There’s something about beginnings that don’t come with fireworks. No major life event. No deep revelation. Just a quiet shift. Like when you realize the month has changed, and somehow… so have you. 

Hey there,

It’s June. It’s the middle of the year, and it feels like the start of something. Maybe it’s the pink roses sitting on the kitchen counter. Maybe it’s the leftover mac and cheese that tasted better today than yesterday. Or maybe it’s the quiet devotion from John 11 reminding me that even Jesus wept. That divinity doesn’t cancel out emotion. That it’s okay to feel.

We don’t always need a sign to mark growth. Sometimes it’s in the small things, in knowing what no longer hurts the way it used to. In breathing through a memory that once tightened the chest. In waking up and not rushing to check your phone. In dancing in the rain, just because.

Time doesn’t heal everything. But it does give you enough distance to see things more clearly. It makes room for softness where there was once sharpness. For gratitude where there was once grief.

                And just like that, it’s June.

The page has turned, quietly, gently and maybe, so have you.

So if you’re reading this, consider it your permission to begin again. Not dramatically. Not with pressure. But with presence.

Maybe with a new book.
Maybe with a full breath.
Maybe with a simple “thank You” whispered heavenward.

Start small. Start soft. But start. And most importantly: Let joy come again.

And don’t forget to dance, even in the rain.

Till next time, may you keep choosing hope and leave room for joy to return.

Love,
B