Search Me


“Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts.”
Psalm 139:23 (NIV)


There’s something deeply vulnerable about that verse.

It’s not a request to be fixed.
It’s a willingness to be seen.
Fully. Quietly. Honestly.

Not the version of us we present to others.
Not the strong, put-together, always-trusting self.
But the anxious thoughts.
The fragile heart.
The unspoken questions that don’t make it into the prayer journal.

“Search me,” David prayed.
Not because God didn’t already know,
but because he needed to know he was still safe being seen.


Some days, I pray like that too.
Not for answers. Not even for peace.
Just for God to find me where I really am.

Not where I should be by now.
Not where I pretend to be on paper.
Just… here.

In the moments where my heart still holds questions I haven’t found words for yet.


If that’s where you are today,
you don’t have to clean it up to invite Him in.

He already knows.
He’s already there.

And sometimes the bravest prayer you can pray
is simply this:

“God, search me. Stay with me.
And don’t let me hide from You.”

Choosing Peace

Bitterness waits for an invitation.
It’s always close —
easy to reach for, easy to justify.

It promises protection,
but slowly poisons what’s tender.
It hardens what still longs to feel.

Peace… peace is quieter.
It doesn’t shout.
It doesn’t demand.
It simply stands in the corner, patient —
waiting for you to turn toward it.

And turning isn’t easy.
Sometimes it feels like betrayal —
like letting go means it didn’t matter.
Like choosing peace means you weren’t hurt in the first place.

But peace doesn’t deny the pain.
It just refuses to let the pain decide who you’ll be.

It doesn’t ask you to forget.
It just asks you to breathe.

To soften.
To stay open.
To carry your story with gentleness, not armor.

And maybe today, that’s the only choice that matters —
not what happened,
not what could’ve been,
but what you carry forward from here.

Let it be peace.