When Heaven Whispers Back

“I will give you back what you lost… Then you will know that I am in the midst of you.”
—Joel 2:25, 27 (paraphrased)

I’ve spent so much of my life living for others. I can think back to countless moments where I stepped in to protect someone, whether from themselves or from others. I became the peacekeeper, the one who bit my tongue when something needed to be said, afraid of hurting someone’s feelings. I carried the weight of everyone else's comfort, even when it meant sacrificing my own.

I remember telling a friend once, “I don’t even know if I’ve ever really felt anger.” It’s true. Disappointment and sadness usually show up first, and they stay the longest. When I have felt anger, it didn’t look like yelling or rage. My body would just shut down. I’d feel tense, heavy, and within days, I’d be sick, completely drained, needing time just to bounce back.

Recently, I went hiking. It was freeing in a way I didn’t know I needed. I pushed myself and actually finished faster than I thought I could. That hike gave me something I didn’t know I was missing—a win. A moment where I faced something challenging both mentally and physically and conquered it. It reminded me that I can do hard things, and not everything has to feel impossible.

My job has been making me feel like the goalpost is always moving. Just when I think I’ve done enough, there’s something else. I know there’s someone up top constantly shifting the bar, but what about those of us on the ground doing the work? Where’s the recognition from those who could give it but choose not to?

Leadership is more than giving orders and expecting obedience. It’s about example. It’s about humility. It’s about showing others how to rise by rising with them, not just telling them what to do from a pedestal.

And while work has left me feeling invisible, at home, I’ve felt unappreciated and emotionally stripped. I've carried so much, taken on so many roles, that somewhere along the way, I lost me. I knew I needed to step back before I gave away the last of what I had left, before I broke completely.

Because here’s the truth:
They can’t take what I no longer have.
And when I do get it back, they won’t just get to keep it just because they once had access to me.

This is my season of reclamation.
For peace. For purpose.
For me.