Tag: christian encouragement

Posted in Moments and Musings

Lent: A Season of Redirection and Rest

Posted on by Vikki Lynn Sorensen

As a born-again believer, Lent is not about ritual for ritual’s sake. It’s not about earning God’s favor or proving my devotion through sacrifice. Salvation has already been secured through Jesus Christ.

“For by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, not of works.” — Ephesians 2:8–9

Lent, for me, is about intentionality. It’s about creating space. It’s about laying something down so I can pick something greater up.

This year, I’m giving up social media—not as a rule to follow, but as a redirection of my heart.

Lent Is About Drawing Near

Scripture calls us to draw close to God:

“Draw near to God and He will draw near to you.” — James 4:8

But drawing near requires space. And if I’m honest, social media often fills the quiet spaces where God wants to meet me. The moments in line. The first minutes of the morning. The last minutes before bed. Instead of prayer, I scroll. Instead of reflection, I consume.

Lent gives me an opportunity to examine that.

“Let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us.” — Hebrews 12:1

Social media may not be sin in itself, but it can become a weight. And anything that distracts me from running fully after Christ is worth reevaluating.

Redirection: From Scrolling to Seeking

Fasting, biblically, is about dependence.

“Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God.” — Matthew 4:4

When Jesus fasted in the wilderness, He wasn’t just abstaining—He was relying fully on the Father. In the same way, I’m choosing to fast from social media so I can redirect that time and attention to the Word of God.

Every urge to scroll becomes a reminder to pray.
Every moment of boredom becomes an invitation to worship.
Every quiet space becomes sacred.

“You will seek Me and find Me, when you search for Me with all your heart.” — Jeremiah 29:13

I want my heart to seek Him more than it seeks updates, notifications, and validation.

Mental Rest in a Noisy World

Social media is constant input—opinions, headlines, comparisons, trends. Even when it’s positive, it’s loud. And over time, that noise affects the mind.

“Be still, and know that I am God.” — Psalm 46:10

Stillness is hard to find when your mind is always processing content. Giving up social media for Lent is an act of mental rest. It’s stepping away from comparison culture. It’s quieting the voices so I can better hear His.

“You will keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on You, because he trusts in You.” — Isaiah 26:3

Perfect peace doesn’t come from disconnecting from the world alone—it comes from fixing our minds on Christ. But disconnecting from distraction can help us refocus.

Focusing More on Jesus

My life belongs to Jesus.

“I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me.” — Galatians 2:20

Lent reminds me of the cross—of Christ’s sacrifice, His obedience, His suffering, and His victory. If He gave everything for me, surely I can surrender something small for a season to draw closer to Him.

Paul writes:

“That I may know Him and the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of His sufferings.” — Philippians 3:10

That is my heart for this season—to know Him more. Not just intellectually, but intimately.

Less scrolling.
More Scripture.
Less comparison.
More contentment.
Less noise.
More Jesus.

It’s Not About Legalism—It’s About Love

Giving something up for Lent doesn’t make me more saved. It doesn’t make me more righteous. Only Christ does that.

But love responds.

“We love Him because He first loved us.” — 1 John 4:19

This fast is my response of love. It’s me saying, “Jesus, You are worth my attention. You are worth my time. You are better than distraction.”

And when Lent ends? Maybe I’ll return to social media. Maybe I’ll return with boundaries. Or maybe I won’t return in the same way at all. But I pray that after these forty days, my habits will reflect a heart more anchored in Christ.

“Set your mind on things above, not on things on the earth.” — Colossians 3:2

That’s the goal.

This Lent, I’m not just giving something up.
I’m making room.
I’m redirecting.
I’m resting.
And I’m fixing my eyes on Jesus.

“Looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith.” — Hebrews 12:2

Photo by Josh Applegate on Unsplash
Posted in Moments and Musings

From Goal-Getter to Grace-Seeker

Posted on by Vikki Lynn Sorensen

I need to be honest here. Like pull-up-a-chair-and-confess honest.

I made goals. Big ones. Intentional ones. Prayerfully-written, color-coded-in-my-mind goals. If you’ve been with me at all this year, you already know this. If you haven’t, don’t worry—you can read all about them right here.

All five of them.

Yes. Five. With sub-goals accompanying each one. Because apparently I believe I am part human, part productivity app.

When I wrote these goals, I felt incredible. Inspired. Motivated. Practically unstoppable. I was that girl—the one who drinks her coffee while staring thoughtfully out the window, convinced she is about to become her “best self” by next Tuesday.

Fast forward one month.

Friends, I am unwell.

Instead of feeling accomplished, I feel anxious. Like someone blew a whistle and yelled, “GO!” and I didn’t realize I had signed up for a marathon—barefoot—while carrying a planner, a Bible, and unrealistic expectations. Suddenly it feels like time is running out and I’m already behind… even though no one set a deadline. Except me. I set the deadline. And then I forgot to give myself grace.

I keep reminding myself that new habits take time. Growth takes time. Change takes time. But apparently my patience has a very short shelf life. I want instant results. I want progress I can measure. I want gold stars. And when I don’t get them? I spiral.

To make matters worse, I lost an entire week to the flu. A whole week accomplishing absolutely nothing except surviving on crackers and cough drops. How dare my immune system interrupt my grand plans?!

So there I was, walking Percy, my emotional support dog who listens to my internal monologues whether he wants to or not. All of this was swirling in my head—the goals, the pressure, the frustration, the feeling that I was failing something I had just started.

And then the loudest thought rose to the surface, cutting through the chaos:

Keep God at the center of all this.

Because here’s the truth I know deep down: I can’t do anything without Him. Not one thing. Not one goal. Not one habit. Not one tiny step forward.

And that’s when the Lord gently—but very clearly—spoke to my heart:

“Then why are you trying so hard?”

Oof.
Here we go.
Another loving, well-timed, Holy-Spirit mic drop.

“Be a Mary, not a Martha.”

If you know, you know.

Martha—busy, frazzled, doing all the things, exhausted, resentful, stressed out, wondering why no one appreciates her hustle.
Mary—sitting at the feet of Jesus, fully present, fully at peace, choosing the one thing that actually matters.

And suddenly it hit me.

When I wrote my goals, I did do it prayerfully. I really did. But if I’m being honest? I haven’t prayed much about them since. I’ve been too busy chasing them. Too busy managing them. Too busy trying to force progress instead of trusting the process.

Somewhere along the way, my goals quietly took the place of my stillness.

Goals are not bad. Not at all. They can be good, healthy, and God-honoring. But they were never meant to outrank obedience. They were never meant to compete with communion. They were never meant to pull me away from sitting at the feet of Jesus.

And here’s the big realization:
The best goal I could ever have—the only one that truly matters—is to be with Him.

To sit.
To listen.
To rest.
To trust.

So I’m choosing this: my goals will no longer be more important than what God wants me to do. If He asks me to slow down, I slow down. If He rearranges my plans, I’ll let Him. If He says, “Come sit with Me,” then that’s the win for the day.

Because I have this quiet, holy feeling that if I place my goals back into His hands, He’ll arrange them in a way that actually makes sense. In a way that brings peace instead of pressure. Purpose instead of panic.

And maybe—just maybe—I can finally stop running around like a chicken with its head cut off… and start walking at the pace of grace.

Mary chose the better portion.And honestly?
I want that goal more than all of mine combined.

Photo by Randy Tarampi on Unsplash
Posted in Moments and Musings

Seen, Known, and Included

Posted on by Vikki Lynn Sorensen

This past Sunday, my church held one of those services that stays with you long after it ends. It was a time of anointing with oil, prayer, and words spoken over individuals—words filled with encouragement, affirmation, and God’s tenderness. Even watching online, I could feel the weight and beauty of the moment. The Holy Spirit doesn’t recognize distance, after all.

Because I live more than an hour away, I attend church virtually. I’m grateful for technology, but I’ll be honest—there are moments when watching from a screen can stir a quiet ache. I’m not physically in the room. I’m not standing at the altar. I’m not being anointed or prayed over in the same visible way. And yet, this Sunday reminded me of something deeply important: God is not confined to buildings, stages, or proximity.

As each person went forward and received a word, I found myself rejoicing with them. Truly rejoicing. I felt joy rise up as I watched my brothers and sisters be seen, encouraged, and loved. And then I noticed something else—something subtle but significant.

There was no jealousy in my heart.

That realization stopped me in my tracks, because it hadn’t always been that way.

There was a time when moments like this would have been painful for me. I would have smiled on the outside while quietly shrinking on the inside. I’d think, Why not me? I’d convince myself that God must have forgotten about me or placed me on some invisible list of people who were just… missed. I believed blessings were handed out to those who were better, stronger, more faithful, more put-together.

I assumed I simply didn’t measure up.

But as I watched and rejoiced this time, I sensed God’s gentle voice speak into my heart—not loud or dramatic, but kind and sure:

“Yes, daughter. Take those words for yourself. I know your heart. I see you. What is being spoken over them is for you too.”

I can’t fully explain what that did to me.

In that moment, it felt like God reached right through the screen and straight into my soul. He wasn’t correcting me; He was inviting me. Inviting me to receive without striving. Inviting me to stop disqualifying myself. Inviting me to believe that His love and affirmation are not scarce resources.

Scripture tells us, “The eyes of the Lord range throughout the earth to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to Him” (2 Chronicles 16:9). Not those who are perfect. Not those who are visible. Not those who live closest to the church building. Those whose hearts are His.

For far too long, I’ve carried a quiet belief that something about me was fundamentally wrong. That “wrong” followed me like a shadow. I assumed I was always falling short, always behind, always watching others receive what I could only hope for. I compared myself to people who seemed to do everything right, who always had answers, who never appeared to struggle.

But comparison is a heavy burden, and God never asked us to carry it.

Thankfully, that is not how God works.

God does not measure us the way the world does. He does not withhold goodness until we perform well enough. He is not waiting for us to fix ourselves before He loves us. Scripture reminds us, “But God shows His love for us in this: while we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8).

That truth changes everything.

I am not seen through the lens of my failures, my doubts, or my past. I am seen through the blood of Jesus. Because of Christ, I am fully accepted, fully forgiven, and fully loved. “In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace” (Ephesians 1:7).

There is no hierarchy in God’s family. No favored children and forgotten ones. No inner circle and outer edges. We are all equally known and deeply loved.

“For the Lord your God goes with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you” (Deuteronomy 31:6).

What a comfort that is.

What a gift it is to realize that God sees the quiet ones, the unseen ones, the ones watching from a distance. He sees the heart that longs for Him. He sees the tears no one else notices. He sees the faith that keeps showing up—even online—even from far away—even when it feels small.

And He calls us His.

“See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are” (1 John 3:1).

If you’re reading this and recognizing yourself in these words—if you’ve ever believed that blessings were for everyone else, that you were somehow overlooked or forgotten—I want you to hear this clearly: you are not invisible to God. You are not an afterthought. You are not disqualified.

Sometimes the words spoken over others are also an invitation for us to receive by faith. To say, Yes, Lord, I’ll take that too. To believe that what God is doing in the room, He is also doing in us.

You are seen.
You are known.
You are deeply loved.

And in God’s Kingdom, there is more than enough grace to go around.