Devotionals aren’t sermons. They’re invitations.
I don’t write them like I’m trying to teach a crowd, I write them like I’m whispering to a friend sitting in a dimly lit room, wrapped in a blanket, feeling uncertain or undone.
I ask myself:
What would Jesus say to her here?
What truth would He gently speak to her?
That’s the soul of my writing, and it’s why each devotional I create is less about religious instruction and more about restoration. I begin with a verse, not one that feels lofty, but one that makes your heart stop. A verse that feels like a breath, a balm, or a mirror.
Sometimes, I ask:
What scripture carried me through a hard moment?
What verse helped me forgive, soften, or hope again?
I don’t force context too tightly. I let the Word breathe. Because it’s alive and I want the reader to encounter God, not just information.
I sit with it. I journal through it. I ask myself:
How did I relate to this?
What was I wrestling with?
How did God meet me there?
Then I write. I let the reflection move like a conversation, not polished but real and vulnerable. The kind of writing that says, “Me too. I’ve been there. You’re not crazy for feeling this.” I write prayers like I’m standing beside the reader, holding her hand, helping her speak to God when she doesn’t know how to start.
Sometimes, that’s all someone needs: To be reminded they can still talk to God. That He still listens. He still loves them.
Because I’ve been the girl in the dark room, the one who had the Word alive in her… but wouldn’t speak it. Because I was too broken.
Until He whispered Isaiah 60:1 “Arise, shine, for your light has come…” And I knew it was time. Time to rise not just into wholeness… But into my new era of priesthood.
Now I write to help other women rise, because coming into fullness isn’t just about getting up, it’s about becoming.
This is how I write devotionals that heal and maybe… It's how I heal, too.