Collecting stamps or coins always seemed too quiet for me—so I started collecting lessons instead. They didn’t arrive all at once. Some came through joy, some through heartache, and most showed up in the ordinary stretch of days. Over time, they became steady reminders I return to again and again. They’re not polished or perfect, but they’re honest. And they help me walk with a little more peace and a little less pressure.
I am not what I accomplish.
I am not my role, my résumé, or the sum of my duties. I am a child of God—redeemed, loved, and free. That is my truest name. I will walk in the wide, open field of that freedom, and I won’t chain my worth to what I achieve—or what I don’t.
What stirs the storm in me does not belong in my harbor.
If it invites pride, poisons peace, or clouds joy, it must go. I will choose simplicity over striving, and calm over chaos. My soul was made for still waters, not constant waves of my own frustrated flailing.
Perfectionism is the enemy of excellence.
Perfection is a ruthless master—it always asks for more and never says thank you. I will do my best and then rest, knowing God’s grace does not count flaws but He delights in faithfulness.
Kindness is strength in slow motion.
There’s power in a patient answer, in listening fully, in choosing gentleness. The older I get, the more I see that love doesn’t have to shout to be heard.
The weight of the world is not mine to carry.
I am responsible for obedience, not outcomes. I can do what’s mine to do and leave the rest in God’s hands. He’s better at running the universe than I am.
I will not rehearse regrets.
The past is a teacher, not a prison guard. I will walk forward with lessons learned, trusting that grace has already walked the path ahead of me and mercy stands guard behind.
Rest is not a reward; it is obedience.
I will honor Sabbath rhythms. I will take time to breathe deeply, laugh freely, and sleep soundly—because rest reminds me that God is God and I am not.
Be yourself; otherwise, you’re a fake.
God didn’t make me to mimic someone else. Comparison is a quiet thief, and pretense is a heavy costume. I want to live with integrity from the inside out—no masks, no performance, just a steady faith in the One who made me on purpose and for a purpose.
I don’t pretend to have arrived. I’m still learning, still listening, still leaning on grace. But if these thoughts can steady someone else’s steps the way they’ve steadied mine, then they’re worth writing down. The days ahead are in God’s hands—and that’s the safest place they could be.
A Good Word 