Tag: #ChristianEncouragement

When Someone Else’s Choices Make You Question Your Worth

When Someone Else’s Choices Make You Question Your Worth

Posted on by mrsmonarch

 *** A tender note before reading: Today’s post touches on betrayal, marriage wounds, and the painful questions that can surface when trust is broken. Please— take a deep breath and stay with this one. I believe it’s a post each of us can relate to in some way or another, and that even if the circumstances are a little different in your life, the message could still be helpful. ***  

For Those Who Keep Showing Up

For Those Who Keep Showing Up

Posted on by mrsmonarch

This week’s message is for the ones who keep showing up.

Not people looking for shortcuts.
Not people demanding applause.
Just… faithful people, doing the best they can, as they walk through difficult times. 

The daughter making another long drive to care for an aging parent.
The grandmother raising grandchildren when she thought that season of life was over.
The mother who spent decades pouring herself into her children only to feel forgotten.
The man who goes to work every day, pays the bills, keeps his promises, and wonders if anyone would notice if he stopped.
The volunteer who quietly serves every Sunday while carrying grief no one sees.

Friends, I’m here to proclaim what we all know and try hard not to say:

There is a particular kind of exhaustion that doesn’t come from working too hard. It comes from loving hard. And wondering if it mattered.

I’m realizing that it isn’t simply that people are tired.

It’s that they’re beginning to question whether faithfulness is worth it.

Not because they expected a parade.

But because after years—even decades—of doing what was right, they secretly hoped there would at least be fruit.

A grateful child.

A healthier marriage.

A restored relationship.

A little acknowledgment. 

They were patient; knowing full well that planted seeds take time to bring forth fruit. So, they’ve waited and waited… and waited. 

But Instead of fruit…

They’ve been greeted by silence.

Distance.

More responsibility.

Another problem to solve.

Another person to carry.

And eventually the enemy begins whispering that age-old question:

“What was the point?”

I don’t think that question is asked nearly enough in Christian circles because it feels almost shameful.

But it is profoundly human. And our humanity is not shameful. It’s simply … frail. 

It needs Validation. Hope. Reminders! 

So here’s where it gets real: 

Jesus never measured results the way we measure them.

We count followers.

God counts obedience.

We count gratitude.

God counts sacrifice.

We count visible fruit.

God sees seeds buried in soil that hasn’t broken open yet.

That’s incredibly difficult for hearts that are hurting because we long to know that our pouring out actually mattered.

I keep coming back to the Old Testament idea of the tithe.

A tithe wasn’t valuable because the OT church needed to pay their electric bill.

It was valuable because it declared: “This belongs to God.”

***Sit with that thought a minute!***

What if every unseen act of service is like that?

Every meal cooked.

Every diaper changed.

Every elderly parent cared for.

Every difficult conversation handled with grace.

Every bill we worked hard to pay.

Every prayer whispered over children who never knew.

Every lonely shift at work.

Every sacrifice no one thanked you for.

Not wasted.

Offered.

A living tithe.

Placed in God’s hands before anyone else’s opinion ever gets to evaluate it.

Maybe that’s what faithfulness really is.

Not performing until someone notices.

But laying another day’s offering on the altar even when no one says thank you.

Because God has never confused hidden with insignificant.

There’s another thought I can’t shake:

The world tells us that our value is determined by what comes back around to us; what we “manifest”. 

The Kingdom has always worked differently.

Love first.

Serve first.

Give first.

Forgive first.

Plant first.

Sometimes harvest comes much later.

Sometimes someone else gathers the fruit from seeds we planted.

Sometimes we won’t see the full harvest this side of heaven.

That doesn’t make the planting meaningless.

 

Maybe today you’re carrying responsibilities that no one applauds.

Maybe you’ve spent years loving people who no longer call.

Maybe you’re wondering if all the giving, serving, praying, working, sacrificing, and simply showing up has made any difference at all.

Hear this, friend:

God has never overlooked a single offering you’ve laid before Him.

Not one meal.
Not one mile.
Not one tear.
Not one prayer.
Not one unseen act of love.

The world may reward performance.

Heaven remembers faithfulness.

Your service has never been invisible.

It has always been worship.

One final thought: There’s a temptation, when we’re wounded by the lack of gratitude or visible fruit, to conclude that the value of our service depended on the response we received.

But what if its value was established the moment we offered it to God?

That doesn’t erase the grief. It doesn’t make estranged children less painful, caregiving less exhausting, or lonely faithfulness any easier.

It does, however, move the weight of our worth from human hands back into God’s hands.

And perhaps that’s where weary servants finally find enough strength to offer one more day. 

Until Next Time– 
Keep Becoming! 

 

☕ Join The Porch

If you found us through social media, Pinterest or Google, and this post encouraged you today, I’d love to invite you to Join us on “The Porch”, a members only on-line community who get emails like this every Tuesday and Friday evenings.

“The Porch” is exactly what your mind dreams up when it’s allowed to think of quieter, slower days. It’s a “place” we are building in cyberspace— that allows us to “gather” whenever our schedule allows, shut out the world and simple BE REFRESHED.

A 10-minute pit stop— twice a week— where I share encouragement, faith-filled reflections and honest conversations about the journey of becoming.

Pull up a chair, pour a cup of coffee, and stay awhile.

[Join The Porch]

And– For those who live life on the GO— You can now listen to the audio version of Built To Be A Butterfly posts FREE on Spotify! 

When Love Becomes Care: The Sacred Weight of Showing Up for an Aging Father

When Love Becomes Care: The Sacred Weight of Showing Up for an Aging Father

Posted on by mrsmonarch

There are seasons in life that don’t announce themselves as sacred.

They arrive quietly… wrapped in responsibility, routine, and a kind of exhaustion you don’t fully notice until you’re already living inside it.

This is one of those seasons for me.

I’ve found myself sitting in more silence lately—not because there is nothing to say, but because what is unfolding feels too tender to rush.

Too layered to simplify.

Too real to package neatly.

And I’ve been learning that sometimes the most honest thing we can do is simply tell the truth about where we are… even when it doesn’t come out polished.

My father is aging in a way that is no longer subtle.

After my mom passed last year, everything shifted. The home they built together became too big for him to care for alone. So we made the decision to move him into an independent living facility—a place that is safe, supportive, and honestly very beautiful.

He has his own apartment. A balcony. A kitchen. A full calendar of activities if he feels up to them. Choir, art, social gatherings. A community around him.

On paper… he is cared for. And in many ways, he is.

But life is never just what’s on paper.

His body is weaker now.

His steps are slower.

His hands—especially—fight him because of neuropathy.

And beneath all of it is a quiet fragility that I can feel even when nothing is being said.

So my life has taken on a different rhythm.

Phone calls every day.

Medication organization.

Grocery orders through an app.

Six-hour drives each way, twice a month, to sit with him, refill pill packets, share meals, and simply be present.

And I won’t pretend I always carry it well.

There are days I am tired in a way sleep doesn’t fix.

Days where repetition wears thin and responsibility feels heavy.

Days where fear sits quietly in the background whispering what-ifs I don’t want to name out loud.

Because when you love someone in this stage of life, there is a thought that doesn’t fully go away:

What if something happens and I’m not there?

And yet… something else is happening too.

Something I didn’t expect.

Something I didn’t plan for.

There are moments—small, unassuming moments—where everything softens.

Where the pace slows down enough for something deeper to surface.

Where he is no longer only the father who carried everything… and I am no longer only the daughter being carried.

We are simply two people sitting in the same room sharing the precious gift of time.

And in that space, something tender is being rebuilt.

Not perfectly.

Not without tension.

But honestly.

We talk differently now.

More slowly.

More openly.

Sometimes revisiting old memories in ways that weren’t possible when life was loud and rushed and full of responsibility.

And I find myself realizing something I didn’t expect:

We are not only navigating decline.

We are also witnessing something sacred being restored.

It is not easy to name this season.

It is grief and gratitude sharing the same breath.

It is love that feels heavy and holy at the same time.

It is showing up again… and again… and again… even when I don’t feel strong enough for it.

But it is also connection.

It is presence.

It is healing in places I didn’t know were still open and wounded.

With Father’s Day approaching, I’ve been thinking about how complicated love becomes in seasons like this.

It’s no longer just celebration.

It becomes attention.

Witness.

Care in its most practical form.

And maybe that’s what I want to say most of all—if you are in a season like this too:

Don’t dismiss what has a chance to be rebuilt–even in the middle of what is being worn down.

Don’t assume the hard parts cancel out the holy parts.

Sometimes love doesn’t look like ease.

Sometimes it looks like showing up.

Quietly.

Repeatedly.

Faithfully.

Even when it costs something.

Even when it aches.

Even when you don’t have the emotional language for it yet.

Because there are winter seasons in life that don’t just ‘take’ from us. 

They reveal.

They deepen.

They reshape what love actually means.

And strangely… they are capable of still growing something beautiful.

Something honest.

Something that looks a lot like grace.

Here’s my closing thought: 

If you are walking through something similar, I hope you remember this:

Nothing sacred is wasted.

Not the hard days.

Not the repetition.

Not the fear you don’t say out loud.

Not the love that feels heavier than you expected.

It all matters.

Even here.

Even now.

Even in this season.

Until Next Time… 
Keep Becoming! 

☕ Join The Porch

If you found us through social media, Pinterest or Google, and this post encouraged you today, I’d love to invite you to Join us on “The Porch”, a members only on-line community who get emails like this every Tuesday and Friday evenings.

“The Porch” is exactly what your mind dreams up when it’s allowed to think of quieter, slower days. It’s a “place” we are building in cyberspace— that allows us to “gather” whenever our schedule allows, shut out the world and simple BE REFRESHED.

A 10-minute pit stop— twice a week— where I share encouragement, faith-filled reflections and honest conversations about the journey of becoming.

Pull up a chair, pour a cup of coffee, and stay awhile.

[Join The Porch]

And– For those who live life on the GO— You can now listen to the audio version of Built To Be A Butterfly posts FREE on Spotify! 

 

 

Does Any of This Even Matter?

Does Any of This Even Matter?

Posted on by mrsmonarch

Some days, I look around at the world and wonder if anything I do makes a difference.

The world feels heavy lately.

People seem exhausted. Distracted. Angry. Lonely.

Everyone is scrolling, rushing, consuming, reacting, moving on to the next thing.

And somewhere in the middle of all that noise, I find myself asking a question that I suspect many of us ask:

Does any of this even matter?

Not in a dramatic, throw-my-hands-up-and-quit sort of way.

More in a quiet, honest way.

Does the meal I cooked matter?

Does the prayer I prayed matter?

Does the encouraging text I sent matter?

Does the blog post I wrote matter?

Does the conversation I had over coffee matter?

Am I actually making a difference, or am I simply adding another drop to an ocean so large it can never be noticed?

For a long time, I thought purpose looked big.

I thought meaningful work had to be impressive.

I thought impact should be measurable.

Surely if I was making a difference, there would be obvious proof.

There would be applause.

Testimonials.

Large numbers.

Visible results.

But the older I get, the more I suspect that much of the good we do in this world happens quietly.

The teacher never fully knows which student carried her words for decades.

The mother never fully knows which small moments shaped her children.

The friend never fully knows how much that one conversation mattered.

The person who chooses kindness over criticism never sees the ripple effect that decision creates.

And… The writer never hears from most of her readers.

So much of our impact remains invisible.

Not because it wasn’t important.

Because life simply doesn’t provide a report card for every act of faithfulness.

I used to think I needed to have everything figured out before I could share anything meaningful.

I wanted to write from the other side of the struggle.

I wanted to tell the story after the lesson had been learned, the problem solved, and the victory secured.

After all, who am I to speak on things I’m still learning?

Who am I to encourage others when I don’t have all the answers?

But somewhere along the way, I began to realize something.

If I wait until I’ve mastered every lesson before I share it, I may never share anything at all. And even if I did… who wants to learn from a know-it-all??! 

I’m learning that most of life isn’t solved. It’s being lived… often in the trenches, while we’re really struggling. 

And maybe people aren’t looking for experts nearly as often as they’re looking for companions.

Maybe they don’t need someone standing on a stage saying, “I’ve arrived.”

Maybe they need someone sitting beside them saying, “I’m walking this road too.”

That realization changed something in me.

I stopped waiting for inspiration quite so much.

I stopped waiting for certainty.

I stopped waiting until I felt qualified.

Instead, I started doing.

Here a little. There a little.

One conversation. One prayer. 

One act of kindness. One blog post.

One journal. One encouraging word.

Just showing up and placing what I have in God’s hands.

No grand strategy. No guarantees.

No certainty that it will matter.

Just faithfulness.

And perhaps that’s where purpose has been hiding all along.

Not in changing the whole world. Not in reaching everyone.

Not in building something impressive.

But in faithfully loving the people God places in front of us today.

The internet has plenty of stages. The world has plenty of people shouting.

What it often lacks are quiet places where people can sit down, exhale, and be honest.

What it lacks are people willing to offer kindness when criticism would be easier.

What it lacks are people willing to keep planting seeds even when they never get to see the harvest.

So if you’ve been wondering whether your life matters…

If you’ve been wondering whether your small acts of faithfulness are accomplishing anything…

If you’ve been wondering whether anyone notices…

I hope you’ll remember this:

You may never know the full impact of your obedience.

You may never see all the ripples.

You may never hear all the stories.

But that doesn’t mean they aren’t happening.

The good you do is not measured solely by what you can see.

Sometimes the most meaningful things we ever do look remarkably ordinary while we’re doing them.

A conversation. 

A prayer.

A meal.

A journal entry.

A kind word.

A small act of courage.

A simple act of showing up.

Here a little. There a little.

And perhaps, in the hands of God, that is more than enough.

☕ Join The Porch

If this post encouraged you today, I’d love to invite you to Join The Porch.

It’s a quiet place where I share weekly encouragement, faith-filled reflections, podcast updates, and honest conversations about the journey of becoming.

Pull up a chair, pour a cup of coffee, and stay awhile.

[Join The Porch]

 

Healing Doesn’t Always Erase the Scar

Healing Doesn’t Always Erase the Scar

Posted on by mrsmonarch

Sometimes healing doesn’t leave us looking “good as new.”

Sometimes it leaves a scar.

A few years ago, I had a painful run-in with one of my biggest childhood fears: a brown recluse spider bite hidden inside a shirt hanging in my closet. What followed was weeks of pain, fear, doctor visits, and healing that seemed to move far slower than I wanted it to.

It was frightening.
It was painful.
And strangely enough… it changed me for the better.

Not because I enjoyed the experience. I didn’t.

But because difficult seasons have a way of revealing things we might never notice otherwise.

As my body slowly healed, I realized something deeper was happening too. Fear I thought I had conquered rose to the surface. Anxiety showed itself in ways I hadn’t expected. I found myself needing rest, prayer, perspective, and a deeper kind of healing than physical recovery alone could provide.

Eventually, the wound closed.

Life moved forward.

But the scar remained.

And for a while, I hated that.

I wanted healing to mean the evidence disappeared. I wanted no reminder that the pain had ever existed in the first place. But over time, my perspective began to change.

Now when I see that scar, I no longer see something ugly.

I see proof.

Proof that hard things can be survived.
Proof that fear doesn’t always win.
Proof that healing can happen slowly and still be real.

And maybe that’s true for more than physical scars.

Maybe some of the marks we carry emotionally tell stories too.

The weary heart that learned how to keep loving.
The exhausted mother who kept showing up.
The woman who walked through grief and somehow still found tenderness afterward.
The person who survived heartbreak without becoming hard-hearted.

We spend so much of our lives trying to hide the evidence of what we’ve been through.

But what if our scars are not reminders of weakness?

What if they are reminders that we made it through something that could have destroyed us?

Not every wound heals cleanly.
Not every painful chapter disappears without a trace.

But scars have a way of reminding us:
we are still here.

Still growing.
Still learning.
Still becoming.

And maybe there is something quietly beautiful about that. 

Until Next Time— Keeping growing! 

☕ Join The Porch

Members of the Built To Be A Butterfly Community get emails like this every Tuesday and Friday evenings. If you found us through social media, Pinterest or Google, and this post encouraged you today, I’d love to invite you to Join us on “The Porch”. 

What exactly IS “the Porch”? Hmmmm…. 

It’s exactly what your mind dreams up when it’s allowed to think of quieter, slower days. It’s a “place” we are building in cyberspace— that allows us to “gather” whenever our schedule allows, shut out the world and simple BE REFRESHED.

A 10 minute pit stop, twice a week where I share encouragement, faith-filled reflections and honest conversations about the journey of becoming.

And, if this season of life has you constantly on the go…. You can now listen to the audio version of this post on Spotify! 

Pull up a chair, pour a cup of coffee, and stay awhile.

[Join The Porch]

 

 

 

Your Role Matters

Your Role Matters

Posted on by mrsmonarch

Lately, I’ve noticed something online that leaves my heart feeling unexpectedly heavy.

Everywhere I turn, someone is sounding an alarm.

“Wake up.”
“The end is near.”
“God showed me this.”
“God told me that.”

And while I absolutely believe God still speaks to His people, I’ve realized something deeper was bothering me beneath all the noise.

It wasn’t fear.

It was sadness.

Because so many people seem to believe that the only meaningful way to matter in the Kingdom of God is to become someone “important.” Someone visible. Someone dramatic. Someone with a platform, a microphone, or a warning message that makes everyone stop and stare.

But Scripture reminds us that the Body of Christ was never designed to function that way.

Not everyone is called to stand on a wall and sound a trumpet.

Some people are called to quietly hold exhausted hearts together.

Some are called to nurture children.
Some are called to listen deeply.
Some encourage.
Some serve.
Some give.
Some teach.
Some simply show up faithfully every single day and love people well.

And none of those roles are lesser.

Some of the holiest work happening right now is completely unseen by the world.

It’s the mother folding laundry while praying over her family.
It’s the weary husband continuing to provide even when life feels heavy.
It’s the friend who answers the phone at midnight.
It’s the woman who keeps choosing kindness after disappointment.
It’s the person who keeps loving others quietly when no applause ever comes.

We live in a culture that celebrates visibility.

But Heaven has always valued faithfulness.

Dear friend, you do not have to become louder to become more valuable.

God did not accidentally create “extra” people.

You were created intentionally, carefully, and with purpose.

And maybe your calling isn’t to be the loudest voice in the room.

Maybe your calling is to become steady.
Gentle.
Faithful.
Compassionate.
Available.
Wise.
Safe.

Those things matter deeply too.

The world may overlook quiet gifts, but God never does.

So if you’ve been feeling small lately because your life doesn’t look impressive or influential, I hope you remember this today:

A body needs hands just as much as it needs eyes.
It needs ears.
It needs feet.
It needs every hidden part working together— in love.

And the same is true in the Kingdom of God.

Your role matters.

Your faithfulness matters.

And your ordinary, everyday obedience may be changing lives more than you realize.

“For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.”
— Ephesians 2:10

Until Next Time—

Keep Growing!

☕ Join The Porch

Members of the Built To Be A Butterfly Community get emails like this every Tuesday and Friday evenings. If you found us through social media, Pinterest or Google, and this post encouraged you today, I’d love to invite you to Join us on “The Porch”. 

What exactly IS “the Porch”? Hmmmm…. 

It’s exactly what your mind dreams up when it’s allowed to think of quieter, slower days. It’s a “place” we are building in cyberspace— that allows us to “gather” whenever our schedule allows, shut out the world and simple BE REFRESHED.

A 10 minute pit stop, twice a week where I share encouragement, faith-filled reflections and honest conversations about the journey of becoming.

And, if this season of life has you constantly on the go…. You can now listen to the audio version of this post on Spotify! 

Pull up a chair, pour a cup of coffee, and stay awhile.

[Join The Porch]

 

Broken… But Still Beautiful

Broken… But Still Beautiful

Posted on by mrsmonarch

Finding Purpose in the Pieces Life Tried to Shatter

(From the Built To Be A Butterfly Vault)

I have always loved antique glassware.

Delicate pink depression glass, vintage crystal, elegant serving pieces that once sat on family tables long before I was born — there is something beautiful about objects that have survived generations and still catch the light so gracefully.

A few years ago, while wandering through a small antique shop, I found a pale green sugar and creamer set resting on its original glass tray.

I was instantly drawn to it.

The color was beautiful.
The set was rare.
And the price was surprisingly reasonable.

I could already picture it sitting on my holiday table.

Then I noticed the tray.

One delicate corner of the glass had been chipped away.

Suddenly, all I could see was the damage.

Disappointed, I placed the set back on the shelf and walked away.

But as I wandered through the store, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Eventually, I returned and picked it up again.

The sugar bowl was still beautiful.
The creamer still served its purpose.
The glass still shimmered when it caught the light.

And somehow, in all my disappointment over one broken edge, I had completely overlooked the beauty and usefulness that still remained.

That realization settled deeply into my heart.

How often do we do that to ourselves?

We focus so intensely on the chipped places, the cracks, the wounds, the disappointments, and the scars that we begin to believe our brokenness is the most important thing about us.

But brokenness is not the whole story.

In fact, most people never notice the flaws we obsess over so relentlessly. They simply experience the warmth we offer, the kindness we extend, the comfort we bring, the love we pour into ordinary moments.

The antique set came home with me that day.

And do you know what I discovered?

No one ever comments on the broken corner.

They gather around the table.
They laugh.
They cry.
They share stories.
And all the while, that little sugar and creamer set continues quietly serving its purpose.

Perhaps people are a little like that too.

The truth is, we do not become chipped and cracked by sitting safely on a shelf, untouched by life. We are shaped through living, loving, grieving, sacrificing, serving, and surviving.

And yet, despite our wounds, we still carry beauty.
We still carry value.
We still have something meaningful to offer this world.

Scripture reminds us that God is near to the brokenhearted.

I think that means He does not recoil from our damaged places the way we often do. He sees beyond the cracks. He sees what still shines beneath them.

And maybe healing is not always about becoming flawless again.

Maybe sometimes healing looks like being willing to step back into life despite the imperfections — trusting that grace can still make something beautiful of us.

There will always be reasons to hide safely on the shelf.
To believe we are too damaged.
Too weak.
Too worn down.
Too imperfect to be useful.

But broken things can still hold beauty.
And wounded hearts can still pour love into others.

Perhaps that is part of redemption itself.

Not pretending the cracks never existed…
but discovering that they never disqualified us from being loved, chosen, or beautifully used in the first place.

Keep Becoming!

☕ Join The Porch

Members of the Built To Be A Butterfly Community get emails like this every Tuesday and Friday evenings. If you found us through social media, Pinterest or Google, and this post encouraged you today, I’d love to invite you to Join us on “The Porch”. 

What exactly IS “the Porch”? Hmmmm…. 

It’s exactly what your mind dreams up when it’s allowed to think of quieter, slower days. It’s a “place” we are building in cyberspace— that allows us to “gather” whenever our schedule allows, shut out the world and simple BE REFRESHED.

A 10 minute pit stop, twice a week where I share encouragement, faith-filled reflections and honest conversations about the journey of becoming.

And, if this season of life has you constantly on the go…. You can now listen to the audio version of this post on Spotify! 

Pull up a chair, pour a cup of coffee, and stay awhile.

[Join The Porch]