You Are Worthy of One More Day

Lamentations 3:22–23 (NIV)
“Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”

You are worthy of new mercies.
You are worthy of fresh starts.
You are worthy of hope.
And you are worthy of a God who sustains you through even the heaviest nights.

One thing that keeps me going is the start of a brand-new day.
Every night, when I lay my head down and the noise in my mind refuses to quiet, I hold on to this truth: morning is coming, and with it, a fresh start.

Each early morning, when my eyes open to the never-ending sound of the alarm clock and my feet hit the cold hardwood floor, I’m reminded that God saw me worthy enough to give me one more day. One more day to breathe. One more day to try again.

One more day to enjoy a hot cup of coffee as I feel its warmth run through my veins. One more day to love my beautiful children. One more day to love my veteran to the very best of my ability—even when it’s hard. One more day to forgive. And most of all, one more day to worship a Savior who calls me worthy of the life I’ve been given.

If you have a moment today, I encourage you to listen to the song “One More Day” by Sons of Sunday. Let the words settle into your heart as a reminder that every morning is a gift, and every breath is grace.

Do you often wake up feeling like tomorrow will just be another dreaded day? Do you ever count yourself as unworthy or incapable of handling the life you’ve been given? I know that feeling well.

Try to start today as a new day—a day of praise, a day of life, and a day to love, even through the struggle. Tomorrow is never promised, so thank God for giving you one more day today.

What is one small thing you could change to make this day a little more positive?

Some nights are loud. Some days feel heavy. But every morning is mercy—quietly reminding us that we are still here, deeply loved, and that God is not finished with us yet.

Together we take on one more day…

When Loneliness is Loud

You know those moments—hours, days, or even weeks—when the noise in your mind keeps you from just about everything you should be doing, praying, or even thinking? I often find myself whispering, “Silence the noise in my mind, Lord… please silence the noise in my mind.” All I really want is complete stillness. Maybe—just maybe—in that silence I could hear the small, sweet voice of my God in the middle of chaos and desperation.

The enemy loves to use loneliness as a tool. He uses it to make you feel like you are the only person on this entire planet who feels the way you do, who suffers the way you do. But when I lay my head down at night, God gives a peace that is indescribable and gently reminds me that I am not alone. I know that somewhere out there are hundreds, thousands—maybe even hundreds of thousands—of PTSD wives who feel alone, defeated, and abandoned.

We were not created for loneliness; we were created for companionship. A companionship meant to last a lifetime—one that grows deeper with love as each day passes. If you are a PTSD wife, you know your marriage has been robbed of the “happily ever after” you dreamed of as a little girl. It suffers in ways only those who have lived it can understand. It brings a loneliness into our lives that we never imagined possible. And when that companionship slips further and further away, we can become lost in the loneliness and begin to lose hope in the promises we were once given.

That is why I created this blog—not only to bring hope to those who are hurting, but to remind you that you are not alone. This is a safe place to share your thoughts, your hurts, and your heart. A place to connect with a community of sisters who truly understand—without judgment. Please don’t be afraid to comment, vent, ask questions, or even share a prayer request.

We are in this together.

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18

Grieving the Memories

“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” — Psalm 147:3

Grief is not always suffered from the loss of someone you love dearly or hold close to your heart.
Often, grief simply comes from the loss of something you once had. Memories are all around us and are brought to mind through simple things — a song once shared, a familiar smell that can never be forgotten, or even a single word that brings back a moment in time you hold dear.

For me, the deepest pain comes from living in the midst of what is grieved the most — the small, intimate moments, the touch, the security, the simplicity of being fully present in a moment where nothing else existed except the memory being created. Over the years, those memories intertwine with pain and trauma, with doubt and sorrow, until you begin to lose yourself in the scramble of what was and what is.

Those sweet memories are swallowed up by this thing we call life — or perhaps, the sins of the world. It steals the minds of those we hold close, whispers lies of defeat, and slowly turns memories into grief — a slow, painful grief that feels like an open wound that never heals. Every scab is a small glimpse of hope for what once was, knowing deep down it may never be again.

The silent suffering… every PTSD wife has felt this grief — longing for moments of the past and hoping for their return in the future. The despair cries out for even one more moment as it was, one more memory of what it should be. The quiet nights awake in silence turn into utter loneliness that leaves you clinging to God for that last bit of hope — the hope that brings comfort and peace.

When we grieve, we grieve not for a life that was lost, but for the love that once was.

As we grieve the memories of what once was, let us cling to God for what is to come. He has a love that surpasses all understanding. This worldly love we so desire to mend can become an overwhelming, perfect love in His presence. Fix your mind upon God in the loneliness of life. Allow Him to heal the wound that feels as if it can never heal. Pray for the love you once had to return — for God can move in mighty, unthinkable ways when we surrender our silent suffering and allow Him to fight our battles.