It had been a long week of moving, and I am not a fan of moving. More than once, I announced to my kids that they will have to take me out of this new place in a casket, because I am never moving again as long as I live. We don’t even have that much stuff anymore, but moving still feels like such an intrusion into life. It’s disruptive and exhausting, and it takes over everything.  

As I mentioned before, I had a lot of emotions about leaving. We didn’t move for something bigger or more impressive. We moved because it was the right thing to do, to be closer to a family member who needs us. However, despite my feelings about moving, I am loving the new location. There’s green here, with actual grass and small courtyards, instead of just buildings.  It feels calmer.

I like to be comfortable. I like things a certain way. I like knowing where everything belongs. I like building a space that feels like mine, familiar and settled. Uprooting that, even for the right reasons, isn’t easy. I would have been a grouchy Israelite, wandering in the desert, never really settling and living in constant uncertainty.

But God is not limited by our comfort. He is still present and working, even when everything feels out of place.

A few days ago, I stood in my new apartment and made a cup of coffee. I stepped out onto the balcony, and there it was. A mourning dove. You might remember from a previous post that I had one at my old apartment, too. It would sit on my balcony, and it became a reminder to me.  God was there, He sees me, and He knows me. 

I love birds. I love to watch them, to hear them, to notice their beauty. So to have something so special to me, sitting right there on my balcony in the middle of the city, felt like such a personal gift. It started with one dove, and then eventually there were two. A pair. 

Every morning, I would wake up, walk out, and there they were, hanging out on the balcony. I would feed them, and they would fly away when I opened the door, only to return almost immediately.  As long as I stayed inside behind the glass, they weren’t afraid. It became our little routine, and I looked forward to it every day. It felt like something special that God had allowed just for me.

So when I stepped out onto the balcony of this new place and saw a mourning dove sitting there, I was really surprised. Grateful. Comforted. It may not mean anything to most people, but to me, it was a personal reminder from my Savior. A reminder to be grateful. A reminder that He is in control. A reminder that even when life feels unsettled and unfamiliar, He is still near.  Just like it says in Matthew 10:29–31, not even a sparrow falls to the ground outside of our Father’s care. I believe He was reminding me that I am seen, I am known, and I am cared for.

I haven't seen that mourning dove since, but as I unpack, I'll be setting out a bird feeder.  I hope to see my new friend again.

God Is Leading in the Unsettled Places

One of the hardest things about divorce is the deep sense of being unsettled. You are in transition in every possible way. Personally, you’re trying to find yourself again after leaving what was once the most important relationship in your life. Physically, everything changes too. One spouse moves out, or sometimes both, as was the case for me. Nothing feels steady. Transition is uncomfortable and uncertain. It makes everything feel like it’s out of control. 

But what I’ve come to see is this: God doesn’t wait for us to feel settled and put together before He shows up. That bird on my balcony? It showed up before I unpacked a single box.

When I think about that, I’m reminded of how God led His people through the wilderness. They were in constant transition, and yet that is exactly where God was most present. He didn’t abandon them until they reached the Promised Land. He led them through the wilderness. 

It’s not after the storm passes or once everything is neatly in place that He becomes visible. It’s in the middle of the mess. In fact, those messy moments are often when His presence becomes even more clear. His nature and His character are on full display in our weakest moments. 

I saw that years ago when my son was seven years old and was diagnosed with cancer. We had just come from the doctor’s appointment where the tumor showed up on an MRI. We were overwhelmed, scared, and completely unsure of what to do next. We didn’t know what hospital to go to, which doctors to trust, or how to even begin navigating something like this. 

Then, in the middle of that chaos, a coworker reached out. She had walked this road before. She stepped in and became like a compass for us.  She guided us, helped us understand what to expect, pointed us toward the right doctors, and even connected us with medical professionals we could text directly. 

Looking back, I can see so clearly what was happening. In a single moment, everything in our lives shifted. The things we once thought were important didn’t matter anymore. Jobs, schedules, routines, none of it held weight. The only thing that mattered was that our seven-year-old had a brain tumor. And right there, in that moment of complete upheaval, God didn’t just comfort us, He led us.

He used that coworker to guide us in ways we could not have managed on our own, and ultimately, my son is here today because of that guidance. What’s even more meaningful is that since then, God has used our story to help others walking a similar road. Every cancer journey is different, but even having someone say, “Here’s what to expect,” can be a lifeline. That’s how God works. He leads us, and then He uses us to help lead others.

While a small mourning dove on a balcony may not seem as dramatic as those life-altering moments, I’ve come to understand that it is the same God. Whether it’s a major life crisis or a simple move across town to be closer to a family member in need, God is still leading. He is still guiding. He is still present.

Small Things Are Not Small to God

We tend to separate life into categories.  There's big moments where God shows up in obvious ways, and small, everyday details that feel insignificant. But Scripture reminds us that nothing is insignificant to God. 

We see this truth echoed in the way God calls us to live. He asks us to be faithful, even in the smallest things. In Luke 16:10, Jesus teaches whoever can be trusted with very little can also be trusted with much, and whoever is dishonest with very little will also be dishonest with much.  Why does God care about the small things?  Because they are meaningful and tell a larger story.

In Mark 12:41–44, we see a woman give what seems like almost nothing, just two small coins, and yet Jesus honors her above all the others because of the heart behind it. That tells us something important: if God notices our obedience in the small things, then He is present in those small things. He is working in them. He is loving us through them. What feels small to us is not small to Him.

I think sometimes we forget that our God is a deeply personal God. He created each of us uniquely, with our own preferences and our own ways of seeing the world. The things we notice, the things we love, they are not random. He knows exactly what will speak to us. For me, that mourning dove wasn’t just a bird. It was recognizable. It meant something to me because of how God wired me and our history together.  I notice birds. I’m drawn to their beauty. And so when that dove appeared, it didn’t feel like coincidence. It felt personal.

I think about Moses and the burning bush in Exodus 3:1–4. Out of everything happening on his journey, Moses noticed that the bush was on fire but not being consumed. I wonder, would I have noticed that? My first instinct might have been, “There’s a fire and I need to put it out,” not to stop and observe what made it different. But God knew Moses would notice. God met him in a way that would capture his attention. And I believe He does the same with us. He meets us in ways that are uniquely meaningful to who we are.

The things that matter to us are not accidental. God is a God of details. A God who sees, who knows, and who lovingly chooses to reveal Himself in the personal ways that speak directly to our hearts.

Gratitude Shifts Our Perspective

If we truly believe that we serve a God who is present in the smallest details, who loves us deeply, who goes before us and prepares the way, then what else could our response be but gratitude?  I love journaling, but when I go back and read some of my prayers, they look more like a list of complaints than anything else. It’s so easy to focus on what feels hard, uncertain, or out of control. But the truth is, if we could fully see how much God is involved in every detail of our lives, our prayers might look very different. They might be more thankful and less fearful.

Within my journal were so many prayers about this move. I was overwhelmed. I didn’t know how I was going to get it all done. We had a short amount of time, and I was already behind. I asked God to please help me to move everything and bring the pieces together.  And again and again, I felt the same quiet reminder: He is with me. He goes before me. He will handle this move.

Then I saw the mourning dove.

In that moment, it was as if everything I had been praying was gently confirmed. He is with me. He goes before me. And He had already gone before me, to this new place.  

The mourning dove reminded me to be grateful. It shifted my perspective. It didn’t change the fact that I had boxes to unpack or that I was still adjusting to a new place. But it changed how I saw it. It reminded me that while I was focused on packing and comfort and trying to feel settled, God had already taken care of the details I was so worried about. 

Scripture calls us into this kind of perspective. In 1 Thessalonians 5:18, we are told to give thanks in all circumstances, not because every circumstance is easy, but because God is present in every one of them. Gratitude doesn’t require everything to be perfect; it simply requires us to recognize that God is at work.

There are days I wake up already overwhelmed, thinking about everything ahead of me and wondering how I’m going to handle it. I build it up in my mind, imagining how difficult it will be. But then the day comes, and it’s not nearly as hard as I expected. It’s manageable. It’s covered. 

Every time that happens, I’m reminded: that’s not a coincidence. That’s God going before me. That’s Him preparing the way, smoothing what felt impossible, carrying what I thought I had to carry on my own.

We don’t have to change where we are to change how we see where we are. Gratitude does that. It opens our eyes to the ways God is already moving, already providing, already caring for us in both the big and the small things. When we begin to see that, it naturally leads us to praise. He truly does take care of His children. In the smallest details and in the biggest moments, He is always God. 

That alone is worthy of our gratitude.

I finished packing the last box in our little apartment and stood there for a moment, taking it all in. It’s funny how a place can hold so much of your life without ever really being yours. The walls, the floors, the windows, they were all a temporary part of my life. But what happened inside them was anything but. 

My apartment became a landing place for me. After my house sold, after my marriage unraveled and life deteriorated in ways I never expected, this is where I came to rest. It wasn’t big, and it didn’t have space for everything. There were things it lacked, and I knew that from the beginning, but somehow it had exactly what I needed. It gave me room to breathe. 

For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t responsible for maintaining something that felt too heavy for me to carry. I didn’t have a yard to manage or a house that echoed with emptiness. It was just enough space for me, for my son, and for the quiet work that God was doing in my heart. 

The apartment, however, was not a place to build my forever. Sometimes God does that. He places us in temporary spaces, not because He’s forgotten about the bigger picture, but because He’s focused on something deeper. He’s less concerned with where we’re going to live long-term and more concerned with what He wants to do inside of us right now.

Looking back, I can see how much He simplified my life in that season. There had been so much confusion before, so many decisions to make, so many emotions tied up in what had been lost and what was still uncertain. But in the middle of it all, God kept gently leading me toward the simplest next step. Not the most impressive one, not the one that looked the best on paper, just the simplest. 

Temporary Seasons Are Still Sacred

Times of waiting, times of transition, and temporary seasons can feel uncertain, but they are often incredibly purposeful. In fact, I think those are the very places where God does some of His deepest teaching. We’ve heard the saying, “It’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey,” and I believe that’s exactly where God meets us, in the journey. 

That season wasn’t just about leaving a house; it was about letting go of an entire way of life. I downsized to a small apartment, and along the way, I gave much of what I owned to Ukrainian refugees who were just beginning again themselves. What I was left with was a much simpler life, and if I’m honest, I needed it to be simple because I didn’t have it in me to carry anything more. 

Sometimes when we are responsible for too much we don’t leave ourselves any room to heal. We stay busy.  We keep managing, but we don’t actually stop long enough to let God do the deeper work inside of us.

There’s a lot of advice out there that says not to make major decisions in the middle of trauma, and I understand the wisdom in that. But I also believe that choosing to simplify your life during those seasons can be one of the healthiest decisions you can make. Fewer decisions creates space. And when you’re hurting, space matters. 

Pain takes up more room than we realize, and processing it takes energy. My apartment didn’t have room for excess. It barely had room for anything beyond what was necessary. But what it did have was just enough room for God to meet us there.

Now, as I pack up and prepare to leave for a new place, one that is better suited for this next season, I find myself emotional. That small, simple space became sacred to me. And while I know it’s time to move on, and I’m grateful for what’s ahead, I also know this: I will always be thankful for that temporary place that held us while God was restoring what had been broken.

God Untangles What We Can’t

There was another layer to the simplicity God was leading me into, and it went far beyond just the physical. Yes, downsizing my home and letting go of possessions created space, but what God was really after was something deeper. He began to show me that it wasn’t just my surroundings that needed to be simplified, it was my emotional and spiritual life too.

I can remember a time during our separation when everything was an argument between my ex-husband and I. There was so much tension, so much hurt, and it didn’t take much for things to escalate into another painful confrontation. In that season, my emotions were strong, my reactions were quick, and I had a solid reason to justify every response. But in the middle of all of that, I felt God calling me to something different. Over and over again, I sensed Him asking me to keep my life simple.

Even when my responses felt justified, I had to ask myself whether I was engaging in a moment that was actually good for me. Would my responses bring peace, or would it create more emotional clutter? Would it lead to healing, or would it leave behind another wound that I would have to carry later? I began to realize that every interaction was a decision. I could choose something that made my life harder, or something that made it simpler.

Scripture tells us in 1 Corinthians 14:33 that God is not a God of confusion but of peace. And in James 3:16, we’re reminded that where jealousy and selfish ambition exist, there will be disorder and every vile practice. I could see that playing out in real time. The more I gave in to reaction, the more complicated and chaotic things became. But the more I paused and chose peace, the more space there was for God to work.

That often meant letting go of control. It meant letting go of the need to prove I was right. It meant choosing actions that wouldn’t require healing later. I was already wounded, there was no reason to keep creating more wounds. God was teaching me that sometimes the strongest thing you can do is to step back, stay quiet, and choose what leads to peace instead of what feeds the conflict.

Dealing with the consequences of our actions complicates our lives, so in order to keep things simple we must choose actions that don’t create consequences later.

I also began simplifying other decisions.  I stopped overcomplicating my days and gave myself more time to rest. I didn't feel better at first, but with each decision, I felt God gently guiding to a life of peace over time.

Because God has a sense of humor, during this time I kept revisiting a memory of a bad hair day from my teenage years. I remember going on a family camping trip.  I was riding in my cousin’s truck with the windows down for the hourlong drive. My hair does not do well in that kind of wind, and by the time we got there, it was completely tangled.  I'm talking knotted in ways I didn’t even think were possible. I had to get in the shower and absolutely soak it in conditioner just to begin working those knots out. It took time and multiple treatments to slowly untangle what had been twisted up.

That’s what this season felt like.  A really bad hair day.

No, I’m not comparing God to hair conditioner, but that’s what He does in our lives. We tangle things up. We make decisions, react in ways that feel right in the moment, and before we know it, everything feels knotted and overwhelming. We don’t even know where to begin. But when we start doing things His way, those knots begin to loosen. Slowly, gently, things begin to untangle.

Jesus says in Matthew 11:28–30, Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest… For my yoke is easy and my burden is light. 

I had to learn that I would rather make a hard decision in the moment than live with a hard consequence for years. There were so many things I could have said, so many moments where I could have reacted, and maybe I would have even been justified. But I reached a point where I realized I had to take responsibility for the level of complication in my own life. It’s hard in the moment, but it makes life so much lighter in the long run.

Healing, I’ve found, is not loud or dramatic. It’s quiet. It’s steady. And it takes time to untangle the knots we’ve created. Even now, there's times I can feel myself wanting to return to old patterns, and in those moments I sense God gently reminding me.  Keep it simple.

God Doesn’t Stop Working When We Move On

I didn’t want to keep learning the same lessons over and over again. I didn’t want to stay stuck in a cycle of hurt, pain, and repetition. I wanted to move forward. And I began to understand that moving forward isn’t about winning arguments or proving a point in the moment. It’s about choosing what leads to life. God is far more concerned with healing our hearts than He is with us being right. He wants us out of the hurt, out of the chaos, and into something better. Not ignoring the past, but learning from it without continuing to live in it.

Scripture tells us in Isaiah 43:18–19, Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! That doesn’t mean our past doesn’t matter.  It means it doesn’t have to define where we stay. At some point, we have to make a decision to stop digging the same hole and instead let God lead us out of it.

True forward movement means stepping into the life God is calling us to. A life marked not by complication, but by simplicity and peace. We are not here to live in constant striving, to outdo one another, or to win every disagreement. We are here to grow, to love, to forgive, and to further His kingdom.

We all carry regrets. We all have things we wish we had done differently. But Romans 8:28 reminds us that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him. In my life, He used a small apartment in the city to pull me out of chaos, to remind me of my purpose, and to walk with me into something new. 

Thankfully, God is not confined to a location.  He won't stay behind when I leave this place.  

God goes with us.

He goes with us into the next home, the next season, the next calling. He walks with us as we grow, as we learn, and as we continue becoming who He created us to be. He is patient with our pace. He knows what we can handle. And sometimes, He slows us down, not to hold us back, but to restore us and let us experience the peace that comes from walking closely with Him.

His ways are good. They are steady. They are full of mercy.

And if we are willing to follow Him, He will lead us into a life of purpose, peace, and quiet transformation.