I Finally Said Yes to God

I Finally Said Yes to God

There are moments in life that don’t just change you.

They realign you.

This Saturday, I will be baptized.

Even typing those words feels emotional because this has been a long time coming. Not because I didn’t believe in God. Not because I didn’t feel Him. But because for years, I have been straddling the fence with my faith. One foot in. One foot out. Wanting to surrender fully while still carrying pain, confusion, fear, anger, grief, disappointment, and questions I didn’t even know how to ask out loud.

I stayed quiet about this part of my life for a long time.

People know me as the strong one. The creative one. The woman always pushing forward, building, creating, motivating, surviving, showing up. But what many people did not see were the nights I sat with God trying to understand why life kept hitting so hard.

Losing both of my parents changed me in ways I still cannot fully explain.

There is a certain kind of pain that comes with watching the people who brought you into this world leave it. It changes the sound of silence. It changes holidays. It changes your heart. You begin to walk through life carrying memories while trying to function normally. Trying to smile normally. Trying to love normally. But grief has a way of sitting quietly beside you even during your happiest moments.

And if I’m being truthful, after losing them, I became emotionally closed off in many ways.

I loved people, but carefully.

I trusted God, but cautiously.

I prayed, but with hesitation.

I hoped, but guarded myself in case things fell apart again.

Then came the health scares.

The moments where my body felt tired.

The moments where fear crept in quietly.

The moments where I had to be strong even when I didn’t feel strong.

Then came the heartbreaks.

The failed marriage.

The dreams I once thought would last forever.

The emotional weight of trying to hold together something that simply was no longer meant for me. There is grief in divorce that people don’t talk about enough. Not just grieving the person, but grieving the future you imagined. Grieving the version of yourself that believed love would look different.

And then there were the children I tried for that never made it here.

That pain sits in a very sacred place in my heart.

Some losses don’t have funerals. Some losses happen privately. Quietly. In bathrooms, doctor’s offices, empty bedrooms, and tear-filled prayers no one else hears. And for a long time, I carried that pain silently while still trying to be “okay” for everyone else.

Now my brother is fighting cancer.

Watching someone you love battle illness while still trying to stay hopeful can make you question everything and pray harder all at the same time. It is a strange place to stand emotionally. You want to be strong for them, but some days you are barely holding yourself together.

Life has been heavy.

And somewhere throughout all of this, I realized something very important.

I cannot carry all of this alone anymore.

This weekend when I walked into church, I did not walk in pretending to have it all figured out. I walked in tired. I walked in emotional. I walked in knowing that I needed to make a commitment with God that was deeper than occasional prayer during hard times.

I walked in understanding that faith is not about perfection. It is about surrender.

And I think for years I feared surrender because surrender requires trust.

Trusting God when you have experienced loss is difficult.

Trusting God after disappointment is difficult.

Trusting God when life has bruised your spirit is difficult.

But something in me shifted.

I realized I do not want to keep living with one foot in and one foot out anymore. I do not want to only call on God when life hurts. I want intentionality. I want relationship. I want discipline. I want peace. I want to walk with God fully, even while healing, even while grieving, even while rebuilding.

This baptism is not me claiming I suddenly have life mastered.

It is me saying yes.

Yes to healing.

Yes to growth.

Yes to accountability.

Yes to faith.

Yes to allowing God into the places in my heart I kept locked away.

Yes to becoming softer without becoming weak.

Yes to trusting again.

Yes to believing there is still purpose attached to my life despite everything I have endured.

I know there are people reading this who understand exactly what I mean.

People who love God but have struggled silently.

People who have questioned their faith after loss.

People who became numb after disappointment.

People who felt abandoned, tired, confused, or spiritually disconnected.

People who kept saying, “I’ll get closer to God later,” while silently drowning emotionally.

I want you to know something.

God still meets us exactly where we are.

Not where we pretend to be.

Not where we perform to be.

Where we truly are.

Broken. Exhausted. Confused. Hopeful. Guarded. Healing.

This weekend is more than baptism for me. It is release.

It is me laying down years of fear, pain, survival mode, and emotional walls at God’s feet and saying, “I cannot do this without You anymore.”

And maybe for the first time in a long time, I feel peace about that.

Not fake peace.

Not social media peace.

Real peace.

The kind of peace that comes when you stop fighting surrender.

I know the road ahead will not suddenly become perfect. Life will still happen. Challenges will still come. Grief does not magically disappear overnight. But I believe this moment marks a new chapter in my life spiritually, emotionally, mentally, and personally.

A chapter where I stop running from vulnerability.

A chapter where I become more intentional about protecting my spirit.

A chapter where I allow faith to lead me instead of fear.

This Saturday, I went under the water carrying years of pain, heartbreak, loss, confusion, and survival.

And I came back up choosing God anyway.

Choosing healing anyway.

Choosing life anyway.

Choosing faith anyway.

And honestly?

That may be the strongest thing I have ever done.