I asked a question recently that cracked something open in me.

It was during a call with Taylor Welch—part of The Deep End’s NOVOS event—and I asked him the question:
“What’s the difference between values, idols, and associations?”

(Which, to be fair, is a deep question—and one I fully intend to unpack another day.) I gave him a bit more context around the struggle I’m working through—a tension you’ll see woven throughout this post.

Instead of unpacking all the nuance I brought to the table (much like my dad, he’s a “skip to the end” kinda guy), Taylor paused… and asked me something achingly simple. Something that got past my logic and went straight to the ache underneath.

“If I were to tell you that you were unimportant… what would you say?”

My throat caught a little. I hadn’t expected that.

And I said—honestly:

“My flesh would say… I didn’t make an impact. That my life didn’t really touch anyone. That my funeral would be empty.
But deeper than that? I imagine standing before God at the end of my life, and He says, ‘Here’s what I saved you for.’
And I didn’t do it. I wasted it.”

Taylor’s response was gentle. Clear. And deeply unsettling in the best kind of way:

“Not possible. Jesus came and died for you. So it’s not possible for you to be unimportant.”

It was a simple truth—but it lodged in my spirit like a seed.

Because as a lawnmower accident survivor, I’ve always lived with this immense responsibility not to waste the life Yah saved. To do something with the miracle. To leave impact. To make it count.

And yet… I find myself in this season where impact feels… different.
Where obedience looks like making oatmeal, not making waves.

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When a Season Looks Like Surrender

It’s not that I don’t love motherhood—I do. My children are the most sacred gift I’ve ever received. It’s just… different.

Quiet doesn’t come naturally to me.
Stillness feels like failure when you’ve been running so long (hello enneagram 3).

Articulating it is very challenging to me, without seeming ungrateful. But there’s been a call on my spirt for as long as I can remember to big places, and big dreams.

Having been out of sales for a few years now, it’s still something I don’t go a day without thinking about. And public speaking? I miss it. I still feel that familiar ache when I see someone speaking boldly on a stage.
I still have visions of rooms I’ll stand in, people I’ll serve, truth I’ll speak.

Is this hyper-fixating on what I think the world views as “success” ? Is this just another area in my life I’m working through the fear of man? Or is this part of my anointing in the body for Yehusha (Jesus)?

I don’t have all the answers, but I do know, in this season, I’m called to learn. To grow closer to the Ruach Ha’Qodesh (Holy Spirt), to study.

Right now, Yah has me hidden. Not in punishment—in preparation.

I’m learning surrender. How to be ok sitting with Yah, without my performance, my works, the feeling of never doing enough keeping me from His presence. Letting Yah rewrite the parts of me that still believe being loved and being impressive are the same thing.

Because they’re not.

It’s a balance, isn’t it? I’m not saying to not have discipline, to not do great things and make progress in life – I’m just realizing, as a child of Yah, that shouldn’t keep me from my relationship with my Dad.

I’m not abandoning the dreams Yah placed in me. I’m not trying to downplay the anointing I’ve carried since I was a little girl—the one that always pointed toward big rooms, bold messages, and kingdom work that echoes. That pull has always been there.

But for now?

I’m in my living room.
Not on a stage.
Not scaling a sales pipeline.
Not leading a team or launching a movement.
I’m raising kids. Folding laundry. Making dinner.

There are no bonuses. No metrics. No medals.
And for someone who’s spent her life achieving and overachieving… that’s surrender.

Yah is teaching me something in this slower chapter that I could never have learned in the hustle.

He’s teaching me that being held is just as holy as being used.