Real Talk Believer

Two Hands, One Circle

A strong marriage is a closed circle: two people holding both hands, facing each other, with God standing right in the middle.

Picture it with me for a second. You and your spouse, face to face. Your right hand in their left, your left hand in their right. No gaps. No open side where somebody can slip in. Just the two of you, eyes locked, connected all the way around.

That’s what you said yes to on your wedding day. Not a triangle with your mama. Not a group project with your best girlfriends. A circle. And here’s the truth: the circle only holds when you protect it on purpose.

God Belongs in the Middle

God isn’t a guest you invite over when things get rough. He’s the center that holds the whole circle together.

Ecclesiastes 4:12 says a cord of three strands is not quickly broken. Two people can love each other with everything they’ve got and still run out of patience, grace, and strength. I know I have. When God is the third strand, you’re not running on your own tank anymore.

Having Him in the middle also changes where you look. When both of you are reaching toward the center, you naturally move closer to each other. The nearer you get to God, the nearer you get to your spouse. That’s not a cute saying. That’s how the circle works.

So ask yourself honestly: is God in the middle of your marriage, or is He standing outside the circle waiting for an invitation?

Who’s Trying to Step Into Your Circle?

Most of the people who break into a marriage don’t kick the door down. They get invited in, one little complaint at a time.

Here are the usual suspects:

• Family with opinions. Parents and in-laws love you, but Genesis 2:24 is clear: you leave, and you cleave. Their input is welcome. Their vote is not.
• The friend who “just gets you.” That coworker or old buddy you vent to when your spouse frustrates you. Emotional closeness that belongs inside the circle starts leaking out.
• Social media. Comparing your real life to somebody’s highlight reel. Airing your fights in vague posts. Scrolling instead of talking.
• The past. Exes, old hurts, and the version of your spouse you keep holding against them.
• Your kids. Yes, them too. They belong in your heart, not between you. When kids learn to play one parent against the other, the circle cracks.
• Your own pride. Sometimes the one pulling a hand loose is you. Needing to be right will break a grip faster than any outsider.

How to Guard Your Circle

Guarding your circle comes down to a few daily choices, made over and over.

1. Turn toward each other, not outward. When something’s wrong, your spouse hears it first. Not your sister. Not the group chat.
2. Pray before you vent. Take it to God before you take it to anyone else. Better yet, pray together, even if it’s just two awkward sentences holding hands at the kitchen table.
3. Keep your business your business. Your marriage is not content and it’s not gossip. What happens in the circle stays in the circle.
4. Set boundaries as a team. Decide together how much say family gets, what’s okay with friends of the opposite sex, and what stays off social media. Then back each other up.
5. Defend your spouse in public. Never make them the punchline. If you have a problem, handle it at home.
6. Close the gaps quickly. Ephesians 4:26 says don’t let the sun go down on your anger. Small gaps left open become doorways.

A Real Talk Note

Guarding your circle does not mean cutting yourself off from wise help or staying somewhere unsafe.

A godly counselor, a pastor you both trust, or a mentor couple can strengthen the circle when you invite them in together. That’s very different from one spouse going outside the marriage to complain.

And if your circle has abuse, threats, or fear in it, protecting that circle is not your assignment. Protecting yourself is. God never asks you to stay quiet about harm. Please reach out to someone you trust or a local domestic violence hotline.

Close the Circle Tonight

Tonight, reach for your spouse’s hands. Literally. Stand face to face and invite God back to the center.

Sit with these questions this week, alone or together:

• Who have I let into our circle that doesn’t belong there?
• Where have I been turning outward instead of toward my spouse?
• What would it look like to put God back in the middle this week?

A prayer for your circle:

Lord, thank You for the person You gave me. Be the center of our marriage. Show us every gap we’ve left open and help us close it with grace. Guard our hearts, our home, and our hands. Pull us toward You, and in doing that, pull us toward each other. In Jesus’ name, amen.

“So they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.” — Matthew 19:6

With so much love,
Momma J 🤍

Anybody who has lived through a Florida hurricane knows what happens in the hours before it hits.

The neighbor you only wave at suddenly shows up with an extra sheet of plywood. Somebody’s cousin with a chainsaw starts making the rounds. The church opens its doors. The lady down the road who’s lived alone for years gets three phone calls asking if she wants to ride it out with someone. Folks who barely spoke all summer end up sharing a generator, a pot of coffee, and a long night on the floor of somebody’s back room.

I’ve always thought there’s something holy about that. Not the storm. The way people pull their chairs closer when it comes.

We were never meant to carry it alone

Somewhere along the way, a lot of us picked up the idea that needing people is weakness. That the strong ones handle it quietly. That asking for help means you didn’t have enough faith.

But that isn’t what Scripture says. “Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ” (Galatians 6:2). Not “bear your own burdens and smile about it.” One another’s. God built His people to lean on each other. When you let someone help carry your load, you’re not failing at faith. You’re living it out exactly the way He designed.

And when you pick up someone else’s load, even for an afternoon, you’re doing the work of Christ with your own two hands.

The third strand is what holds it together

Ecclesiastes says, “Two are better than one… For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him that is alone when he falleth” (Ecclesiastes 4:9–10). And then it adds a line I’ve loved for years: “a threefold cord is not quickly broken” (4:12).

Two people holding on to each other is good. But two people holding on to each other and to God? That’s the cord that doesn’t snap when the wind picks up.

Here’s what I’ve learned the hard way: people alone will eventually run out. We get tired. We say the wrong thing. We have our own storms going on. Even the most loving family, the most faithful church, the best neighbors can only carry so much. When God is the center, though, we’re not just pouring from our own cups. We’re all drawing from the same Well, and that Well doesn’t run dry.

What happens when we gather around Him

Jesus made a promise that I hold on to: “For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them” (Matthew 18:20).

In the midst. Right in the middle. Not watching from a distance while we figure it out. When we come together in His name, in a hospital waiting room, at a kitchen table after a funeral, on the floor of a dark room while the wind howls outside, He is right there in the center of us.

That changes how a hard night feels. The storm is still loud. The bills are still due. The diagnosis is still real. But you’re not facing it as a scattered handful of scared people. You’re facing it as a circle, with Him in the middle.

Five ways to come together with God at the center

Pray first, then plan. When someone you love gets hard news, it’s tempting to jump straight to casseroles and schedules. Those matter. But start by bowing your heads together, even for one minute. It sets the center before the work begins.

Show up without being asked. Most people in need won’t call. They don’t want to be a burden. So knock anyway. Drop off the meal. Mow the yard. Sit in the waiting room. Presence speaks louder than “let me know if you need anything.”

Let yourself be helped. This one is hard for a lot of us, me included. But when you refuse help, you take away someone else’s chance to obey God. Say yes to the meal. Say yes to the ride. Say thank you, and let it be enough.

Put the differences down. In a real crisis, nobody checks which church you go to or how you voted before they help you board a window. Let your hard seasons do the same thing for your heart. The early church “were together, and had all things common” (Acts 2:44). Unity isn’t agreeing on everything. It’s caring for each other anyway.

Keep coming back after the storm passes. The casseroles stop after a couple of weeks, but the grief and the rebuilding don’t. Set a reminder to check in again in a month. That’s often when people need you most.

He is our refuge, together

“God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble” (Psalm 46:1). Notice it says our. Not just mine. Not just yours. Ours.

Whatever storm you’re in right now, or whatever storm somebody near you is in, I pray you’ll pull your chairs a little closer today. Make the call. Knock on the door. Bow your heads together. And keep Him right there in the middle, where He’s promised to be.

The wind may still blow. But a threefold cord is not quickly broken.

With so much love,
Momma J 🤍

If you want to learn to hear God’s quiet leading in the middle of the noise, Still, Small Voice walks you through it one gentle step at a time. And if you’d like a daily rhythm in the Word that keeps Him at the center of every season, Grace Unfolding takes you through the Bible in a year (use code GRACE20 for 20% off). It’s even sweeter read alongside someone you love. Come say hi on Instagram @mommajscozycottage.

Can I tell you about a notebook?

I’ve been writing a novel this fall, and the woman at the center of it keeps a secret notebook in her nightstand drawer. Every night for thirty-three years, after her husband falls asleep, she writes about the life she didn’t get. The art school she turned down. The city apartment with tall windows. The version of herself who went somewhere and became someone.

And the whole time she’s writing about that other life, the real one is happening right on the other side of the bedroom door. A husband who loves her quietly. Kids who need her. A town that knows her name. She almost misses all of it.

I’ll be honest. I didn’t have to invent that woman. I just had to remember some of my own seasons.

We all have an “other life”

Maybe yours isn’t in a notebook. Maybe it lives in your head while you’re folding laundry or sitting in the car line. The job you almost took. The person you didn’t marry, or the one you did. The money you’d have if you’d made different choices. The body you had at twenty-five. The dream you set down because somebody needed you more.

Here’s the tricky thing about that other life: it’s always perfect. It never has bills or bad days or grief. It never gets the flu. It’s a highlight reel with no bloopers, and next to it, your real life is always going to look small.

But it isn’t real. And the more time we spend visiting it, the less of us shows up for the life God actually placed in our hands.

Contentment is learned, not felt

Paul wrote, “I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content” (Philippians 4:11). I love that he said learned. Not “I woke up content.” Not “I’m just naturally a grateful person.” He learned it, the way you learn anything: slowly, with practice, and probably with a few failures along the way.

That takes so much pressure off. If contentment were a feeling, you’d have to wait around for it to show up. But if it’s something you learn, then you can start today, right in the middle of whatever you’re feeling.

In my book, the husband says it this way while standing out by his beehives: contentment isn’t a feeling, it’s a thing you decide every day, with your hands. I think he’s right.

The lines have fallen in pleasant places

David wrote, “The lines are fallen unto me in pleasant places; yea, I have a goodly heritage” (Psalm 16:6). He was talking about boundary lines, the edges of the land God gave him. His portion. His lot.

Your boundary lines might not be where you’d have drawn them. Mine sure aren’t. But inside those lines, there is goodness. Real goodness. Sometimes we just have to stop staring over the fence long enough to see it.

Four ways to come home to your real life today

Notice where your mind wanders. Pay attention to the “what if” daydreams that pull you away. You don’t have to scold yourself. Just notice them and gently come back: “That’s not my life. This is. What’s here right now?”

Thank Him for one ordinary thing. Not the big stuff. The hot coffee. The dog asleep on your feet. The grandbaby’s sticky hands. The husband who always cuts his waffle the same way. Ordinary is where most of the miracles hide.

Look at the people in front of you. Really look. The ones you’ve seen so many times you stop seeing them. Ask one of them a question today and listen to the whole answer.

Hand Him the dream you set down. Some dreams aren’t gone; they’re just waiting for a different season. Others need to be released so your hands are free for what He’s giving now. Either way, give it to Him instead of carrying it around like a stone in your shoe. “Be content with such things as ye have: for he hath said, I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee” (Hebrews 13:5).

This isn’t about settling

I want to be clear, because I know how this can sound. Choosing contentment doesn’t mean you stop growing or stop hoping or pretend that what you lost didn’t matter. It’s okay to grieve the road you didn’t take. God can hold that grief.

But don’t let the grief for one life rob you of the joy in this one. We can spend our time focusing on the life we’ll never have, or spend our time enjoying the life we do have. Only one of those lives has your people in it. Only one of them is real.

Close the notebook for a minute. Look up. Somebody on the other side of the door is glad you’re here.

With so much love,
Momma J 🤍

If you want a quiet place to practice being present with God in your real, ordinary days, Still, Small Voice walks you through learning to hear Him in the stillness. And if you’re ready for a daily rhythm in the Word that keeps bringing your heart home, Grace Unfolding takes you through the Bible in a year, one day at a time (use code GRACE20 for 20% off). Come say hi on Instagram @mommajscozycottage.

Can I be honest with you for a minute? Joy doesn’t always show up on its own for me. Some mornings I wake up already tired, already behind, already running through the list of everything that’s not okay. And for a long time, I thought that meant something was wrong with my faith. Like real believers just felt joyful and I was somehow missing the memo.

But here’s what I’ve learned: joy isn’t just a feeling that happens to you. It’s something you can train your heart toward. Not fake it. Not slap a smile on and pretend. Train it, the same way you’d train a muscle that’s gotten weak from not being used.

Joy was never supposed to depend on your circumstances

Paul wrote, “Rejoice in the Lord alway: and again I say, Rejoice” (Philippians 4:4). And you know where he was when he wrote that? Sitting in chains. Not on vacation. Not after everything finally worked out. In prison.

That tells me something important. The joy Paul was talking about wasn’t rooted in his situation. It was rooted in the Lord. That’s a different kind of joy than happiness. Happiness says, “Things are good, so I’m good.” Joy says, “God is good, so I’m going to be okay, even when things aren’t.”

And if Paul could get there from a prison cell, you and I can get there from a messy kitchen, a hard diagnosis, a tight bank account, or a heart that’s just plain worn out.

Your heart goes where you point it

Here’s the thing nobody told me for years: your mind has grooves. Whatever you think about most, you’ll think about more easily. If you spend your days rehearsing what’s wrong, your heart gets really good at finding what’s wrong. It becomes your default setting.

That’s why Paul didn’t stop at “rejoice.” A few verses later he gives us the training plan: “Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely… think on these things” (Philippians 4:8).

Think on these things. On purpose. Over and over. Until it becomes the groove your heart naturally falls into.

Five small ways to start training your heart today

Start before your feet hit the floor. Before you check your phone, before the worry list starts running, say it out loud: “This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it” (Psalm 118:24). You’re setting the direction before the day tries to set it for you.

Name three real things. Not big, impressive gratitude. Real stuff. The coffee was hot. The sun came through the window. Somebody texted to check on me. When you name small goodness, you start noticing more of it.

Catch the spiral early. When you feel your thoughts sliding into worst-case territory, you don’t have to beat yourself up. Just notice it and gently turn it: “Okay, that’s the fear talking. What’s actually true right now?”

Sit with Him in the quiet. Psalm 16:11 says, “in thy presence is fulness of joy.” Fullness. Not a sprinkle. Joy lives in His presence, so the more time you spend there, the more of it rubs off on you. Even five minutes of stillness counts.

Choose joy out loud when it’s hard. Habakkuk said that even if the fig tree doesn’t blossom and there’s no fruit on the vine, “Yet I will rejoice in the Lord” (Habakkuk 3:17–18). That little word yet is everything. It’s joy as a decision, not a reaction.

This isn’t about pretending you’re fine

I want to be really clear here, because I know some of you have been hurt by “just be joyful” Christianity. Training your heart toward joy does not mean stuffing your pain or acting like you’re okay when you’re not. God can handle your tears. He can handle your questions. The Psalms are full of people crying out to Him in raw, honest grief.

Joy and sorrow can sit in the same heart at the same time. You can grieve and still hold onto the truth that God is good. You can be exhausted and still find one thing to thank Him for. That’s not fake. That’s faith with its sleeves rolled up.

The joy of the Lord is your strength

Nehemiah 8:10 says, “the joy of the Lord is your strength.” Not your willpower. Not your ability to hold it all together. His joy, working in you, becomes the thing that carries you when you can’t carry yourself.

So be patient with your heart. Training takes time. Some days you’ll nail it, and some days you’ll catch yourself three hours deep in a worry spiral before you remember. That’s okay. Just turn back. Every time you turn back, the groove gets a little deeper.

With so much love,
Momma J 🤍

If you want a gentle place to practice this kind of quiet, heart-level time with God, Still, Small Voice walks you through learning to hear Him in the stillness. And if you’re ready to build a daily rhythm in the Word that keeps pointing your heart back to Him, Grace Unfolding takes you through the Bible in a year, one day at a time (use code GRACE20 for 20% off). Come say hi on Instagram @mommajscozycottage.

Let me ask you something, and be honest with yourself.

When someone compliments you, what’s the first thing you do?

If you’re anything like me, you deflect. “Oh, this old thing?” “It wasn’t that good.” “You should’ve seen how messy it was before you got here.” We brush off the good like it’s lint on a sweater, and then we lie awake at 2 a.m. replaying the one thing we said wrong at lunch three days ago.

We are experts on our flaws. We could write a dissertation on them. We know every wrinkle, every failure, every time we yelled when we should’ve listened, every dream we started and didn’t finish.

But ask us to name five things we’re genuinely good at? Suddenly we go quiet.

Here’s the truth that stopped me in my tracks: If you only shine light on your flaws, all your perfects will dim.

Think about it like a flashlight in a dark room. Wherever you point it, that’s what you see. Point it at the cracked tile, and that cracked tile becomes the whole room. Meanwhile, the beautiful window, the warm quilt, the fresh flowers on the table are all sitting right there in the dark, unnoticed. Not because they aren’t there. Because you never turned the light their way.

That’s what we do to ourselves every single day.

You weren’t made to be your own worst critic

Psalm 139:14 says, “I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.”

I know that full well. Not “I hope so.” Not “maybe on a good hair day.” The psalmist knew it.

When we constantly tear ourselves down, we’re not being humble. We’re arguing with the One who made us. We’re looking at His handiwork and saying, “Yeah, but You missed a spot.”

And I say that with so much love, because I’ve done it more times than I can count.

Your flaws are real. So are your gifts.

I’m not telling you to pretend you’re perfect. Real talk: none of us are. We all have things to work on, habits to break, and apologies to make. Growth matters.

But growth doesn’t happen in the dark. You don’t grow by staring at your weakness until you hate yourself enough to change. You grow by standing in grace, seeing the whole picture, and letting God work on the broken parts while you celebrate the beautiful ones.

Paul said it best in 2 Corinthians 12:9: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Even your flaws aren’t wasted. They’re the very places His light gets in.

So where is your flashlight pointed?

Today, I want to challenge you to try something. Grab a sticky note, your journal, or the notes app on your phone, and write down:

• One thing you did well this week
• One quality people love about you (if you can’t think of one, think about what people thank you for)
• One way God has used you, even in a small way

Then read it out loud. Yes, out loud. It’ll feel awkward. Do it anyway.

Because the woman who holds the family together, who shows up tired and still makes dinner, who prays for people who don’t even know she’s praying, who keeps going when quitting would be easier? She deserves some light, too.

Philippians 4:8 tells us to think on “whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable.” That includes what’s lovely and admirable in you.

Let your light shine, starting with how you see yourself

Jesus said in Matthew 5:14, “You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden.”

You can’t shine for others while you’re dimming yourself in private. The world needs your light, the whole, honest, beautifully imperfect version of you.

So turn the flashlight around today. Look at the good. Thank God for it. And let it glow.

Your flaws are part of your story. But they are not the whole story. Not even close.

With so much love,
Momma J 🤍

If you’re tired of hearing your inner critic louder than anything else, Still, Small Voice will help you learn to hear God’s gentle whisper over the noise. And if you want to sit with His Word daily and start seeing yourself the way He does, Grace Unfolding walks you through the Bible in a year, one day at a time (use code GRACE20 for 20% off). Come say hi on Instagram @mommajscozycottage.

Some mornings start before your feet even hit the floor. The alarm goes off, and your brain is already running the list: the email you didn’t answer, the laundry that’s been “almost folded” since Thursday, the call you keep meaning to make, the thing you said yesterday that you’re still replaying.

You haven’t even had coffee yet, and you already feel like you’re losing.

Can I be honest? I know that feeling better than I’d like to admit. There are mornings I lie there and think, Lord, I’m tired before this day has even started. Not sleepy tired. The other kind. The kind that comes from carrying everything, for everybody, all the time.

And here’s what I’ve noticed about those mornings: the heaviness almost never comes from the day itself. It comes from yesterday’s leftovers and tomorrow’s worries, both crowding into a morning that hasn’t done a thing wrong yet.

Today hasn’t failed you

Read that again, because I needed to hear it too. This day is brand new. It hasn’t disappointed you. It hasn’t let anybody down. It’s just sitting there, fresh, waiting for you to show up as you are.

“It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness.” (Lamentations 3:22-23)

I used to read that as a pretty verse for a coffee mug. Now I read it as a lifeline. It doesn’t say His mercies are new every morning once you’ve caught up. It doesn’t say once the dishes are done and your inbox is at zero. New. Every. Morning. Including the ones where you wake up feeling like a mess.

That means you don’t have to earn your way into today. You get to start it with grace already in hand.

So what do we do with that on a Monday?

Here’s what’s been helping me, and none of it is fancy.

I stop before I scroll. The minute I pick up my phone, I’m letting everybody else’s needs and highlight reels set the tone for my day. So I give myself two minutes first. Sometimes it’s a prayer. Sometimes it’s just, “Okay, God. It’s me again. Help.”

I pick one thing. Not ten. One. What’s the one thing that, if I got it done today, would make me feel like I moved forward? That’s my win. Everything else is a bonus.

I let yesterday stay in yesterday. If I dropped the ball, I can pick it back up today, but I don’t have to carry the guilt of dropping it along with me. Those are two different loads, and only one of them is mine to carry.

I remind myself that “behind” is usually a measurement somebody else made up. Behind who? Behind what schedule? A lot of the pressure I feel isn’t coming from God at all. It’s coming from comparison, and comparison is a terrible boss.

You are not behind. You’re becoming.

Maybe your life doesn’t look the way you pictured it at this age. Maybe the business is slower, the healing is slower, the prayers are taking longer to answer than you hoped. That doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means you’re in the middle of the story, and nobody judges a book by the middle chapter.

Jesus didn’t say, “Come to me, all you who have it together.” He said, “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). The invitation is for the tired ones. The behind ones. The ones who woke up already overwhelmed.

That’s us. And that’s good news.

So take a breath. Pour the coffee. Pick your one thing. And walk into this day knowing it’s already covered in mercy you didn’t have to earn.

You’re right on time.

With so much love,
Momma J 🤍

If mornings like this are hard for you, Still, Small Voice was written for exactly that season, learning to hear God’s whisper when life is loud. And if you want a gentle daily rhythm in the Word, Grace Unfolding walks you through the Bible in a year, one day at a time (use code GRACE20 for 20% off). Come say hi on Instagram @mommajscozycottage.

Hey you,

Let me be honest about something. There have been seasons when I prayed the same prayer so many times I could say it in my sleep. I prayed it in the car. I prayed it over the sink. I prayed it at 2 a.m. when the house was quiet and my mind wouldn’t be.

And somewhere in there, a little voice would whisper, “You don’t really believe He’s going to do it, do you?”

Maybe you know that voice too.

“Therefore I say unto you, What things soever ye desire, when ye pray, believe that ye receive them, and ye shall have them.” (Mark 11:24)

Pray: just show up

Prayer doesn’t have to be polished. Jesus never asked for pretty words. He asked us to come. Some of my most honest prayers have been three words long: “Lord, help me.” That counts. He hears it.

Believe: trust Him more than the timeline

Here’s what nobody told me for years. Believing isn’t pretending you’re not scared. It isn’t forcing yourself to feel 100% sure every minute. Believing is choosing to trust who God is, even when you can’t see what He’s doing.

Remember the dad in Mark 9 who cried out, “Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief”? Jesus didn’t send him away for having doubts mixed in with his faith. He answered him. That gives me so much hope.

Receive: open hands, not clenched fists

Receiving means holding your prayer with open hands. Sometimes the answer comes exactly how you asked. Sometimes it comes in a way you never saw coming. And sometimes what you receive first is peace, the kind that settles your heart before anything around you changes.

God is not a vending machine, and He’s also not ignoring you. First John 5:14 reminds us that when we ask according to His will, He hears us. He is good, He is listening, and He knows the way home better than we do.

Try this today

Grab a pen and write down the one thing you’ve been carrying. Pray over it out loud, even if it’s just a whisper. Then write underneath it: “I trust You with this.” Every time worry creeps back in, go back and read that line. That’s believing. That’s receiving.

Hit reply and tell me what you’re praying and believing for right now. I’d love to stand in agreement with you. I read every one.

With so much love,
Momma J 🤍

Want help hearing God more clearly while you wait on Him? Check out Still, Small Voice and Grace Unfolding, and come say hi on Instagram @mommajscozycottage.

Hey you,

Can I tell you what my mornings actually look like? Not the pretty version. The real one.

I shuffle into the kitchen with my hair doing its own thing, start the coffee, and stand there waiting on it like it holds the answers to my whole life. Some mornings I open my Bible right away. Some mornings I just stare out the window and say, “Lord, I’m here. That’s all I’ve got.”

And you know what? He takes it. Every time.

“It is of the LORD’s mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness.” (Lamentations 3:22–23)

New every morning. Not new once you’ve got your quiet time perfected. Not new once you’ve stopped messing up. New every single morning, whether you woke up rested or stayed up worrying half the night.

Yesterday’s mess doesn’t get the final word. Yesterday’s short temper, the prayer you forgot to pray, the thing you said that you wish you could take back… His mercy already beat you to the kitchen this morning.

So here’s my invitation for this Saturday. Pour your coffee (or tea, I won’t judge). Sit down for five minutes before the day grabs you. You don’t need fancy words. Just tell Him what’s on your heart and let Him meet you right there in your pajamas.

Hit reply and tell me: what’s in your mug this morning, and what are you handing over to Jesus today? I read every one.

With so much love,
Momma J 🤍

Want to make your morning time with God a habit? Check out Still, Small Voice and Grace Unfolding, and come say hi on Instagram @mommajscozycottage.

Okay, can we just be honest with each other for a minute?

There’s a saying I keep coming back to lately: the pain of discipline weighs ounces, but the pain of regret weighs tons. And every time I hear it, I feel it right in my chest, because I’ve carried both. I bet you have too.

Discipline hurts. I’m not going to pretend it doesn’t. It’s getting up when the bed is warm and your body is begging for ten more minutes. It’s closing the app when you’d rather keep scrolling. It’s saying no to the thing you want right now so you can have the thing you want most. It’s opening your Bible when you don’t feel anything. It’s sitting down to do the work nobody’s clapping for.

That stuff stings. But here’s what I’ve noticed: it stings for a moment, and then it’s done. You feel it, you push through it, and by lunchtime you’ve mostly forgotten it was hard.

Regret doesn’t work like that.

Regret moves in. It sits at the kitchen table with you. It shows up at 2 a.m. and replays every “I’ll start Monday” you ever said. It whispers about the business you didn’t build, the conversation you didn’t have, the habit you let slide one day at a time until one day turned into five years. Regret isn’t a sting. It’s a weight you carry around so long you forget you’re carrying it, until you notice how tired you are.

And I’ll be real with you, I’ve had seasons where I chose the ounces of comfort over and over, and paid for it later in tons. I’ve watched things I care about sit unfinished because “not today” felt easier. Nobody warned me that avoiding the small pain would cost me so much more down the road.

Scripture doesn’t sugarcoat this either.

“Now no chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous: nevertheless afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them which are exercised thereby.” (Hebrews 12:11)

Did you catch that? It’s grievous in the moment. God’s not asking you to love every minute of it. He’s telling you there’s an afterward. There’s fruit on the other side. Peace on the other side.

Discipline isn’t about being perfect or white-knuckling your way into being a better Christian. It’s about loving your future self enough to show up for her today. It’s saying, “Lord, I don’t feel like it, but I trust You with what this is growing in me.”

So here’s what I want you to do today. Not next week. Today.

Pick one thing. Just one. The workout, the prayer, the phone call, the bill, the project you keep circling. Do the ounce-sized version of it. Ten minutes. One page. One step. Let it be small and let it be uncomfortable, and then let it be done.

Because every time you choose the ounce, you’re taking a little weight off the tons you’d have to carry later.

And if you’re sitting there already carrying regret, please hear me: it’s not too late.

“And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.” (Galatians 6:9)

Due season is still coming. You don’t get yesterday back, but you do get today. And today is a really good place to start over.

I’m right here doing it with you. Some days I nail it. Some days I’m starting over again by noon. But I’m choosing ounces, one day at a time.

What’s your one thing today? Tell me in the comments. I want to cheer you on.

With so much love,
Momma J 🤍

Ready to start choosing the ounce with God every day? Check out Still, Small Voice and Grace Unfolding (use code GRACE20), and come say hi on Instagram @mommajscozycottage.

Hey you,

I just wanted to pop into your inbox with no agenda, no lesson, just a little reminder.

You’re doing better than you think.

I know some days it doesn’t feel like it. The laundry’s piled up, the prayers feel unanswered, and you’re running on coffee and grace. You look around and it seems like everybody else has it all together while you’re just trying to make it to bedtime.

But here’s what I know. God isn’t grading you on how perfect your week looked. He sees the woman who got up anyway. Who kept showing up for her people when she was running on empty. Who whispered a prayer in the car because that was the only quiet minute she had.

That counts. That matters to Him.

“And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.” (Galatians 6:9)

So take a deep breath today. Drink some water. Give yourself the same kindness you’d give anybody else. You’re not behind. You’re becoming.

Hit reply and tell me one thing you’re proud of this week, even if it’s small. I read every single one, and I’d love to celebrate with you.

With so much love,
Momma J 🤍

Need a quiet place to meet with God this week? Check out Still, Small Voice and Grace Unfolding, and come say hi on Instagram @mommajscozycottage.