Faith Love n Joy

Moments and Musings

What’s Your Superpower?

Posted on April 9, 2026April 6, 2026 by Vikki Lynn Sorensen

If you had asked me years ago what my superpower was, I probably would’ve said something humble and reasonable.

Now?

I’ve had enough life experience to confidently say:

My superpower is overthinking… but like, in a productive, slightly chaotic, unexpectedly useful way.

And honestly, once I stopped fighting it, everything started to make a lot more sense.

Origin Story: Blessed With a Brain That Never Logs Off

Some people can just… relax.

Their minds go quiet. They sit still. They exist peacefully in the moment.

I am not those people.

My brain said:

“What if we thought about everything? All the time? In detail?”

And instead of resisting it forever, I eventually realized something important:

Overthinking isn’t the problem. What you do with it is.

Because sure, I can spiral a little—but I can also:

See things from multiple angles
Anticipate problems before they happen
Mentally map out solutions like it’s my full-time job

So really, it’s less “overthinking” and more… advanced life analysis.

Superpower #1: Arguing With People… Who Aren’t Even There

Let’s talk about one of my more refined skills.

I can have a full, detailed, emotionally layered argument in my head…
with someone I don’t even know.

No introduction. No context. Just vibes.

One minute I’m minding my business, and the next:

I’ve built a whole scenario
Someone imaginary has said something completely wrong
And I am absolutely not letting that stand

And the craziest part?

I win every single time.

Flawless logic. Strong delivery. No interruptions.

Do I know this person? No.
Did this conversation happen? Also no.
Was I right? Without question.

But here’s the thing—this weird little habit actually sharpens something real:

I’m constantly:

Practicing how I think
Strengthening my perspective
Learning how to articulate what matters to me

So yes, I argue with strangers in my head.

But it’s basically training.

Superpower #2: Turning Tiny Thoughts Into Big Ideas

Give me one small thought, and I will turn it into:

A full plan
A backup plan
And a “just in case everything goes sideways” plan

It’s a gift.

And occasionally… a lot.

But it also means I don’t just skim the surface of life.

I go deeper.

I connect dots. I notice patterns. I ask questions like:

“Okay, but what’s really going on here?”

And before I know it, I’ve:

Solved a problem
Reframed a situation
Or created something better than what I started with

All because my brain refused to leave well enough alone.

Superpower #3: Saving the World… Through Crochet and Embroidery

Now this one might sound a little unexpected, but stay with me.

There’s a part of me that genuinely believes:

“You know what might fix things? Crochet. Embroidery. A little creativity and care.”

And no, I don’t mean that in a “this solves everything instantly” kind of way.

I mean it in a:

Slowing down
Creating something meaningful
Pouring intention into small things

kind of way.

Because sometimes the world feels loud, messy, and completely out of control.

And then there’s something powerful about:

Sitting down
Using your hands
Creating something beautiful, one stitch at a time

It’s grounding. It’s calming. It’s real.

And honestly?

The world could use a little more of that energy.

So no, I’m not out here solving global issues overnight—but I am contributing something quieter:

Care. Thoughtfulness. Intention.

And that counts.

Superpower #4: Loving Big (Especially My Granddaughter)

Out of everything, this might be my most important superpower.

I love deeply.

And when it comes to my granddaughter?

It’s on a completely different level.

There’s something about looking at her and thinking:

“I want you to grow up knowing exactly who you are—and never apologizing for it.”

That matters to me.

A lot.

I want her to:

Be confident in her voice
Trust herself
Take up space without shrinking
And never feel like she has to be anything other than who she is

And if my role in her life is to reinforce that over and over again?

Then that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

Because the world will try to tell her a lot of things.

But if I do this right, one of the loudest voices she hears will be:

“You’re allowed to be exactly who you are.”

Superpower #5: Caring Enough to Think It Through

At the core of everything—overthinking, imaginary debates, creative projects, deep love—there’s one common thread:

I care.

I care enough to:

Think things through
Question what doesn’t make sense
Imagine better outcomes
And actually try to live in a way that reflects that

Even when it would be easier not to.

Even when my brain is tired.

Even when I’ve already thought about something seventeen different ways.

Because once I care about something?

I’m in.

My One “Weakness” (Allegedly)

Okay, fine.

If I had to admit it…

Sometimes my brain doesn’t know when to stop.

There are moments when I think:

“We could… not analyze this further.”

And my brain says:

“Or we could go deeper.”

And suddenly I’m three layers into a situation that probably didn’t need all that.

But honestly?

I’ve learned to work with it instead of against it.

Because the same brain that overthinks…

Also understands, solves, creates, and loves at a level I wouldn’t trade for anything.

Final Thoughts: A Superpower I’ve Grown Into

For a long time, I thought overthinking was something I needed to fix.

Now I see it differently.

It’s something I’ve learned to use.

It helps me:

Understand the world
Navigate life
Create meaning
And show up for the people I love

In my own way.

And if that includes:

Winning arguments that never happened
Mentally redesigning everything
And believing crochet might secretly heal the world

Then honestly?

I’m doing just fine.

What’s your superpower? Maybe you overthink like me, argue with strangers in your head, or secretly believe yarn can save the world. Whatever it is—own it. Share it in the comments, tag a friend who needs to embrace their quirks, or just take a moment to celebrate the little things that make you unapologetically yourself. Life’s too short not to. 💖

Moments and Musings

Moving Forward When Self-Doubt Holds You Back

Posted on April 7, 2026April 6, 2026 by Vikki Lynn Sorensen

There are moments when I realize the greatest resistance to the life God is inviting me into isn’t the enemy, my circumstances, or a lack of opportunity—it’s me.

More specifically, it’s my self-doubt, my habit of comparison, and my tendency to procrastinate when obedience feels unclear or uncomfortable.

I second-guess everything.

Even when God opens a door, I pause at the threshold, questioning whether I heard Him correctly, whether I’m qualified, or whether someone else could do it better. Instead of moving forward, I linger in uncertainty, convincing myself I just need a little more confirmation, a little more clarity, or—if I’m honest—a safer plan.

Self-Doubt: When I Question What God Has Already Confirmed

Self-doubt has a quiet way of disguising itself as humility or wisdom. But often, it’s simply unbelief dressed up as caution.

God speaks, and I immediately respond with questions:

What if I’m wrong?
What if I fail?
What if I misunderstood Him?

Yet Scripture reminds me that God is not vague or confusing with His children.

“For God is not a God of confusion but of peace.” (1 Corinthians 14:33)

When I constantly second-guess what God has already made clear, I end up trusting my insecurity more than His voice. I forget that He knows my limitations—and still chooses me.

“Being confident of this, that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion.” (Philippians 1:6)

Comparison: Looking Sideways Instead of Forward

Comparison is another trap that pulls me out of alignment with God’s will. When I focus on what others are doing, how fast they’re moving, or how successful they appear, I lose sight of my own assignment.

Comparison distorts my perspective. It makes me feel behind when God never asked me to run someone else’s race.

“Let us not become conceited, provoking and envying each other.” (Galatians 5:26)

God’s plan for my life is personal and intentional. When I measure myself against others, I unintentionally declare that His design wasn’t enough—or that His timing needs improvement.

Procrastination: Delayed Obedience in Disguise

Procrastination often shows up when faith is required.

When God asks me to step out before I feel ready, I default to waiting. Waiting to feel more confident. Waiting to feel more prepared. Waiting until I have a clear, step-by-step plan.

But delayed obedience is still disobedience.

“If you know the good you ought to do and don’t do it, you sin.” (James 4:17)

Faith was never meant to be comfortable. It was meant to be trusting.

My Obsession with Process vs. God’s Invitation to Faith

I love a process. A formula. A clear roadmap.

But God keeps reminding me that while processes have their place, they are not meant to replace faith. He doesn’t always give me the full plan—He gives me Himself.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.” (Proverbs 3:5–6)

I want God to hand me a detailed outline, but He asks me to walk with Him instead. His Word is my guidebook. His presence is my assurance. His promises are my process.

“Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.” (Psalm 119:105)

A lamp doesn’t illuminate miles ahead—it shows just enough for the next step. And that’s where faith lives.

Choosing Faith Over Fear

Walking in the fullness of all God has for me requires surrendering my need to control outcomes, timelines, and certainty. It means believing that obedience matters more than perfection, and movement matters more than mastery.

“For we live by faith, not by sight.” (2 Corinthians 5:7)

God isn’t waiting for me to feel fearless. He’s waiting for me to trust Him enough to move forward anyway.

When I stop second-guessing, stop comparing, and stop postponing obedience, I make room for God to do what only He can do.

And maybe the fullness I’m longing for isn’t found in having everything figured out—but in finally saying, “Yes, Lord,” and taking the next step.

Closing Prayer

Father God,
Thank You for Your patience with me—for never giving up on me even when I hesitate, second-guess, or delay obedience. You see the places where self-doubt has silenced my confidence, where comparison has distracted my focus, and where procrastination has kept me from stepping fully into what You’ve already prepared for me.

Lord, forgive me for the times I’ve trusted my fear more than Your voice, my need for control more than Your promises, and my own understanding more than Your Word. Teach me to walk by faith and not by sight. Help me release my obsession with having every step mapped out and instead anchor my life in You.

Your Word says You have plans to prosper me and not to harm me, plans to give me hope and a future. I choose to believe that today. I ask for courage to take the next step—even when it feels uncomfortable—and humility to follow You even when the path is unclear.

Let Your Word be my guidebook, Your Spirit be my counselor, and Your presence be my confidence. I surrender comparison, fear, and delay, and I choose obedience, trust, and faith.

Have Your way in me, Lord. I want all that You have for me.In Jesus’ name,
Amen.

Photo by Jonathan J. Castellon on Unsplash

Moments and Musings

Brain Fog, Hot Flashes & Other Fun Midlife Surprises

Posted on April 2, 2026March 12, 2026 by Vikki Lynn Sorensen

I’m in year three of menopause madness, and let me tell you—it’s like my body staged a hostile takeover and forgot to leave a welcome mat.

It’s not fun.
It’s not helpful.
It’s not easy.

I’m hot. I’m emotional. I’m forgetful. I’m irritated… a lot. I’m pretty sure I’m not alone—somewhere out there, another woman is fanning herself while crying over lost car keys or screaming at the dog for no reason.

I’ve survived—or at least fought back—against the top five menopause symptoms. Sometimes my weapon of choice is chocolate. Sometimes it’s prayer. Sometimes it’s sheer stubbornness. And yes, sometimes I combine all three and call it a victory. Here’s how I’ve been slaying the beast… or at least beating her back when I need a chocolate bribe.

1. Hot Flashes: Spontaneous Combustion Happens

Hot flashes hit without warning. One second I’m sitting calmly, the next I feel like I’ve been microwaved alive. If spontaneous combustion were real, menopause would be the poster child.

I’ve wrestled with family members over the thermostat, cursed summer in every language I know, and considered moving to Antarctica.

Here’s my arsenal:

Cold water—I drink it like it’s an Olympic sport.
Light clothing—tanks, tees, and occasionally the tiniest whisper of dignity.
Fans—my ceiling fan runs 24/7 in high gear, and I’m not apologizing.
Cool showers—especially before bed. They save my sanity and my sheets.
Cornstarch powder—sounds bizarre, works miracles. Moisture doesn’t stand a chance.

“A gentle answer turns away wrath.” — Proverbs 15:1
Especially when someone dares touch the thermostat.

2. Emotional Rollercoaster: Cry, Rage, Laugh (All Before Breakfast)

Menopause hits like a silent scream that won’t quit. I cry, rage, and laugh—all before breakfast. Everything irritates me. Nothing feels right. The smallest frustrations feel like full-blown betrayals. Midlife crisis? More like menopause crisis.

Here’s how I survive the emotional chaos:

Take it to God. Ugly tears, loud prayers, honest hearts—it works.
Keep perspective. Bad moment ≠ bad life.
Laugh. Blogs, memes, articles written by other menopausal women remind me I’m not alone… just hormonally enhanced.
Talk to family. I lean on my sisters—they get it, and their patience is saintly.

“Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.” — 1 Peter 5:7
“Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes in the morning.” — Psalm 30:5

3. Brain Fog: Hide-and-Seek With Your Own Thoughts

My brain plays hide-and-seek and never tells me when it’s done. I used to feel sharp, clear, unstoppable. Now, words vanish mid-sentence. Thoughts hide in corners. I forget things I know I know. I once spent ten minutes looking for my glasses… while they were on my head.

Here’s what keeps me functional:

Stay calm. Panicking only thickens the fog.
Journal. Capture fleeting thoughts before menopause claims them forever.
Use a calendar. If it’s important, ink it in. No exceptions.

“God is not the author of confusion, but of peace.” — 1 Corinthians 14:33
“If any of you lacks wisdom, ask God.” — James 1:5

4. Weight Gain: My Body Went Rogue

I’ve always had a waist, plus-size or not. Then menopause hit. Now my hourglass has morphed into a more… grape-like shape. Nobody seems to make clothes for it. And jeans? Don’t get me started.

How I cope:

Grace first. Often served with chocolate or pasta, because boundaries exist but chocolate is essential.
Hydrate. Water, water, water—even when it’s freezing outside.
Vegetables. I’m trying for one with every meal. So far, I’ve succeeded… sometimes.
Movement. 2026 is my “get up and move” year. Walk, stretch, repeat. Hopefully, sweat and chocolate can coexist.

“Man looks at outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” — 1 Samuel 16:7
“My body is a temple of the Holy Spirit.” — 1 Corinthians 6:19
(A well-loved, well-used temple.)

5. Aches and Pains: Menopause or Impending Doom?

Every twinge brings panic: menopause or urgent care? My knees, hips, and back like to remind me they’re aging gracefully—or maybe just testing my patience.

Here’s what I’ve learned:

Ignore Dr. Google. Doom and gloom are one search away.
Find a doctor who listens. They’re rare, but worth the hunt.
Rest and movement. Yes, both. Balance is key.

“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” — Psalm 147:3

A Few Final Weapons

Some medications help women survive menopause. If you trust your doctor, follow their guidance. I take a more holistic path, leaning on family, humor, and chocolate when necessary.

My family’s patience and love deserve medals. I hope to repay them someday, but for now, they help me survive this beast.

Most importantly, give yourself grace. Communicate. Ask for help. Celebrate small victories. Grieve the season ending, and make room for the next.

“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.” — Ecclesiastes 3:1

Menopause is wild. It’s weird. It’s exhausting. It’s annoying.

But light exists at the end of the hot-flash tunnel. And someday—gasp!—growing old gracefully might actually feel good. Chocolate optional, but highly recommended.

Moments and Musings

Doubting Thomas, Loving Savior

Posted on March 26, 2026March 12, 2026 by Vikki Lynn Sorensen

It It wasn’t an accident that Jesus went to the cross. Likewise, it wasn’t an accident that He returned with scars. In fact, those very scars became the proof one of His beloved disciples needed to believe.

John 20:24–27 (NLT) tells the story: Thomas, nicknamed “the Twin,” wasn’t with the other disciples when Jesus appeared. They excitedly told him, “We have seen the Lord!” However, Thomas replied, “I won’t believe it unless I see the nail wounds in his hands, put my fingers into them, and place my hand into the wound in his side.”

Eight days later, Thomas joined the disciples again. Although the doors were locked, Jesus appeared as He had before. “Peace be with you,” He said. Then He addressed Thomas directly: “Put your finger here, and look at my hands. Put your hand into the wound in my side. Don’t be faithless any longer. Believe!”

Doubting Thomas—Misunderstood

For much of my childhood, I learned to see Thomas as a cautionary tale. In other words, doubt equaled weakness. Faith meant blind trust. Teachers and Sunday school lessons framed Thomas as the disciple we should avoid becoming. Consequently, I judged him harshly. I convinced myself I would have believed immediately. I imagined my own courage and faithfulness.

However, I wasn’t there.

I didn’t witness the man I loved and trusted—my Teacher, my Messiah—beaten, mocked, and nailed to a cross. Moreover, I didn’t stand helpless while hope seemed to die. I didn’t live in fear that if they killed Him, they might come for me next. Furthermore, I didn’t navigate the confusion of grief colliding with rumors of resurrection. Finally, I didn’t have to walk into a locked room carrying longing, fear, and hope all at once.

Thomas did.

Jesus Meets Thomas Where He Is

When I slow down and examine the story, something remarkable stands out: Jesus never scolds Thomas. He doesn’t sigh. He doesn’t shame him. He doesn’t compare him to the others. In fact, He doesn’t label him weak.

Instead, Jesus meets him exactly where he is. He doesn’t dismiss Thomas’s questions or doubts. Furthermore, He doesn’t hide His scars. He doesn’t rush him. Rather, He invites Thomas closer, offering the proof Thomas asked for generously and patiently.

“Put your finger here,” Jesus says. “Look at my hands. Put your hand into the wound in my side.”

This isn’t reluctance. Nor is it irritation. Instead, it’s generosity. Jesus wants Thomas to believe, and He uses His wounds as reassurance, not as a weapon of shame. He doesn’t rebuke him. In fact, He lovingly honors Thomas’s honesty.

The Joy in Belief Born From Doubt

I imagine Jesus rejoicing as Thomas’s doubt transforms into belief. After all, the Savior, who endured the cross and conquered death, delights in seeing His disciple’s faith come alive. Furthermore, Jesus doesn’t see Thomas’s need for proof as a threat; He welcomes it.

This truth completely changed how I view faith. I realized that faith doesn’t mean the absence of doubt. On the contrary, faith means bringing our doubts to Jesus instead of walking away with them. Thomas didn’t pretend. He didn’t perform faith he didn’t feel yet. Instead, he was honest, and Jesus honored that honesty.

The Lies We Believe About Doubt

How often do we believe the lie that God is disappointed when we question? How often do we think we must arrive with perfect faith? Yet Jesus, standing in a locked room, offers peace first and proof second. Likewise, He meets our searching hearts with open hands, not condemnation.

We don’t have to fear bringing our doubts to God. We don’t have to hide the questions that swirl inside us. Instead, Jesus draws closer. He meets us with patience and grace.

What Thomas Teaches Us About Faith

Thomas teaches us that doubt isn’t failure. Questions aren’t sin. Longing and fear aren’t disqualifications. Faith grows when we are honest, when we bring our curiosity, confusion, and need for reassurance directly to Jesus. Rather than scolding, Jesus meets us with love.

Moreover, those scars on Jesus’ hands and side carry the story of love, sacrifice, and victory. They aren’t reminders of failure. Instead, they are proof of faithfulness. They show us that every step toward belief matters—even the steps that come after doubt.

Faith isn’t perfect. Faith isn’t instant. Faith is a journey, a conversation, and sometimes a wrestling match. Yet Jesus stands there through it all, inviting us to trust Him, meet Him, and bring Him our questions.

Finally, Thomas reminds us that belief grows in the presence of love and patience. That’s a grace we can carry into every locked room of fear and uncertainty. That’s the Savior we follow—one who welcomes doubt, honors honesty, and celebrates every step toward faith.

Moments and Musings

My Irish Carol

Posted on March 17, 2026March 12, 2026 by Vikki Lynn Sorensen

My mother loved St. Patrick’s Day.

Not in a casual, “Oh look, it’s March 17th” kind of way—but in the full-on, all-in, proudly Irish way. The kind of love that showed up in the details. Green everywhere. Clothes, jewelry, maybe even a little extra sparkle just for the occasion. If it could be green, she wore it. And she wore it well.

A green sweater. A shamrock pin. Earrings that caught the light when she moved her head just right. Sometimes even green beads layered over whatever outfit she had decided was festive enough for the day. It wasn’t over the top—it was joyful. It was intentional.

She loved being Irish. Not just the ancestry part of it, but the spirit of it. The storytelling, the humor, the pride, the sense that being Irish meant you were allowed to celebrate life a little louder than usual.

To her, it wasn’t just heritage—it was identity.

And St. Patrick’s Day was the one day of the year where the whole world seemed to join in on that celebration. For one day, everyone wore green, everyone talked about being “a little Irish,” and everyone seemed just a little bit lighter.

My mom leaned into that joy every single year.

The Shamrock Shake Tradition

Every year, without fail, she wanted a McDonald’s Shamrock Shake.

It didn’t matter if there was snow on the ground. It didn’t matter if the wind coming off the lake could freeze your eyelashes. March in the Midwest is unpredictable at best, but none of that mattered.

If Shamrock Shakes were available, she was getting one.

And she didn’t sip it politely either.

She drank that thing like it was the highlight of the entire day. Through the straw, with that unmistakable slurp-slurp sound when it got down near the bottom of the cup.

Some people might have tried to be subtle about it.

Not my mom.

She slurped every last drop with zero embarrassment and complete delight, like someone who understood that small joys are meant to be fully enjoyed.

Even now, that sound still makes me smile.

Our Own Kind of Celebration

We never did the traditional corned beef and cabbage dinner. That just wasn’t our family’s thing.

Instead, we made our own traditions.

Sometimes we’d stop by Jewel-Osco and pick up cupcakes piled high with thick, bright green frosting. The kind that turned your tongue green for hours afterward and left a little trail of powdered sugar wherever you set the box down.

Other years, Mom would make one of her famous Jello cakes.

If you grew up in the Midwest, you know the kind. A fluffy cake with lime Jello worked into it so the whole thing turned a vibrant, unmistakable shade of green. Sometimes topped with whipped topping. Sometimes with a little extra flair depending on what she had in the kitchen.

It wasn’t fancy.

It wasn’t Instagram-worthy.

But it was perfect.

Because it was ours.

The Movie That Made It Official

And then, like clockwork, we’d watch The Quiet Man.

Every single year.

It didn’t matter how many times we had already seen it. The movie was part of the day. Not optional. Not negotiable.

It was simply what we did.

We’d sit down together, plates or cupcakes in hand, Shamrock Shake cups somewhere nearby, and settle in like we were about to watch it for the very first time—even though we could practically quote parts of it.

There’s something about traditions like that. The repetition doesn’t make them boring. It makes them comforting. Familiar. Like returning to a place in your memory that always looks the same.

Watching that movie together became one of those anchors in time. The kind of moment that quietly says, this is what today means.

And now, years later, those scenes still feel tied to St. Patrick’s Day in my mind.

The Quiet Joy of Simple Traditions

Looking back, none of what we did was elaborate.

There were no giant parties. No elaborate Irish feasts. No decorations covering the entire house.

Just green clothes. A milkshake. A cake. A movie.

But that’s the funny thing about traditions. They don’t have to be grand to matter. In fact, the simplest ones often stick the longest.

Because they’re not really about the things themselves.

They’re about the feeling.

The sense that this day means something. That this moment belongs to your family in a small, quiet way.

My mom understood that instinctively.

She didn’t overthink it. She just celebrated.

When Traditions Change

Since she’s been gone, St. Patrick’s Day feels different.

Quieter.

The day still arrives, of course. The stores still fill with green decorations. Restaurants still advertise Irish-themed specials. People still show up in shamrock shirts and novelty hats.

But the center of it—the person who made it feel personal—is no longer sitting across the room.

And yet, the day doesn’t feel empty.

It feels reflective.

When I see green everywhere—shirts, shamrocks, decorations—I think of her immediately. I think about how much joy she found in something so simple.

And I realize something she taught me without ever sitting me down to explain it.

Celebrating who you are matters.

Honoring your heritage matters.

And joy doesn’t have to be complicated to be meaningful.

The Kind of Memory That Glows

Grief is strange that way. Some memories hurt when they surface. They carry the weight of what’s missing.

But others feel different.

They feel warm.

Her love for St. Patrick’s Day is one of those memories for me.

When I think about it now, it doesn’t come with sadness first. It comes with a smile. A little laugh. The echo of that Shamrock Shake straw hitting the bottom of the cup.

It feels familiar.

Almost like a gentle tap on the shoulder from heaven saying,

Hey… remember this?

And I always do.

Carrying the Tradition Forward

So I’ll wear green.

Maybe I’ll grab a McDonald’s Shamrock Shake.

Maybe I’ll even slurp it through the straw the way she did, without worrying whether it’s polite or not.

Because she would have loved that.

And because remembering her this way feels like a gift instead of a loss.

Some memories ache.

But some memories—like this one—don’t ache at all.

They glow. 💚