I’ve been walking with God quietly for some time now.

Not the kind of walk that comes with quoting scripture or standing within a congregation every Sunday, but the intimate kind. The kind where you whisper your prayers between meetings. The kind where you cry in the car and thank Him for your breath in the same moment. The kind of walk where no one sees you, but He does.

For the past few months, I’ve been slowly shifting to bringing my faith into practice.
I’ve been handing over my worries, my parenting battles, my relationship, my ADHD spirals, and even my daughter’s recent surgery, 100% into His hands.
Sometimes all I can say is, “God, I trust You,” even when my heart is breaking.
Sometimes my only prayer is “thank You” before I collapse into bed.

July 4th: The Day That Broke Me, Then Called Me Back

On July 4th: the most ironic day of the year, when this country loudly celebrates “freedom”, I felt crushed.

Because that was the very day the president signed and sealed a decision that could end civilization as we know it.
Freedom as we know it.
Life as we know it.

My heart sank. I started to spiral.

“I’ll never escape the rat race continuing to live in this country.”
“How will I afford anything in the next few years when mine and my kids’ healthcare is ripped away?”
“What will hospital bills do to my credit?”
“Are my kids’ savings going to end up going toward groceries in three years just to survive?”
“Do I need to leave this country?”
“How the HELL will I do that while trying to survive?!”

My mind was unraveling.
I let my foot off the gas on building my business.
I felt defeated. Truly.

I knew it was temporary, because I always bounce back, but the feeling was real.
Watching Republicans laugh and cheer as they signed the deaths and struggles of millions of Americans into policy broke something in me.

The world felt heavy. My chest was tight.
I was grieving a future that hadn’t even arrived yet.

But God Didn’t Let Me Stay There

On Sunday, I went to the Dollar Tree with a mission: coloring books for a calm family day. I usually skip the adult book aisle, but something tugged at me. I flipped through fiction books, judging the covers (as we do), ready to move on, until I looked up and saw it.

A soft white faux-leather Bible.
Golden letters. Quiet, almost hidden. $1.25.

And yes… I know. A Dollar Tree Bible?
Cue the judgy inner voice: “That can’t be a real Bible. Don’t you want something deeper? A study Bible? One with cute tabs and highlighters?”
But that voice wasn’t God’s. His was quieter. Steadier.

And He said: “I’m here too.”

I almost didn’t buy it because it seemed too simple. Too cheap.
But then I realized something: my walk with God isn’t curated.
It’s not always aesthetic. It’s real. And that $1.25 Bible?
It was perfect for me.

God met me exactly where I was, just like He always has. In the chaos of motherhood. In the uncertainty of the relationships in my life. In the silence of my prayers. And even in the aisles of a Dollar Tree.

Later that night, something strange happened.
A bag of chips randomly fell in the kitchen. No one touched it. We both heard the sound, loud and out of place.
James got up to check. Normally, I’d let him handle it while I stayed put.
But this time, I got up too. I didn’t even know why.

And there it was, the first thing I noticed when I came into view of the kitchen, my new Bible. The one I’d bought earlier that day at the Dollar Tree.
Propped up on the counter like it had something to say.
Almost like it was waving its arms at me, shouting: “Pick me up!”

So I did. I walked back to the couch with it in my hands.
Before I even opened it, I told James verbatim:
“I’m just going to open it up and point to a passage and read to see what it says.”

That was my only plan. Just trust.

I opened it randomly, and the first word I saw?

Selah.
My daughter’s name. On the very first page of the very first Bible I’ve ever owned with intention and read.

Then I looked at the clock.
11:11.
A divine alignment. A whisper that said, “I see you.”

I sat there, stunned. Not by coincidence, but by confirmation.
This walk isn’t in vain.
This silence hasn’t gone unheard.
God is real. And He is here.

What He Showed Me When I Read Psalm 82

1 God standeth in the congregation of the mighty; he judgeth among the gods.
2 How long will ye judge unjustly, and accept the persons of the wicked? Selah.
3 Defend the poor and fatherless: do justice to the afflicted and needy.
4 Deliver the poor and needy: rid them out of the hand of the wicked.
5 They know not, neither will they understand; they walk on in darkness: all the foundations of the earth are out of course.
6 I have said, Ye are gods; and all of you are children of the most High.
7 But ye shall die like men, and fall like one of the princes.
8 Arise, O God, judge the earth: for thou shalt inherit all nations.

Modern Interpretation

“How long will you judge unjustly, and accept the wicked?”
“Defend the poor and fatherless… Deliver them.”
“You are children of the Most High, but you’ve forgotten who you are.”
“Arise, O God.”

Psalm 82 + The World Today

This isn’t just scripture. It’s a mirror.

Psalm 82 speaks directly to the brokenness of our systems, the failures of leadership, and the injustices too many people are silently carrying.
It’s God saying: Enough.
Enough turning away from the poor.
Enough ignoring the oppressed.
Enough protecting the powerful while the weak suffer.

This isn’t a political stance, it’s a spiritual reckoning.
The kind of reckoning that starts with people like you and me choosing faithful justice. Choosing to defend what’s right. Choosing to remember who we are: children of the Most High.

Psalm 82 is a cry for justice. For accountability. For protection of the vulnerable.

It reminds me that while systems fail us, God does not.
While the powerful protect themselves, God fights for the powerless.
He’s watching the leaders, the judges, the governments.
But He’s also watching you and me.

He’s asking us to remember who we are.
Not just humans, but His children: carriers of divine light, called to be just, loving, and awake.

Final Reflection

That Bible may have cost $1.25, but what it gave me was priceless.
It gave me a divine encounter. A name. A number. A nudge. A peace of mind. A confirmation of my future.
And most of all, a reminder that God meets you where you are.
Even in your Dollar Tree.
Even in your doubt.
Even in the mess.

Don’t miss your moment because it didn’t come wrapped in perfection.

God isn’t waiting for you to be ready.
He’s waiting for you to look up.

Selah. Pause. And know He’s there.