to Him with every messy, real fear.

2. Isaiah 26:3

“You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in you.”
➡️ Peace is promised—not perfection—when your eyes stay fixed on Him.

3. 1 Peter 5:7

“Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.”
➡️ God isn’t distant. He’s a loving Father who wants your burdens.

4. Matthew 11:28–30

“Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest…”
➡️ You don’t have to earn rest. It’s your inheritance.

5. Psalm 94:19

“When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought me joy.”
➡️ Even in spiraling moments, His comfort reaches you.

6. John 14:27

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you… Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.”
➡️ Jesus offers a kind of peace the world can’t mimic—steady, deep, and real.

7. Proverbs 3:5–6

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding…”
➡️ You don’t have to figure everything out. Trust unfolds peace.

8. Psalm 121:1–2

“I lift up my eyes to the mountains—where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord…”
➡️ God is your steady help when you feel like falling apart.

9. Lamentations 3:22–23

“Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning…”
➡️ Motherhood may deplete you—but God’s mercy refills you daily.

10. Zephaniah 3:17

“The Lord your God is with you… He will quiet you with his love…”
➡️ God doesn’t just fix problems. He soothes your anxious heart with His presence.

Bonus Resources for Your Journey

If you’re looking for more support, encouragement, or just a good cry-laugh while folding laundry, here are some grace-filled reads:

📚 “Mom Set Free” by Jeannie Cunnion
📚 “Midnight Mom Devotional” by Becky Thompson
📚 “Calm My Anxious Heart” by Linda Dillow
📚 “Rhythms of Renewal” by Rebekah Lyons

A Final Word, Mama

You don’t have to carry all of this alone. Your anxiety doesn’t disqualify you. You’re not a bad mom because you cry in the pantry or lose your marbles in Target. You are human. You are held. And you are wildly, fiercely, faithfully loved by a God who is not overwhelmed by your overwhelm.

He is with you in the endless bottle sterilization, in the pickup line, in the midnight teething wakeups—and right now, in this moment, as you take a deep breath and read these words.

And if no one has told you today: You’re doing better than you think.

-Samantha

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Divine Resilience: God’s Lavish Love When Life Takes Unexpected Turns

Last fall, I prayed a prayer. A rather greedy prayer, but my heart was hungry–a roaring hunger for something deeper than the ordinary. I wanted a glimpse of the divine. Some reassurance HE hears me.

I needed a whisper, a Holy Spirit high five, a manna flyover. The rhema word. Just something. Can I get a Jesus with skin on, please?

On my bed, snuggled in tight, early in the darkness of the morning, coffee cup by my side, with tears rolling down my face, I pleaded, “God, will you show me a sign of lavish love?”

I wrote the words in my journal and closed up my little bookstore in peace. I say bookstore, because I generally have about 5-10 books and devotionals in my morning nest, with blankets and pillows and sometimes my dog cuddled at my feet. It’s the best part of my day. The stillness, The sacred. The words that pour out of my heart. The promises I say over and over to remind myself of the truth. And the beauty of a God that is so close.

I knew He would answer. I didn’t know how. But I knew enough to wait, to watch and to be curious.

On some level, I thought he might show me a sign of romantic love. But a few days later I knew it was finally time to end an on-again off-again relationship. Maybe the lavish love was the solace of being alone?

All I knew was it felt bad…but then strangely good. I felt relief.

Over and over, as I mature as a believer, I find what appears to be abysmal circumstances are actually GIFTS from God. I just have to unwrap them and do the work.

My lavish love wasn’t going to be tied up in pretty wrapping. It might look like a capsizing ship or a fiery trial.

They say be careful what you pray for…

It started with one of THOSE weeks. The kind that Murphy invented. When everything that can go wrong, does. So DARN WRONG.

I got a serious health scare. Abnormal lab results. The waiting.

There were prayers and anxiety and tears until I surrendered like a child.

Finally, the appointment.

And while the news wasn’t great, it was fixable.

And I felt loved. Lavishly.

That evening my engine blew up on the freeway as I was on my way to pick up my daughter from dance. My power steering went out and my brakes. It’s always an adventure traveling on the 5 freeway at 75mph and losing the ability to steer or stop.

I dragged the wheel as hard as I could and tried to pull over, but the car just kept going and then rolled down an off-ramp. It finally slowed and came to a stop at the corner of a major intersection one hot second before I careened into oncoming traffic. I was blocking a lane, but I was alive. It was dark and I was in a construction zone. But I was alive.

Did I say I was alive?

I’m just a little grateful here. Beholden. Delighted. Filled with gratitude.

A man pulled his car up next to me and rolled down his window. He waved at me to come over. My Spidey senses were on high alert. I approached with trepidation, ready to use kickboxing or hair pulling if necessary. (I’ve seen the trailer for Taken, so I know the signs!).

But this guy was more angel than villain. He hopped out of his car and jumped into action. Turns out my hero was a mechanic in overalls. He grabbed some tools and tried to charge the battery, but my car was not responding to the CPR. Super Dude thought it was the fuel pump and encouraged me to call AAA.

Which I did. After I stopped hyperventilating and reeled in the dying cat noises.

He also told me the safest place to stand as cars flew by. It was dark, cold and truly terrifying. But this man made it feel strangely safe. Peace in the midst of total chaos. I thanked him profusely and he laughed and said he would have stayed with me, but he had to get home because his wife had dinner waiting.

It felt like a little heaven in that moment. A God rescue.

The tow truck took 2 hours to arrive, and I just stood there directing cars who got stuck behind mine. My best friend pulled up an hour later and we waited in her car until the tow guy arrived. A nice and warm toasty car with giggles and her bestie love.

And I felt loved. Lavishly.

The next morning, I woke up with a scratchy throat and a headache. Then the auto shop called. The car was totaled. My only option was to rebuild the engine or donate it to Cars for Kids.

Ouch.

The scratchy throat turned into the flu. Seriously?

A few days later my dad and I went to look at cars. We found a little SUV I wanted with low mileage and a solid price and as I started to give the guy my credit info while coughing up a lung and watching my savings disappear, my stepdad whipped out his check book and said, “don’t bother with that. I got it.”

I’m sorry…what? (Insert happy dance, more coughing and tears)

And I felt loved. Outrageously. Lavishly.

God knew I needed the kind of love and support that only dear friends, random mechanics and a loving dad can bring after you’ve had a relentless shit storm.

I needed Philia: friendship and affectionate love that does not involve any passion or sexual impulse.

I needed Storge: love for family.

I needed Pragma: enduring love by my heavenly Father.

And most of all… Agape: perfect/unconditional love that only the God of the universe provides.

The child, in danger of the fire, just clings to the fireman, and trusts to him alone. She raises no question about the strength of his limbs to carry her, or the zeal of his heart to rescue her; but she clings. The heat is terrible, the smoke is blinding, but she clings; and her deliverer quickly bears her to safety. In the same childlike confidence cling to Jesus, who can and will bear you out of danger from the flames of sin.

Charles Spurgeon

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Is That a Demon On Your Shoulder?

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One of THOSE Days

Birds chirp loudly. The sun assaults my face. Not asleep, but not yet awake, I imagine throwing rocks at the birds.

Wait..what? I like birds. What’s wrong with me? I turn my head and wince. My throat aches, my ear pounds and my head feels heavy and hurty.

Grumpy assaults me and I feel like I got hit by a tequila bottle. It must be the flu. I stumble down the stairs and reach for the coffee pot and Advil.

My daughter Faith wanders downstairs. “Mom, you have to take me to school now, Camille has a volleyball tournament so my ride fell through.”

I look at the clock and growl. I have twenty minutes to get ready for work. Twenty minutes to get two kids out the door in uniforms with packed lunches and backpacks filled with the appropriate gear for the day’s activities. Tim has already left for work and my man/child college student with classes that don’t start until 9:00 am is still snoring. The dog looks at me and sighs.

“I know buddy. No walk. No foot snuggle. This blows cupcakes.”

I gulp my coffee and burn my already sore throat.

Somehow we make it out the door. Faith asks to drive. I say “yes”  reluctantly. Driving my recently permitted daughter stresses me out. She’s not a bad driver, I mean sometimes we run lights and stuff, but really, it’s all the other idiots on the road I worry about.  I smile and nod yes, trying to find the nice mom hiding behind the bear.

I look at my phone and tune out as she drives. It helps with the terror.

After we arrive at the high school I take over and drive Kolby to Krispy Kreme. We load up on donuts and head to her school. I ask her not to eat in the car because we are still dealing with the red crayon marks and Capri Sun stains artistically displayed across the back seat. Did I mention I have only made three car payments on this car?

We park the car and head for the playground. Kolby finds a friend to play with and I head for the bench to rest my sick and weary behind. Along the way a high-spirited game of dodgeball interrupts. A large boy lunges for the ball but plows into me instead. I stumble and sprawl onto the asphalt.

“Sorry mam.” He looks at me with big eyes. I smile weakly, pick myself up, wipe off the dirt covering my nice work pants, then limp over to the bench. I think about suing but decide he probably has a small allowance.

All I want to do is sit. I hurt everywhere. The bench hums a siren song and I blissfully sigh and plop down. But relief does not come. Instead I feel wet. Maybe it’s because I am sitting in a huge puddle.

Bad words head for my mouth. If it wasn’t a Christian school I might erupt.

The END of the Rope

I head to work alternating between weak laughter and snotty hiccup tears.

Then a reminder  pops up on my phone. “Speak at Divorce Care tonight.”

Of course! I forgot. How silly of me.

I am supposed to share words of encouragement and motivate others towards Jesus and healing tonight. I mean I haven’t showered, my voice is hoarse and my ass is a train wreck. I think I’ve got it covered.

No!!!!! I can’t do this. I just want to go back to bed and crank up my electric blanket.

And then I remember the topic of conversation the other night at my pastor’s wives group–“How do you deal with Spiritual Warfare?”

I recall my awkward response. For some weird reason I get totally nervous at these gatherings and act like a weenie because I’m painfully uncomfortable when it comes to spiritual measuring sticks–either real or imagined.

Is That a Demon on Your Shoulder?

The truth is spiritual warfare is one of those weird terms in the church world that people throw around casually. Some folks believe every bad thing that happens is demonic.

Out of toilet paper? It’s probably the demons who used it up. Car broke down? Demons. Broke? Demons. It probably has nothing to do with your spending habits.

While I don’t ascribe every bad thing in the world to Satan, I can say (with all certainty) that I do notice a difference before big events and occasions where God is impacting lives that bizarre stuff happens to pastors and their families. Things like random misunderstandings, arguments, illness, assaults of insecurity and doubt. The week before Christmas and Easter is usually pretty tough to get through.

And when I’m actually in tune enough to identify a spiritual warfare attack, I know it’s time to start praying and ask for others to do so as well.

And this is when the epiphany cracks through my thick skull.

Hey Sam…this is that spiritual warfare moment.

The illness, the puddle, the accident on the playground, the ruined work pants–all coinciding on the day when we head over to talk to a group of people whose hearts have been ravaged by divorce. Hearts who are grasping for a shred of hope to hang on.

Maybe calling and canceling is a terrible idea.

I remember back to when I was sitting in Divorce Care after my ex-husband walked out on me and how much it meant for me to have people pour into my wounded heart and take the time to invest in my healing.

This crap day isn’t some cosmic accident designed to piss me off. It’s a calculated plan to steal my joy, keep me self-absorbed and completely ineffective for the Kingdom of God.

So I close my eyes and pray.

I am no wordsmith when I pray. I don’t quote scripture or use big words. It’s often just grunts and tears.

I whisper a simple thanks. I am grateful that even when I am defeated, whiny and pathetic, I am still loved. I plead for protection and for God to use me in spite of myself.

And the relief finally comes, not from a magical cure or less messy circumstances, but from a loving father who gives me the strength to push through.

Do not grow weary in doing good, for in due season you will reap if you do not lose heart.



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