A Modern Woman on the Ancient Path — Lifestyle Blog Series

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Where Everything Quietly Broke Open

Ancient path — two words I never expected to define my life, yet they changed everything.

If this were my journal, I would begin with this truth:

I didn’t go looking for the narrow path.
The narrow path came looking for me.

For most of my life, I was the capable one.
The friend everyone called when their world felt confusing or unsteady.
The person who always found the right words for others…
while I second-guessed every word that came out of my own mouth.

I didn’t feel pretty enough.
Or funny enough.
Or smart enough.
I could accomplish anything I set my mind to, but I never felt worthy of the kind of relationships that see you, hold you, and honor you.

So I hid.
Behind strength.
Behind performance.
Behind the version of myself everyone leaned on.

And in all that hiding, I slowly lost sight of me.

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A Marriage Held Together by Routine

My husband and I have always loved each other — deeply — but for years, we didn’t know how to love each other well.

Life became a rhythm of routine:
He went to work.
I went to work.
We tucked children into bed.
We celebrated holidays as a family.

But the in-between days?
The “regular” ones?
We lived like strangers sharing a home.

Because my mother raised me to be strong — beautifully, fiercely strong — I learned to survive instead of lean.
So when anything needed to be done… I did it.
I worked overtime to pay bills.
I made decisions without asking.
I led the family by default.

He accepted the structure I built…
and I suffocated under the weight of it.

So when my father died…
when grief hit me like a wave that stole my breath…
I didn’t know how to come to my husband.
I didn’t know how to fall apart in anyone’s arms.

I had never practiced vulnerability — not once.

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The Woman Who Raised My Strength

My mom is a lioness.
She is the kind of woman storms step around.
Her strength has carried me through every season of my life.

But when someone teaches you strength…
you don’t always learn softness.

Even with her — the woman who loves me most — I didn’t know how to crumble in her arms.
Not because of her… but because of me.

I didn’t know how to be vulnerable with anyone.

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The Closet Where I Hid My Tears

When my father passed, my mom and husband tried to comfort me.
They reached for me.
They wanted to hold me.

But I rejected it.
I ran into my closet, slid down to the floor, and told them to leave me alone.
I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t speak.
I couldn’t accept comfort.

Later, when the numbness settled in, I would wait until my children went to school and my husband went to work…
and I would cry in that same closet.

It became my hiding place.
My refuge.
My release.
The only place I let myself unravel.

I didn’t know it then, but my spirit was longing for a different refuge — one much deeper, much safer.

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Eden Was Planted for Me Before I Even Knew His Name

In the silence after my father’s death, I felt a whisper rise inside me:
Build a garden.

I didn’t know that voice yet.
But I obeyed.

My cousin — who I lovingly call my twin — came and built it with me.
He placed every stone, every pot, every plant with care.
I watched him from the deck, letting the colors and textures slowly thaw something frozen inside me.

I named the place Eden before I even understood the weight of that name.
Before I understood that Scripture speaks of a prepared place —
Psalm 23’s table,
Revelation’s promise,
Ezra’s refuge.

Eeden became that for me —
a sanctuary of color, shade, birds, butterflies, and peace.

A place where I could breathe again.

The next year, when the frost killed my plants, I rebuilt Eden myself.
I retraced every step my cousin had taken.
And in recreating Eden, I recreated myself.

Then came another whisper:
Grow food.

So I did.
And Eden blossomed into a place that didn’t just hold beauty —
it nourished my home.

Flowers…
then herbs…
then vegetables…
Eden grew with me.

It became the bridge between the closet —
where I hid —
and the Presence —
where I would finally be found.

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Two Voices That Redirected My Faith Journey

Around the same time, Abba placed two people in my path who planted seeds without even knowing it.

A loan officer
wearing a crystal necklace,
speaking with unexpected wisdom about the Bible,
showing me that someone could believe in Scripture without religion’s trappings.

He didn’t know it then,
but that conversation sparked a curiosity in me,
a tiny flame that would one day become a fire.

And my Nana — my compass.
The woman whose voice I trust even when I don’t trust myself.
I told her I didn’t think the Creator cared what we called Him,
as long as we believed in “something.”

She looked at me slowly and said,
“Baby… He loves you.
Read your Bible.”

And because she said it,
I listened.

Their voices were the earthly invitations
to a divine encounter I never could have planned.

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The Morning the Ancient Path Found Me

Weeks later, I sat in Eden with my Bible open.
Not seeking relationship.
Not seeking revelation.
Just seeking answers — mostly about crystals.

A single bird landed at my feeder.
Pecking gently at the water.

Without planning to, I whispered,
“Whenever I see the birds, I’ll think of You.”

immediately —
two massive hawk-like birds began circling over my head.

Fear flooded me first.
I thought of those old childhood sayings — birds marking prey.
I grabbed my Bible and headed for the house…

Then I heard it.

A voice so still,
so gentle,
so intimate,
I almost missed it:

“You just said when you see the birds, you’ll know it is Me.”

I stopped.
Sat back down.
Let the fear melt.

Then it began.

My body took the deepest inhale of my life —
a breath that didn’t exhale.

I didn’t understand it then,
but now I know the Hebrew word for the Spirit is:

Ruach Ha’Qodesh — the set-apart Holy Spirit —
the set-apart breath.

And that’s exactly what wrapped around me.

Next came the tingling —
waves rolling from the crown of my head
to the soles of my feet.

Then the tears.
Not from sadness, and not from fear…
but from a hug I couldn’t reject.
A tenderness I couldn’t push away.
A moment where vulnerability wasn’t something I had to choose…
it was gently wrapped around me,
and all I could do was receive it.

As I knelt on the ground, the world blurred slightly —
as if I was looking through a soft veil.

Birds fluttered into the tree beside me, settling quietly on branches.
Others hopped across the deck, pecking at scattered seeds.
They weren’t surrounding me —
just present,
gentle witnesses to the moment.

And then…
the hummingbird.

The one I prayed to see the year before.
The one I set cameras out for.
The one I chased but never caught.

She drifted past the little water bowl where that first bird had been drinking,
her black-and-green wings beating like a soft whisper across the air.

Slow.
Mystical.
Quiet.
A confirmation.

And just when I thought the moment was over…
the entire encounter washed over me again —
shorter, softer, but unmistakably Him.

He speaks once.
And then He speaks twice.

When it ended,
I knew my life had changed forever.

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His Name, My Return: A Modern Woman Stepping onto the Ancient Path

Through loss.
Through numbness.
Through closets and gardens.
Through one whisper and wings.
Through the breath I couldn’t release
and the Presence I couldn’t deny.

It wasn’t religion.
It wasn’t perfection.
It wasn’t striving.

It was Yahuah —
calling me home.

And the most unexpected truth was this:

He really does have a name.
And the name matters.

It’s almost poetic now, looking back —
because I told my grandmother His name didn’t matter,
that He just wanted us to be good people.

But as I walked with Him,
as He breathed into me,
as He met me in Eden,
as He whispered in ways I didn’t yet have language for…

He introduced Himself.

Not through doctrine.
Not through religion.
But through revelation.

It wasn’t until I embraced His name —
Yahuah —
and the name of His Son —
Yahusha —
that something in me unlocked.
My understanding deepened.
My hunger sharpened.
My confidence rooted itself in truth.
And the girl who once doubted every part of herself
suddenly found her voice in Him.

There is even a verse that became a quiet confirmation to my soul:

“Who has ascended into heaven, or descended?
Who has gathered the wind in His fists?
Who has bound the waters in a garment?
Who has established all the ends of the earth?
What is His name, and what is His Son’s name — if you know?”
— Proverbs 30:4

And I realized…
not everybody gets to know.
Not because He hides Himself,
but because revelation is part of covenant.

When He reveals His name to you,
it comes with identity,
purpose,
and a calling to walk differently.

Fam —
if you stay close —
through the blog,
through the podcast,
through the Bible studies —
I’ll share everything He whispered to me.
Including the moment He told me His name…
and how that revelation changed me forever.

This is only the beginning.
And I’m grateful you’re here with me on the ancient path.

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