There was a version of me that was always searching.
Searching for peace.
Searching for quiet.
Searching for something—anything—to numb the ache I couldn’t explain.
I tried to silence it the only ways I knew how… in a bottle of whiskey, in pills, in relationships that promised comfort but left me emptier than before. I wasn’t just making bad choices—I was running. Running from pain. Running from memories. Running from the deep, hollow place inside me that nothing in this world could fill.
On the outside, I could smile. I could function. I could blend in.
But inside?
I was lost in a wilderness.
Seen in the Wilderness
There’s a story in Scripture that I had often read, but read it quickly and did not study it to really understand what was transpiring – until my own journey sort of forced me to. It forced me to ask the question: Where is God when I am hurting?
In Genesis, Hagar finds herself alone—used, rejected, cast out, and wandering in the desert with nothing but her pain and her child. And in that place, when she had nothing left, God met her.
“The angel of the Lord found her by a spring of water in the wilderness…” — Genesis 16:7
He didn’t wait for her to find her way back.
He went to her.
And He called her by name.
Hagar responded by giving God a name of her own:
“You are the God who sees me.” — Genesis 16:13
That’s the God I met too.
The Moment Everything Changed
I remember the moment.
Not polished. Not perfect. Not planned.
But real.
I heard Him call my name—not audibly, but unmistakably. It cut through the chaos, through the lies, through the numbness. And for the first time, I realized… He had always seen me.
Not the version I pretended to be.
Not the broken choices I tried to hide behind.
Me.
And in that moment, I had a choice:
Keep running… or respond.
When I responded—everything changed.
Not overnight. Not magically. But deeply. Eternally.
The suffering that once felt meaningless suddenly made sense in light of the cross.
“For the joy set before Him He endured the cross…” — Hebrews 12:2
Jesus endured suffering so that mine wouldn’t be wasted.
So that my story could be redeemed.
So that I could be free.
What Freedom Looks Like Now
Today, I am not who I used to be.
By the grace of God, I’ve been sober for years.
Not by my own strength—but by His.
Now I sit across from families—parents who are walking paths I once walked. I advocate for foster children who have endured unimaginable abuse. I step into broken places, not as someone who has it all together, but as someone who has been rescued.
And sometimes… the old voices try to come back.
“Who do you think you are?”
“You’re no different.”
“You’re not worthy of this work.”
But those voices don’t get the final say anymore.
Because now, I hear a different voice.
“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.” — 2 Corinthians 5:17
The voice of my King is louder.
The voice of my Savior is stronger.
And where His Spirit is—
“Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.” — 2 Corinthians 3:17
This Is My Call to You
Maybe you’re reading this and you recognize yourself in my “before.”
The searching.
The numbing.
The exhaustion of trying to outrun what’s inside.
Let me tell you something in love and truth:
You don’t have to stay there.
God sees you—right where you are.
In your wilderness.
In your pain.
In your questions.
And He is calling your name.
The same Jesus who met me is calling you—not to shame you, but to save you.
“Repent therefore, and turn back, that your sins may be blotted out.” — Acts 3:19
Repent. Turn. Come to Him.
Not when you “fix yourself.”
Not when you feel worthy.
Today.
“Behold, now is the favorable time; behold, now is the day of salvation.” — 2 Corinthians 6:2
Lay it down. The sin. The striving. The pain.
Believe in the One who endured the cross for you.
He will meet you there.
And I promise you—
the freedom on the other side is real.
My God is the God of Redemption.
The Meek Momma 
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