From Ashes to Armor: The Journey I Didn't Ask for, But Needed

God doesn't just heal you––He rebuilds you through every season. From loss to wrestling to rising, let Him write the story.

(This is inspired by Ruth, Job & Ephesians)

I didn't realize I was living the Bible...until I couldn't escape these three books.

Ruth, Job, Ephesians.

That's where God lead me and met me.

Not once. Not twice. But back-to-back like He was trying to make a point I kept pretending I didn't hear.

All honesty, I didn't jump into these books like "Yes Lord, speak to me!"

Nope. I kept putting it off.

I was like..."I guess You're not talking to me anymore."

Days went by. Then weeks. I tired to read, tried to pray––silence. Nothing. And I stated thinking:

Maybe I made all this up. God wasn't speaking to me. Maybe this blog idea wasn't God. Maybe I was just in my feelings and I wanted to vent to the world.

I started to question everything. What to write about. What to say. What to teach. And every time I tried to force something out, I came up empty.

I was spiritually hungry, but nothing was feeding me. No sermon. No scripture. No video. And then one night––I broke down. Not the cute "I just need a minute" kind of breakdown––I mean "God, what is even happening?" I cried like a brat. Frustrated. Emotional. Tired of trying to figure God out.

And in the middle of that mess, I realized something...God wasn't gone. He was letting me wrestle. Letting me grieve. Letting me overthink. Not to punish me...but to reveal something deeper. He created space. He was showing me that the silence wasn't absence––it was invitation. And the mystery I couldn't figure out? It wasn't for me to solve––it was for me to surrender to.

So here I am. Writing not from the mountaintop, but still walking. Not because I have all the answers––but because I've been sitting in these three books long enough to realize: they were never about stories from the past––they were about the formation of me. So if you're in a season of loss, confusion, wrestling and trying to figure out who you're becoming I hope this blesses you and gives you insight.

Ruth: When Leaving Hurts More Than Staying Did

I've had to leave things. People. Comfort. The "idea" of what I thought life would look like. And let me tell you––leaving hurts, even when it's holy.

Stay with me. Ruth didn't just leave her country. Sis left her culture, her comfort zone, her mama's food, and the only man who ever called her wife. And why? To follow a grieving mother-in-law back to the land she didn't know, under a God she was just starting to believe in.

Me? I didn't move countries, but I left a version of myself that kept settling for breadcrumbs. I stopped chasing people to choose me. Stopped apologizing for growing. Stopped watering down my voice to keep the peace. And guess what I asked God?

What if I never get that love I poured into other back?

What if I walked away from the only thing I'll ever have?

What if You don't come through?

You know what He said?

"You already found favor, even when you didn't recognize it. And I've been watching you glean faithfully in a field I planted just for you."

(That right there is Ruth 2 vibes, if you know you know.)

Job: When You're Asking Why But Still Holding On

Let me be real. I wrestled with God. Still do, sometimes. I've cried. Felt dumb for hoping. Felt betrayed for obeying. Felt like: Lord, You saw what I did and what I gave up. And this is what I get? You ever felt like obedience backfired?

Job didn't just lose stuff. He lost people. Reputation. Health. Identity. And he still talked to God. Not those churchy prayers either. Job said, "Why didn't I just die at birth? (Job 3:11). That's not "cute christian" language. That's real pain. And I've been in that space. But the deeper I read, the more I realized: Job's suffering wasn't proof that God forgot him or people thinking God is cruel. It was proof that God trusted him. This man was blameless and upright; he feared God and shunned evil.

Whew. And somewhere between the ashes and the silence, God whispered to me:

"I never asked you to understand, only to trust. I am still God in the middle of this."

Then He hit me with Job 38:

"Where were you when I laid the earth's foundation?"

Touche, Lord.

I surrender.

Ephesians: When You're Ready to Stand Like You Know Who You Are

So after all that––the loyalty of Ruth, the testing of Job––God was like:

"Now, let's rebuild you."

But not like before.

Not a better version of your broken self––but a new creation, sealed, chosen, and armed. And I'm not gonna lie––I read Ephesians and felt like I forgot who I was.

"You are seated in heavenly places."

"You've been adopted, predestined, redeemed, sealed." (Ephesians 1:3-14)

It was like God saying:

"Stop acting like a spiritual orphan. You got inheritance, my child. Start walking in it."

So I started asking:

What am I still begging God for that He's already given me?

What lies am I entertaining that don't match my anointing?

What armor am I too tired (or lazy) to put on?

Ephesians 6 said:

"Put on the full armor of God." Not pieces. Not vibes. Full armor. Daily.

Reflection

This journey––Ruth, Job, Ephesians, has been messy, raw, quiet, holy, humbling...and even funny at times, because healing without humor just feels like punishment. And maybe, just maybe... you're somewhere in this same strange rhythm. Maybe you're in your Ruth season, quietly obeying, feeling unseen, wondering if loyalty is even worth it anymore. Maybe you're in your Job season, wrestling with God, holding on to the last thread of faith, tired of acting like you're fine. Or maybe...you're finally stepping into your Ephesians season, where God isn't just healing you, He's arming you. Not just for battle, but for purpose. Wherever you are––I just want to bless you with this:

Don't rush through it. Let God write it out. And when you come out––and you will––you will carry a kind of wisdom, power, and beauty that can't be faked or shaken. You'll know who you are. And more importantly, you'll know Whose you are. So keep pressing forward. Ask your questions. Cry your tears. Laugh at the moments that don't make sense yet. And trust this––you are never alone, He is in it with you.