The Quiet Work of Becoming

Before You Read

There's a healing power in the words we never say out loud - the ones that live in the quiet spaces between who we are, and who we're becoming. This week I decided to write three letters I'll never send:

one to the version of me who knew no peace,

one from God's perspective to that wounded girl,

and one that closes the story - the version of me that found purpose in pain.

These letters are an act of release. A way to honor what was, acknowledge what is, and make space for what's next.

Letter One: To the Girl Who Knew No Peace

Dear Ashleigh,

I remember the weight you carried - the losses you never spoke of, the disappointments that hardened your hope, the nights when tears were the only prayer you could offer. You faced heartbreak, confusion, and moments that tried to convince you you'd never feel whole again.

And still, you rose.

Thank you for surviving when it felt impossible. Thank you for protecting us when the world didn't. You learned how to hold it all together, even when your heart was splintering.

But you don't have to live in survival anymore.

You don't have to keep reliving moments that hurt just to prove you're strong. The battles you fought already proved that.

I know the seasons left marks - invisible ones that shaped the way you see yourself, others, and even God. But He was there, even in what felt like silence. Every scare became a map that led us here, to peace.

So today, I release you.

You can unclench your fists.

You can stop waiting for the next blow.

You can rest in the knowing that peace isn't fragile - it's sacred, and it's yours now.

Thank you for being the bridge between who I was and who I'm becoming.

Thank you for surviving so that I could learn to live.

With love,

The You Who Finally Knows Peace

Letter Two: God's Response to the Wounded Girl

My Daughter,

I saw you.

Every tear you cried, every moment you wondered if I'd forgotten you - I was right there. Even when you couldn't feel Me, I never left your side. You mistook My silence for absence, but I was in the stillness holding what you couldn't carry. You've walked through storms that tried to rewrite your name, but they never could. The fire refined you, but it did not consume you. The waters rose, but they did not drown you - because you are Mine.

You have always been more than you endured.

More than the heartbreak.

More than the waiting.

More than the fear.

You are not the sum of what hurt you - you are the proof that love heals.

Stop apologizing for surviving.

You did what you had to do to reach this moment. But now, I am doing a new thing in you. You don't have to fight to be worthy; you were worthy before the wounds. My peace isn't something you earn - it's your inheritance.

You can breathe now.

You can trust the rest won't break you.

You can let go of the version of yourself that thought she had to be both the warrior and the healer.

You are My beloved.

Chosen. Seen. Still becoming everything I imagined when I formed you. Be still, Daughter -

the wilderness is over, and the new thing has already begun.

Love, your Father

Letter Three: My Story - Finding Purpose in the Pain

There was a time I called chaos love.

I mistook the ache for devotion,

the begging for worth,

the breaking for proof that I could feel something.

I was always reaching,

always risking it all for the promise of being chosen.

I filled voids with noise, faces, apologies - thinking the pain was the price I had to pay to keep from being alone.

But the cost was myself.

It took losing everything to learn that peace wasn't something I had to earn - it was something waiting for me beneath all the noise I mistook for love.

Healing terrified me at first.

It looked like silence where there used to be drama,

boundaries where there used to be begging.

It felt like betrayal -

like leaving behind a girl who kept everyone comfortable even when she was breaking inside.

But I know better now.

Healing isn't betrayal.

It's transformation.

It's the moment you stop bleeding for people who were never meant to hold the knife.

It's the divine peace that whispers, "You are still worthy - even when you rest".

It's learning that love - real love - doesn't demand you disappear to prove you're devoted.

Healing is the holy-unlearning.

It's the soft return to yourself.

It's the proof that God's silence was never His absence - it was your becoming.

And now...

the girl who once accepted pain as her portion

has become a woman who carries peace as her promise.

Scriptures to Reflect On:

• Psalm 46:10 - "Be still, and know that I am God."

• Isaiah 30:15 - "In quietness and in trust shall be your strength."

• 1 Kings 19:11-13 - "God's voice was not in the wind, the earthquake, or the fire - but in the gentle whisper."

Author's Note

If you've ever wrestled with silence, heartbreak, or the feeling that God stopped speaking - try writing yourself these three letters.

• One to the version of yourself who didn't know peace

• One from God's heart to that version of you

• One from who you are now - the one who sees the purpose in pain

You don't have to share them. You don't even have to finish them. Just write. Let your healing take shape in ink and honesty.

There is power in seeing your story from every side - the hurt, the holy, and the healed.

Because sometimes, the letters you'll never send become the ones that finally set you free.