It was my birthday—March 6, 2025—and the day was just beginning as I slipped into a warm bath. Peering out the big picture window beside me, I watched the tops of the trees turn gold in the morning’s first light.

Like me, the world was waking up.

My thoughts were filled with awe of God’s creativity and power when I felt prompted to hurry if I wanted to catch the full sunrise.

I love a good sunrise.

So I jumped up, wrapped myself in a towel, grabbed my phone, and hurried outside. Thankfully, I live on a few hundred acres with only my adult children as distant neighbors.

I hadn’t yet noticed it, but music from my playlist was still playing as I stepped onto the loft stairs for a better view.

Just in time to watch the sun spill its light over the tree line, I stood there—captivated by the beauty of the moment.

Beams of glorious light turned everything in its path a soft, flaxen yellow. The chilly morning breeze brushed against my wet hair and damp shoulders, and I shivered.

Tree branches bent beneath the weight of the wind, their leaves sounding like clapping hands. Birds rode the thermals high above as squirrels scampered along the ground below. It all seemed wildly celebratory, and I wanted to join in.

Overwhelmed by His Presence, a flood of gratitude for His kindness filled my heart. He had drawn near, and I welcomed Him.

The year before had been painful.

From beginning to end, we experienced life-altering change and loss.

My dad passed away within days of his diagnosis. My mother-in-law’s health deteriorated quickly, leaving her bedridden until her passing just weeks before this birthday. And I lost two aunts and a precious uncle.

Then, our spiritual circle unraveled in ways we never expected. That unraveling proved to be the most disorienting and painful of all.

But that’s a story for another time.

Afterward, there was no real closure—no explanation, no acknowledgment of wrongdoing, no true apologies, and no desire for reconciliation or repair.

The grief and confusion lingered as we continued to hear gossip that echoed through halls we once called home. I struggled to process what had happened and why.

I was heartbroken—angry, deeply frustrated.

For nearly a year, I had been praying the same simple prayer:

“God, please help me forgive.”

Forgiveness felt impossible under the circumstances.

But I yearned for it—I begged God for it.

Daily.

Standing there in the quiet of the morning, remembering and reflecting on the past several months…something shifted.

With tears filling my eyes, I snapped a picture of the sunrise—and in that moment, the Spirit of Love did something I cannot explain in any other way.

He released my heart.

The weight I had carried for so long lifted, and I forgave. A rush of relief washed over me as I realized I was free—untethered.

No birthday gift could’ve been more beautiful.

Almost immediately, I noticed the song still playing on my phone—Revival’s in the Air feat. Melissa Helser. The words were speaking about the dawn bringing newness, and about redemption and forgiveness blowing in on the wind.

Then one lyric rose above the rest:

“He’s better than you dreamed

“And everything you lost, love’s returning.”

It lingered there with me.

In that moment, it was as if God was naming what I was already standing in—a quiet unfolding of what had just taken place in my heart, and what was still to come.

Christ had graciously freed me, yet He was speaking something more—a promise of restoration, healing, and a deeper knowledge of Him.

He had seen it all and understood its impact completely. Somehow, through those lyrics and that sunrise, I sensed the Spirit assuring me that what had been lost would not be wasted.

He would redeem it. All of it.

A little over a year has passed since God met me at sunrise that morning, and two years since our final Sunday with the church we had to leave behind.

The Lord has been faithful to His word.

Slowly and gently, He has been restoring what once felt broken beyond repair.

Nothing within our previous spiritual circle has changed or been resolved, but I’ve given it to God to sort out. I couldn’t have done that without forgiveness.

Our experience has definitely changed the way I see many things.

Grief still hangs its heavy head at times, but the Lord has been merciful in mending my heart and forging a path of faith I didn’t know was possible.

With my eyes on Him, I resolve to remain undistracted when painful memories of the past come calling.

Being able to forgive someone is one thing. Walking in that forgiveness is another.

Only a deep, abiding relationship with Christ makes it possible for me to stay free from resentment when memories press on tender places.

And it is only through the power of the Holy Spirit that I’m able to stay the course and love like Him.

I’ve learned a lot about forgiveness—its beauty, its power, and unfortunately, how sometimes the church can redefine it or even misuse it. Forgiveness is not a weapon to wield or withhold, but a gift to give and receive.

It doesn’t always happen overnight, so it need not be rushed.

For many, forgiveness takes years of hard-fought surrender with the compassionate help of Christ. Practicing patience with yourself and others while on this path is essential.

Forgiving while healing is deep inner work, so God alone knows how to pace it.

I now understand that forgiveness doesn’t pretend something didn’t happen or that it didn’t hurt. It doesn’t deny wrongdoing, look away from the wound, or minimize the consequences.

Instead, it faces the truth honestly—still extending mercy.

Forgiveness doesn’t require me to restore access to those who’ve proven untrustworthy with my heart, nor does it take away my voice—it refines it.

Its language isn’t crowded with hollow platitudes or spiritual clichés that bypass pain.

And it certainly isn’t a magic eraser that removes every trace of injury the moment it’s given.

It’s the release of the pain, the people, the justice, and the outcome into the only hands wise enough to carry them.

Forgiveness means entrusting your wounds—the people tied to them—and every unresolved piece of the story to Jesus—the Wisdom of God—while walking with Him in obedience as He gently weaves the experience into your life.

Patience and self-control slowly bud in secret as you wrestle through sorrow, surrender, and trust.

Eventually, that hidden work bears the visible fruit of love and peace.

Sometimes forgiveness takes a while, especially when wounds run deep and closure never comes the way you hoped it would.

But that’s okay. Just keep seeking it because it is possible, and it is the way of Christ.

If forgiveness feels out of reach for you right now, you’re not alone. God is with you.

He who released what I never could on my own is more than able to do the same for you. Ask Him for help. And then keep asking.

I don’t know why God chose to meet me before breakfast on my birthday—soaking wet, wrapped in a towel, enamored with the sunrise. Or why He waited so long to answer my desperate prayer.

I have my hunches.

But what I do know is that He’s good and wise. He holds my heart in high regard, and I can trust Him.

He’s an on-time God—never late, never early. And He is able to do immeasurably more than my blonde little head could ever imagine.

That’s enough for me.

Forgiveness is possible, friend. It isn’t always easy, but it’s worth the pursuit. Because where there’s forgiveness, there’s freedom.

I know—He met me with it at sunrise.

Photo by Jen Snively

Song mentioned: Revival's In The Air

Late August in the vineyard feels like a sacred pause. The air is still heavy with heat, the fruit is nearly spent, and the vines – having given their best – start to slow. It’s the final act of summer’s abundance.

Peak season begins in late July so by this time in August, the last of the good ones are holding on.

The branches, deeply connected to the vine, have given their all. The fruit, bursting with sweetness, show off its ability to satisfy the palate and whet the appetite. The leaves will soon turn crisp, and fall to the ground. Crunching beneath our feet. And the branches will lie dormant. Not lifeless – just resting.

But until then, strolling through the vineyard, we pick. And snack.

Truth be told, I’m not that fond of this kind of grape. Muscadines have thick skin, and contrary to what my husband says (wink inserted), they have more seed than flesh. It takes all my restraint not to turn every bite into a spitting contest.

But the juice?

That’s a different story. That’s where the power lies.

Squeezing the goodness from the big purple variety is a real treat. A reward for the heat and patience of summer, like you’re doing something supernaturally good for your body – and maybe even your soul – when you drink it. The flavor is bold, full and satisfying. It’s Creation’s sugary kiss. Refreshing. Sacred.

There’s something holy about this late-season harvest. The way we keep reaching, even as the branches soon offer less and less. Maybe it’s habit. Maybe it’s hope. Maybe it’s the quiet knowing that the season will soon change – so we grasp for one more taste before it slips away.

Either way, we take what we can.

Juice it.

Jar it.

Tuck it away.

A little sweetness to carry into the cooler days of Fall.

Seasons of life are like that.

Time with family and friends can be particularly rich so we find ourselves lingering around the table, soaking in the warmth, the joy, the laughter, the sense of belonging. It’s hard to say goodbye to deep moments like these where we feel so safe and at home.

We tuck away the memories to savor in distant days because let’s face it, sometimes we need to remember that we belong.

God references vineyards often in His Word.

It’s not just poetic imagery but a reality. A living metaphor that reveals something profound about our relationship with His Son. It’s beautiful. Sobering. Stunning.

Whatever season I find myself, as I sit within the vineyard, both physical and metaphorical, I’m immersed in its wonder.

And I celebrate it – what it gives, what it reveals, what is represents, what it means.

I’m thankful for the vineyard.

For its physical and spiritual fruit.

For the relationship God offers through His Son.

For how He was crushed and poured out for the sin of humanity- so we could taste and see that God is good. So that we can truly belong.

So sweet is His communion. So powerful is His love.

He is indeed the Vine, and we are most assuredly the branches. Apart from Him we can accomplish no lasting thing.

I am content and happy here in the vineyard. Connected to the Vine. Deeply rooted and grounded in love.

So, I linger. I linger in His Presence, and marvel at the goodness of the gift He generously and consistently gives…Himself. Jesus, the life-giving, fruit bearing Vine. My soul is satisfied within Your Vineyard. I will forever be surrounded by abundance.