Have you ever felt stuck? Like your circumstances are immovable mountains, and your personal struggles are deeply entrenched patterns that seem impossible to shift? The truth is, that change begins in the landscape of belief.

In our hyperconnected world, it's easier than ever to get attention. A carefully crafted social media post, a controversial comment, or even a dramatic life update can instantly draw dozens of reactions, comments, and temporary interest from others. We've become masters at gaining attention, but are we missing something deeper?

Have you ever caught yourself in that familiar spiral of overthinking? Maybe you're facing a decision, and your mind is running through every possible scenario, trying to control the outcome. I've been there – we all have. It's part of our human nature to want certainty, to crave control over our circumstances. But here's the beautiful truth: change becomes possible when we first believe it is.

We do desperate things when we long to be loved. We will go to dramatic lengths to experience love, confirm we are loved or show others we are lovable. From people-pleasing and attention-seeking to fixing our behavior and becoming a doormat, there is nothing off-limits to what we’re willing to do in order to experience that elusive thing called love…

Change can feel like standing at a crossroads in the fog – we know we need to move forward, but uncertainty makes every step feel risky. Perhaps you've experienced that familiar ache: the deep-seated knowing that you're meant for more, paired with the nagging question of how to get there. We all carry dreams of transformation in our hearts, whether they're whispered hopes of breaking old habits or bold visions of becoming who we're truly meant to be. The beautiful truth is that change isn't just a possibility – it's part of God's divine design for your life.

Have you ever tried to describe the shape of your heart? Not the anatomical organ, but the spiritual center of who you are? It's not as simple as drawing the Valentine's Day symbol we're all familiar with. Our hearts are complex landscapes shaped by experiences, relationships, and most importantly, what we choose to trust.

The war within ourselves is perhaps one of the most exhausting battles we face. That moment when the alarm rings and we're caught between our morning devotional commitment and the warmth of our bed. The internal debate as we pass by our favorite coffee shop, knowing we've promised to be better stewards of our finances. These daily skirmishes between our aspirations and our actions shape not just our days, but our spiritual journey.

Have you ever tried to read a book while running? Of course not—that would be absurd! You can't absorb the words on the page when you're moving too quickly. Yet so often, we try to navigate life's complexities at breakneck speed, wondering why we can't see things clearly or make wise decisions. The truth is, we can't see properly when we're in a hurry, whether that's reading a book or discerning the state of our hearts.

This past fall, I moved into a new house. My parents were gracious enough to drive from Wilmington to Carrboro to help me get settled in. There were a plethora of boxes to be carried inside and furniture to be constructed. My dad, ever the family handyman, was more than happy to help assemble my new desk, bedframe, and loveseat. 

In our fast-paced world of instant notifications, endless scrolling, and constant distractions, the idea of meaningful change can feel overwhelming. We often find ourselves making the same resolutions, setting similar goals, or promising ourselves "This time will be different," only to find ourselves back in familiar patterns weeks or months later. Why does lasting change seem so elusive?

Wake up, coffee, work, dinner, sleep, repeat. Our routines can become so deeply ingrained that we practically operate on autopilot, barely noticing the days as they blend into weeks and months. While routines provide structure and stability, they can also become spiritual straightjackets, limiting our growth and dulling our sensitivity to God's presence.

Have you ever found yourself stuck in a cycle of regret, replaying past mistakes like a video on a loop? I certainly have. There's something almost comforting about regret – it's familiar, predictable, and requires nothing more from us than to sit in our disappointment. Unlike the challenging work of transformation, regret asks little of us beyond acknowledging what went wrong.

My car is the best car ever manufactured. I may be a bit biased, but I adore my Kia Soul. Though those around me often scoff at my “hot rod,” I love everything about my girl Kiki. Unfortunately, driving is not one of my spiritual gifts. Consequently, Kiki isn’t perfect; but I love her all the same. Her left bumper has a few scratches. Her driver’s-side door has been dented and damaged. Kiki’s substandard condition is also partly due to my laziness. Dirty aprons from my waitressing side-gig are strewn across the floor. I’ve yet to replace the windshield wipers, which are growing thin. And, admittedly, I haven’t gotten her washed in ages. 

Have you ever felt that nagging sensation deep within—the one that whispers you were meant for more? That feeling isn't just restlessness; it's recognition of a profound truth: you were created by God and for God.

This devotion is long overdue. Several months ago, God impressed a message onto my heart. So why has it taken me so much time to write it down? If I am honest, I feel like the last person who should be communicating this idea. I have a (very) difficult time applying this lesson to my life. So if it feels challenging to you, you are not alone. 

It's the first week of January, and you're holding a journal that feels like a metaphor for your walk with God this year. Blank pages spread out before you—untouched, full of potential, waiting for something more than just your plans. This isn't about New Year's resolutions or another attempt to manufacture the perfect spiritual life. It's about making space for God to move in ways you might not expect - not plans you'll force, but plans He's carefully crafting. Some chapters might feel like wilderness wanderings—full of questions, waiting, unexpected turns. And that's exactly where transformation happens.

Your heart is not a fixed container, but a living, breathing landscape that can expand, contract, heal, and transform. God is inviting you to a journey of growing concern that goes far beyond personal comfort and into the deep waters of His love by allowing it to reshape your understanding of the world and your place in it. Expanding your heart requires radical dependence on God. It's acknowledging that true compassion doesn't originate from your own limited resources, but from the inexhaustible love of Christ flowing through you. Your capacity to care is directly connected to your willingness to be transformed.

Your relationships are sacred spaces where transformation happens, where God's love becomes tangible, and where we slowly become more like Jesus. They serve as mirrors, challenges, and invitations to deeper understanding. Some people will accelerate your growth, while others might inadvertently hold you back. The key is developing spiritual awareness about the relational ecosystem you're cultivating. Who challenges you to grow?

Your life is a canvas where each stroke reveals not just what you do, but who you're becoming. In the hands of God, this masterpiece unfolds intentionally, step by step, moment by moment. As 2025 begins, remember that transformation isn’t a checklist to complete or a destination to reach. It’s a living, breathing journey. This isn’t about fixing flaws, being a better person, or chasing goals. It’s about reflecting Christ’s character in a way that’s deeply personal and beautifully imperfect.

Your dreams for 2025 matter, and that’s why you need to put them down on paper. Some of your hopes and dreams feel exciting. Others feel vulnerable. The point isn't to have it all figured out. The point is to be fully present. Fully honest. This is about transparency. Raw, unfiltered conversation with God. No masks. No performance. Just you—with all your hopes, fears, potential, and limitations.