Beginning Chapters Archives -

Grace For Failure Days

Posted on May 5, 2026May 6, 2026 by Vikki Lynn Sorensen

There are days when failure feels louder than anything else in my life. It shows up uninvited, sits heavy on my chest, and replays every mistake I’ve ever made. It reminds me of who I used to be, what I should have done differently, and how far I still have to go. On those days, grace doesn’t come naturally to me—I have to fight for it.

When the Past Won’t Stay in the Past

I wish I could say I’ve mastered the art of letting go, but I haven’t. I wrestle with my past more than I’d like to admit. Old sins, poor choices, missed opportunities—they don’t just fade quietly into the background. They resurface at the worst times, whispering that I haven’t changed as much as I think I have.

I know what Scripture says: “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.” (2 Corinthians 5:17). I believe that truth in my head. But my heart sometimes lags behind.

I replay conversations I wish I had handled better. I think about seasons when I walked far from who I wanted to be. I question whether those past versions of me still define me more than I’d like to admit.

But here’s what I’m learning: remembering isn’t the same as being defined. God doesn’t hold my past over me like a scoreboard. He redeems it. “As far as the east is from the west, so far does he remove our transgressions from us.” (Psalm 103:12). That distance isn’t small. It’s infinite.

Still, I have to remind myself of that truth—again and again and again.

The Comparison Trap That Steals My Peace

Comparison sneaks in quietly but hits hard. I scroll through someone else’s life and start asking questions I don’t need answers to. How do they have it so together? Why does their life look so put-together, so productive, so… effortless?

I imagine their routines, their habits, their discipline. I wonder if they’ve discovered some kind of secret formula I somehow missed. I start measuring my messy middle against their polished highlight reel.

And just like that, I feel behind.

Scripture cuts through that noise with clarity: “For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.” (Ephesians 2:10). My path isn’t theirs. My timing doesn’t need to match theirs. God didn’t assign me their story.

Comparison doesn’t motivate me—it distracts me. It pulls me away from what God has actually placed in front of me. Instead of focusing on my next faithful step, I start chasing someone else’s pace.

I’ve started asking myself a different question: What has God asked me to do today? Not what someone else accomplishes. Not what looks impressive. Just what obedience looks like in my own life, in this moment.

The Myth of the “Magic Formula”

I’ve spent more time than I care to admit searching for the “magic formula.” The perfect routine. The ideal morning. The system that suddenly makes everything click into place.

I think, “If I just figure this out, everything will fall into line.”

But deep down, I know the truth: there is no magic formula. There is only faithfulness.

The people I admire most don’t operate on magic. They show up. They stay consistent. They keep going when things feel boring, hard, or slow. They don’t rely on motivation—they build habits rooted in purpose.

Scripture doesn’t point to shortcuts either. It points to perseverance: “Let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up.” (Galatians 6:9).

Consistency doesn’t feel glamorous. It feels repetitive. It feels small. It often feels unnoticed. But those small, faithful steps stack up over time.

I don’t need a formula. I need to keep showing up.

The Struggle with Consistency

This might be the hardest part for me to admit: I know consistency matters, but I still struggle with it.

I start strong. I set goals. I build momentum. Then something shifts—life gets busy, my energy dips, or doubt creeps in—and I fall off track. When that happens, I don’t just feel off. I feel like I’ve failed.

That all-or-nothing mindset trips me up. I miss a day and act like I’ve lost everything. I forget that growth doesn’t disappear overnight.

Scripture speaks directly into that struggle: “Though the righteous fall seven times, they rise again.” (Proverbs 24:16). Falling doesn’t disqualify me. Staying down does.

Consistency doesn’t mean perfection. It means returning. It means choosing to try again, even when I feel frustrated with myself. It means giving myself permission to be a work in progress.

Some days, consistency looks strong and steady. Other days, it looks like showing up with half the energy and doing what I can anyway. Both count.

Grace Changes the Narrative

On the days when I feel like a failure, grace interrupts the narrative I try to write about myself.

Grace reminds me that my worth doesn’t hinge on my performance. It doesn’t rise and fall based on how productive I feel or how well I measure up to others. It stays rooted in something unchanging.

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Corinthians 12:9).

That verse doesn’t say God’s power shows up when I have it all together. It shows up in my weakness—in the exact places I try to hide.

Grace doesn’t ignore my struggles. It meets me in them.

Choosing a Different Response

I still have days when I feel behind. I still catch myself comparing. I still wrestle with consistency. But I’m learning to respond differently.

Instead of spiraling, I pause. I remind myself of what’s true. I take the next step in front of me, even if it feels small.

I don’t need to erase my past to move forward. I don’t need to understand someone else’s journey to walk my own. I don’t need a flawless track record to keep going.

I need grace. And not just once—I need it daily.

“Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning.” (Lamentations 3:22–23).

Tomorrow, I’ll need grace again. And the day after that. And the day after that.

And that’s not failure—that’s faith.

Beginning Chapters

Women’s Health for Plus-Size Women

Posted on April 30, 2026May 6, 2026 by Vikki Lynn Sorensen

If you’re like me, you probably thought by now some of the biggest challenges in women’s health would have been solved. Yet here we are—still talking about the same things. Honestly? I think this topic might always be on repeat. But for plus-size women, it feels a little louder, a little messier, and a lot more persistent.

And if you know me, you know I’ve already overthought this topic… probably argued with three imaginary people about it in my head… and maybe even stitched a little “fix the world” message into my latest crochet project while thinking it through. That’s just how my brain works.

Healthcare Bias: Still Alive and Kicking

Let’s start with the obvious. Weight bias in healthcare is real. It’s that feeling you get when your doctor immediately assumes every symptom is about your size—or worse, when your concerns are dismissed entirely.

I’ve had enough experiences (and overanalyzed them repeatedly, of course) to know that plus-size women often have to fight twice as hard for proper care:

Symptoms ignored or misattributed
Treatments offered without nuance
Judgments tucked into questions like “Have you tried losing weight?”

It’s exhausting—and it’s unacceptable. But it’s reality we still have to name, and honestly, probably will keep naming until the system catches up.

Mental Health: A Double Whammy

Now let’s talk about the mental load. For plus-size women, mental health challenges are often compounded by societal judgment. Anxiety, stress, and depression can come from real-life pressures—and the constant messaging that we “should” look different.

I overthink. I plan. I argue with strangers in my head. And somehow, that also translates into worrying about everyone else’s expectations while trying to keep myself sane.

Tips I’ve learned that actually help (even if I argue about them internally first):

Journaling your thoughts—even the messy, overcomplicated ones
Creative outlets like crochet or embroidery to calm the mind
Saying “no” to things that drain energy—without guilt
Connecting with people who get it (even if it’s just online)

Your mental health is part of your health. Full stop.

Fitness Without Shame (or Mirrors)

Exercise is essential, yes—but the culture around it often feels like it’s built for someone else’s body. Gyms, classes, and even YouTube videos frequently make plus-size women feel unwelcome.

Here’s my approach:

Move because it feels good, not because you feel guilty
Dance around your living room like no one’s watching (bonus: no mirrors required)
Walk your dog, chase your grandkids, or lift something heavy—honestly, that counts

It’s about showing up for your body in a way that’s sustainable, not humiliating.

Nutrition: Forget the Shame, Focus on Fuel

Diet culture is loud and exhausting. For plus-size women, it often translates into unnecessary guilt or advice that isn’t helpful.

Here’s my overthinker-approved method:

Eat what fuels you, not what shames you
Include vegetables, protein, healthy fats, and yes… even treats
Listen to your hunger and fullness cues, not a number on a scale

Your health is about strength, energy, and living fully—not about punishing yourself for the body you already have.

Access and Equipment: Still Not Standard

This one might surprise people. Many clinics, hospitals, and even fitness spaces aren’t equipped to accommodate plus-size bodies comfortably. Chairs, exam tables, or blood pressure cuffs that don’t fit may seem small, but they matter.

It’s a reminder that the systems we rely on still need updating—and we, plus-size women, are often the ones reminding them to get it right.

Why We’ll Keep Talking About This

Here’s the truth: plus-size women’s health challenges are ongoing, and we’ll likely keep revisiting them. The bias exists. Access is uneven. Fitness culture can be exclusive. Mental health struggles are real. And diet culture? Don’t even get me started.

This is a topic that will probably always be on repeat—but that doesn’t mean it’s hopeless. The more we talk about it, the more we advocate, the more visible we are, the closer we get to real change.

Final Thoughts: Health, Respect, and a Little Humor

Being a plus-size woman shouldn’t make health complicated—or judgmental. Yes, there are challenges. Yes, society has some catching up to do. But here’s what I know:

Our health matters.
Our mental health matters.
Our bodies deserve respect, care, and movement that makes us feel good.
And sometimes, saving the world looks like crocheting a blanket while thinking about policies, care access, and self-love all at the same time.

We’ll probably keep revisiting these challenges, but that’s okay. Awareness, advocacy, and humor are all part of the superpower we bring to the table.

Beginning Chapters

Hearing God Above the Noise

Posted on April 28, 2026May 6, 2026 by Vikki Lynn Sorensen

I read an article recently in which the author described her love for quiet moments because that’s where God meets her. Honestly, I envied her. I love the idea of stillness—the image of early mornings with a steaming cup of coffee, an open Bible, and silence so deep it feels like heaven might brush against it.

However, my mind doesn’t work that way. In fact, it rarely does. My thoughts race constantly. I talk to God in my head, argue with myself, and replay conversations with other people—often turning them into debates or arguments for reasons I can’t explain. My brain hums like a busy newsroom.

The problem isn’t stress. I experience normal pressures, like everyone else. The real issue is mental quiet. Silence feels loud to me.

Finding Noise Everywhere

Because of that, I almost always need some background noise. I play soft music, leave the TV murmuring in another room, or even sleep with it quietly on. Since menopause began, I’ve also had ringing in my ears, which makes true silence impossible. Even when it’s quiet, my mind buzzes.

For a long time, I carried a quiet shame about this. When I read the article about meeting God in stillness, condemnation crept in immediately. Thoughts like, “See? There’s something wrong with you,” and “If you were more spiritual, you’d sit in silence,” whispered in my mind. But those thoughts lied.

Romans 8:1 reminds me, “There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus.” Condemnation isn’t God’s voice. Conviction brings clarity. Condemnation brings heaviness and doubt.

God Knows My Mind

Psalm 139:1–4 says, “O Lord, thou hast searched me, and known me. Thou knowest my downsitting and mine uprising, thou understandest my thought afar off… For there is not a word in my tongue, but, lo, O Lord, thou knowest it altogether.”

God knows every thought I carry—the spiritual, the mundane, the anxious, the analytical, even the imaginary arguments I replay endlessly. None of it surprises Him. He still speaks.

He Speaks Above the Noise

Despite the background music, despite the TV, despite the ringing in my ears, despite the constant mental chatter, I hear Him. Jesus said in John 10:27, “My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me.” He didn’t say, “Only those who master perfect silence will hear.” He promised His voice reaches His own.

Over time, I’ve learned to recognize His voice above everything else. It has clarity, steadiness, and weight that settles instead of agitates. His voice doesn’t argue or accuse. It doesn’t rush. It brings peace, even when my mind still races.

A Still Small Voice

1 Kings 19:12 describes God speaking to Elijah in a “still small voice.” We often assume “still” requires external silence. Yet perhaps “still” describes the nature of His voice—steady, gentle, and distinct. It cuts through the noise, whether that noise comes from the world or our own minds.

I think about my daughter. Sometimes, when I speak to her, I can tell she’s distracted. Her mind wanders. Yet I know when to pause, how to shift my tone, and when to say her name to bring her attention back. If I, imperfect as I am, can do that for my child, how much more does God know how to reach me?

Isaiah 30:21 says, “And thine ears shall hear a word behind thee, saying, This is the way, walk ye in it.” He knows how to speak in a way that breaks through mental noise. He knows the tone, the phrase, and the Scripture that will land when I most need it. Hebrews 4:12 reminds us that His Word is “quick, and powerful… and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.” He discerns my heart even better than I do.

Trust Over Silence

Maybe the goal isn’t mastering perfect silence. Maybe the goal is trust—trusting that the God who created my brain understands how it works. Trusting that the Shepherd who called me can be heard above my mental chatter. Trusting that ringing ears, background music, and constant motion won’t prevent Him from reaching me.

Psalm 46:10 says, “Be still, and know that I am God.” For years, I thought this meant I had to create internal silence. Now I see it differently. Being still can mean ceasing from striving. It can mean letting go of the effort to shape myself into someone else’s spiritual ideal. It can mean resting in the knowledge that He is God—and that I am fully known.

Even with a noisy mind. Even without perfect quiet.

My Prayer

God, thank You for speaking to me in ways I can hear. Thank You for knowing how my mind works. Thank You that Your voice rises above condemnation. Please never stop speaking to me. I’m listening—even when my mind races, even when it’s loud, even when silence feels impossible. You are the perfect Father, and You know exactly how to reach Your child.

Beginning Chapters

Eight Years Without Her

Posted on April 27, 2026May 6, 2026 by Vikki Lynn Sorensen

Today marks eight years since my mother’s death.

Even writing that sentence feels unreal.

Her passing came unexpectedly. It shook something deep inside me. It shifted parts of my life I didn’t even realize stood on her presence. At the same time, it has grown me in ways I never anticipated. Grief has a way of doing both—breaking you open while quietly reshaping you.

Over the last eight years, my life has changed in so many ways. I’ve moved three times. I bought a house with my sister. I watched one of my daughters get married. I became a grandmother.

Life kept moving forward.

But even now, in the stillness that follows loss, I feel the weight of what’s missing in a way I didn’t expect.

And strangely, as my granddaughter Sophia grows, I miss my mom more—not less.

I See Her Everywhere

The more I watch my daughters and my granddaughter, the more I see my mother.

Not in big, obvious ways—but in small, deeply familiar moments that stop me in my tracks.

Shelby’s quick sarcasm and sharp sense of humor remind me of her constantly. That wit—fast, effortless, and perfectly timed—lives on in her.

Emilie carries something different. She moves through motherhood with a calm, steady presence that feels so familiar. My mom mothered us naturally. She didn’t force it. She didn’t overthink it. She simply was a mother in every sense of the word.

And now, Emilie carries that same instinct with Sophia.

It’s beautiful to witness.

And then there’s the snark.

Both Emilie and Sophia already show it in their own ways, and I can’t help but smile when I see it. That little spark, that edge—that’s her too.

Grief does something unexpected here. It doesn’t just remind me that she’s gone. It shows me that parts of her remain.

I Miss Her Sense of Humor

My mom had a way of making people laugh without trying too hard.

She didn’t need to be the center of attention. She didn’t force jokes. Her humor came naturally, often with a hint of sarcasm and perfect timing.

I miss that.

I miss the way she could lighten a heavy moment. I miss the shared looks, the inside jokes, the way laughter would just happen when she was around.

Now, I catch glimpses of that same humor in my girls, and it brings both comfort and ache.

Comfort, because I still get to experience it.

Ache, because I know exactly where it came from.

I Miss Her Wisdom

There’s a certain kind of loss that comes when you no longer have someone to call for advice.

My mom always knew what to say.

Not in a rehearsed or polished way—but in a grounded, instinctive way that came from experience and intuition.

She called it “a feeling.”

And that feeling? It was never wrong.

When I didn’t know what to do, I went to her. When I stood at a crossroads, I talked it out with her. She helped me sort through the noise and find clarity.

Now, I still find myself thinking “I’ll talk with Mom about this”.

And then I remember.

That space—that gap—that’s where I feel her absence the most.

I Miss Her Stories

My mom loved to tell stories about her childhood.

She was a true daddy’s girl.

I never had the chance to know my maternal grandfather, but through her stories, I felt like I did. She painted such a vivid picture of him—his personality, his presence, the way he loved her.

Honestly, I suspect if he had been alive when we were born, he would have spoiled us completely.

Through her, I got to know his spirit.

And now, I realize something important:

Those stories weren’t just memories. They were a bridge—connecting generations, passing down identity, preserving legacy.

I miss hearing them from her voice.

I Miss the Music

Music filled so many moments of my childhood.

Long car rides. Windows down. Radio on.

And my mom singing—always just a beat behind the song.

Every time.

It didn’t matter what was playing. She sang along anyway.

Recently, on a long drive to see my granddaughter, I heard Helen Reddy’s “I Am Woman” come through the speakers.

And just like that, I wasn’t driving anymore.

I was a passenger again. Sitting next to my mom on that old bench seat. No seatbelt. No worries. Just music and presence.

How did we survive those days? Honestly, I have no idea.

But what I do know is this: music carries memory in a way nothing else can.

And in that moment, she felt so close.

I Miss Her Comfort

When life hit hard, my mom didn’t rush to fix things.

She didn’t jump straight into solutions.

She let me cry.

She believed in release before resolution.

We would sit together, and I would cry—sometimes quietly, sometimes not so quietly. And she never tried to stop it.

She understood that some pain needs to come out before it can be talked through.

Later, we would sort through the problem. Later, we would find direction.

But first—we felt it.

I miss that.

I miss having a place where I didn’t need to hold it together.

The Things I Wish She Could See

There’s so much I wish she were here to experience.

Especially Sophia.

Oh, the relationship they would have had.

I can picture it so clearly—the songs they would sing together, the laughter they would share, the bond they would build.

Sophia already loves music. She loves to sing.

So now, I find myself holding onto every song I can remember.

I replay them in my mind. I hum them under my breath. I try to keep them alive so I can pass them down.

Because even though my mom isn’t here physically, her legacy doesn’t end.

It continues.

Through stories.
Through music.
Through personality.
Through love.

Holding Grief and Gratitude Together

I could keep going.

There’s so much more I miss.

But here’s what I’m learning:

Grief doesn’t erase what was—it reveals how deeply it mattered.

And alongside the grief, gratitude rises.

Gratitude for the kind of mother she was.
Gratitude for the way she shaped me.
Gratitude for the pieces of her I still see every single day.

Eight years in, I don’t have it all figured out.

I still feel the shock.
I still feel the ache.
I still reach for her without thinking.

But I also see her—everywhere.

And somehow, that makes this loss both heavier… and a little more bearable at the same time.

Photo by @vikkilynnsorensen. All rights reserved.

Beginning Chapters

Waiting on God: Stuck but Still Believing

Posted on April 23, 2026May 6, 2026 by Vikki Lynn Sorensen

Life is good. Seriously, really good. My home is warm and cozy. The people I love are healthy, happy, and thriving. I’ve got a lot to be grateful for. But… there’s this one little thing. Okay, maybe it’s big. I’m waiting.

Not the casual, “Oh, whenever” kind of waiting. I’m talking about the kind where you’re staring at a closed door, wondering if you should knock, push, or just stand there awkwardly humming a tune. That’s where I am.

Feeling Young, Wise, and Confused All at Once

I’m 57 and a half (yes, I count the halves—it makes me feel younger and more precise). I still feel like my life is full of possibilities and adventure. At the same time, I wish I could hit the pause button and just sip a latte, watch the world go by, and breathe.

I know I’m supposed to take a big step, try something different, maybe even completely out of my comfort zone. But here’s the kicker: I have no clue what that “something different” is. I’m staring at a blank page and wondering if I’m supposed to write, doodle, or just wait for divine inspiration.

Prayer: Sometimes Consistent, Sometimes “Oops, Later”

I’ve been praying about this—well, most days, anyway. Full disclosure: if you asked me whether I prayed every single day, I’d have to be honest and say… nope. But even with my inconsistent prayer schedule, I’m believing. I am trusting God for something big because this next step is going to require a miracle-sized dose of courage.

I’m not scared, but I am anxious. I want clarity. I want action. I want doors to fling open like in the movies. And yet, I know God is moving behind the scenes. Sometimes I just wish He’d hurry up and make it obvious already!

Moses Had to Step… and So Do I

I see all these quotes everywhere: “God moves when you move.” “Moses had to take that first step into the sea, and THEN God parted the waters.” I love those reminders. But can we talk about how scary it is to step into churning waters when you don’t even know if there’s a sandbar or a shark underneath?

My pastor recently said something that felt like it landed right in my living room: “I know you feel like the bottom is going to fall out from beneath you, but it’s not. Keep trusting. Keep believing.” Those words are like a warm blanket on a chilly day. I’m holding on. I’m believing. Even when I feel stuck. Even when my coffee gets cold because I’m overthinking.

Waiting Isn’t Fun, But It’s Preparing Me

Let’s be honest: waiting is hard. I’m the kind of person who wants patience and speed at the same time. I want God to show me the path… yesterday. But here’s the beautiful irony: this waiting is the preparation. God’s setting the table, sharpening my vision, and aligning circumstances I can’t see yet.

Even in my restlessness, I can remind myself of what Scripture says:

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.” — Proverbs 3:5-6

So I sip my coffee, breathe, and trust. God’s got this. Even if it feels slow. Even if I feel stuck. Even if I have no clue what I’m supposed to do next.

Keeping It Lighthearted

Sometimes I imagine God as a patient coach, waving from the sidelines like, “Victoria, take it easy. I’ve got this. You don’t need to panic.” And maybe that’s the lesson: I don’t have to control everything. I can be ready, I can be faithful, and I can even laugh at myself when I feel stuck or anxious.

After all, life is too short to not enjoy the little things—the coffee, the sunshine, the cozy home, the people we love. Waiting can coexist with gratitude, laughter, and hope.

A Prayer for Those of Us in Waiting

Heavenly Father,
Thank You for the blessings in my life, for my home, my health, and the people I love. Thank You for being with me even when I feel stuck or unsure. Lord, I lift up this season of waiting to You. Give me patience, clarity, and courage to take the steps You are calling me to, even when they seem scary or uncertain. Help me trust Your timing and rest in Your plan. Prepare my heart, open doors, and when the time is right, make the path before me clear and joyful. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Final Thoughts

So here I am, stuck but believing, anxious but hopeful, sipping my coffee and waiting on God. And maybe that’s where the magic happens—between the longing and the faith, the questions and the trust. If you’re in a season of waiting too, know this: you’re not alone, and God is still moving, even when it doesn’t feel like it.

Sometimes, the most powerful step is simply staying faithful in the waiting. And maybe, just maybe, enjoying the coffee along the way.