Faith Love n Joy

One Click Leads to Chaos

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

You opened social media to check one thing. One.

Now, an hour later, you’re emotionally exhausted, spiritually confused, and oddly mad at a woman named Brenda.

We need to talk.

Why We Scroll

People use social media for many reasons. Some share a small slice of their day. Some run businesses. Some post for fun. Some just want to keep up with family members who live far away—but still somehow know when you rearranged your living room.

And then there’s the rest of us—The Scrollers.

We scroll in the morning.
We scroll while waiting on coffee.
We scroll while watching TV.
We scroll while pretending to listen to someone talk to us in real life.

Scrolling has become the background noise of modern existence.

The Tingle of Outrage

As you scroll, you will inevitably encounter content you dislike. Content you do not agree with. Content that makes you think, “Well… that’s not right,” or “Who asked for this?” or “This is why aliens won’t visit us.”

And suddenly—suddenly—your fingers start tingling.

Your thumbs get bold.
Your pointer finger feels righteous.
You feel a strong, spiritual urge to type a comment.

But here’s the excellent news: ✨ You do not have to. ✨

The Power to Keep Scrolling

Did you know—truly, did you know—that you possess the power to keep scrolling? You can swipe up. Swipe down. Swipe left. Swipe right. Any direction that leads you away from chaos and toward peace.

You can simply… leave it alone.

No debate.
No correction.
No “I’m just being honest.”

You are not required to attend every argument you’re invited to on the internet.

Learning the Hard Way

Ask me how I learned this.

I learned the hard way during the Year of Our Lord 2020—when fear, anger, and absolute nonsense reached historic levels. When people stopped being regular humans and became keyboard gladiators. When comment sections turned into the Hunger Games and civility died somewhere between a meme and a hot take.

Now, I believe we always had a little ugly in us. But 2020 said, “Go ahead. Let it out. No consequences.” And people said, “Don’t mind if I do.”

I spent hours scrolling through comments. Hours. Reading, reacting, getting angry, scared, and spiritually drained. And one day the Holy Spirit gently—but firmly—said, “Ma’am. Stop. This is not your assignment.”

Pulling Away from the Chaos

It wasn’t easy. I’d open a post, roll my eyes, and dive straight into the comments “just to see what people are saying.” For fun, I told myself.

It was never fun.

Eventually, the Holy Spirit had to pull me out of the comment section like a parent yanking a toddler away from a live electrical outlet. No. We don’t play here.

Curating a Positive Feed

These days, my social media diet is artistic, colorful, creative, and encouraging. I post to share what I’ve made or a moment from my life. Because here’s what we forget: social media is a highlight reel, not a documentary. A snapshot, not the whole story. A single square, not the entire quilt of someone’s life.

And yet… despite this gentle, happy, crochet-and-flowers corner of the internet, the ugly still shows up. Every time. Uninvited. Loud. Confident.

The Sally Effect

For example, a crochet artist I follow does absolutely stunning work. She’s been crocheting for years. She sells patterns. She creates literal fiber art. One day, she posts a short video of herself crocheting.

Enter Sally.

Sally has never crocheted a stitch. Not once. She does not know what a tension gauge is. She has never held a hook in her life. But Sally is deeply offended by what she sees.

Sally comments, “This is painful to watch.”

Sally.

Then don’t watch. No one made you stay. You are not being held hostage by yarn. Use your finger—yes, that one—and scroll on past. Freedom is yours.

When Critique Becomes Toxic

Another embroidery artist posted a video of her working up a gorgeous stitch—beautiful colors, smooth technique, a literal work of art.

The comments?
Not about the stitch.
Not about the creativity.
About her nails. Her nails.

Apparently, society decided that no creative work can be appreciated unless the artist has a fresh manicure. Michelangelo could never survive Instagram.

“This is what we’ve come to,” I whispered to my phone.

We lost the ability to simply say, “How lovely,” and move on. Instead, we scan for flaws, for mistakes, for something—anything—to critique, even when no one asked and no one cares.

Women Critiquing Women

What truly breaks my heart: most of the creative accounts I follow are run by women. And the ugliest comments? Also from women.

What happened to women supporting women? When did encouragement become optional but criticism mandatory?

And do not—DO NOT—get me started on comment sections under photos of women bottle-feeding their babies. Those threads are so ugly they make me want to unplug the internet, apologize to the Earth, and start communicating exclusively via carrier pigeon.

The Lesson

So why am I writing this?

Education.

It costs you nothing to be kind.
It costs you nothing to say nothing.
And it costs you absolutely nothing to keep scrolling.

But peace? Peace is priceless.

Final Advice

If you want to protect it, I offer this final, loving advice:

Stay out of the comments.

Moments and Musings

Faith Over Fear: Keeping Mentally Healthy in Today’s World

Posted on March 14, 2026March 12, 2026 by Vikki Lynn Sorensen

Everywhere I look—online, in comment sections, in “art,” in think pieces, in endless rants—I see fear dressing itself up as righteousness and anger masquerading as concern for the world.

People claim they’re terrified about the state of things. They say their mental health suffers. They say they feel overwhelmed, exhausted, and anxious.

And then they point fingers. They blame this political party. Or that one. Conservatives. Liberals. “The other side.” Labels fly around like paper at a ticket tape parade.

Outrage as Performance

They post nonstop. They wield their talents not to clarify, calm, or illuminate—but to shout, insult, mock, and divide. They call it “speaking out,” but it functions as little more than venting rage. They share half-stories without context, half-truths without accountability, opinions soaked in fear and contempt.

And then they say, “let’s just be kind.”

If you agree with them, you join the misery club. If you don’t, they shame you, attack you, and label you.

Let’s be honest: this isn’t about justice. It’s about outrage addiction. And it’s exhausting.

Politics as a False Foundation

Here’s the hard truth people resist: they feel miserable, angry, and fearful because they put their hope in politics—and politics will always fail them.

I want to be very clear: I haven’t celebrated every election outcome. I haven’t always liked who got elected. I’ve worried about policies, priorities, and leadership.

But here’s what I did differently:

I didn’t let fear control my life.
I didn’t let anger consume my witness.
I didn’t weaponize my art, my voice, or my platform.

Why? Because of Jesus.

Taking My Anxiety to God

When President Biden took office, he wasn’t my choice. I admit I spiraled—I read article after article, obsessed over policies I disagreed with, feared where our country was headed.

I felt anxious. Frustrated. Afraid.

Then one day, while walking, I brought it all to God—not to social media, not to comment sections, not to people who might validate my emotions. I went straight to God.

And in that quiet moment, God spoke clearly:

“Vikki, why are you fearful? I am still God. I am still on the throne. You have two jobs: put ALL your faith in Me, and pray for those in power.”

It wasn’t gentle. It was corrective. And it hit hard.

Trusting God, Not Politics

God didn’t ask who I voted for. He didn’t ask if I agreed with every policy. He didn’t ask me to fret over the future. He reminded me who He is.

So I obeyed. I prayed for my president—whether I liked him or not, whether I agreed with him or not, whether I trusted his decisions or not.

Because my trust never belonged in a person or party. My trust always belongs in God.

Once I embraced that truth, fear lost its grip. I knew God had me if taxes rose, if policies passed against my values, if the cost of living increased, if the world felt unstable. God had me then. God has me now. God will always have me.

Life Without Jesus Leaves Fear in Charge

That is not denial. That is faith.

Here’s a truth many resist: the problem isn’t who sits in the Oval Office. The problem is trying to navigate a broken world without Jesus. Life without Him will always feel overwhelming, unstable, and produce fear, anger, and despair—no matter which party holds power.

If your peace rises and falls with election results, your foundation is wrong.
If your joy disappears every four years, your hope is misplaced.
If your mental health collapses whenever a politician speaks, politics has become your god.

Presidents will fail you. Governments will disappoint you. Policies will change. Leaders will lie. Power will shift.

But Jesus Christ remains on the throne.

True Peace Comes from Jesus

He ruled before any president. He rules before any political party. He will rule long after every name we argue over fades into history.

True peace does not depend on the right candidate winning. True security does not depend on the right laws being passed. True fulfillment does not depend on shouting louder than the other side.

It comes from knowing Jesus. Everything else will eventually let you down.

And that’s not political commentary—that’s eternal truth.

Faith, Food and Forward Steps

Healthcare Beyond the Scale

Posted on March 13, 2026April 6, 2026 by Vikki Lynn Sorensen

This morning, I went to the doctor for a routine yearly physical. Nothing dramatic. No flashing red warning lights about my health. Just the usual annual check-in that responsible adults schedule so we can pretend we have our lives together.

I arrived on time.

Actually, I arrived early—because that’s what responsible adults do. We show up ten minutes early, clutch our insurance card, scroll our phones, and mentally rehearse how to explain that weird pain in our shoulder that only shows up when we sneeze while holding a coffee mug.

And then we wait.

Thirty minutes, to be exact.

Now, let me be clear: thirty minutes is not the end of the world. I realize doctors run behind. Emergencies happen. Appointments take longer than expected. I understand the logistics.

But while I sat there, staring at the same outdated magazine about Mediterranean diets and “10 Ways to Tone Your Core,” my brain started doing what brains do best.

It started thinking.

And what I kept coming back to was this: how are we still this far behind when it comes to women’s health in 2026?

Because once I finally got called back and the appointment actually began, the conversation went exactly where it always goes.

My weight.

When Every Conversation Comes Back to the Scale

Let me start by saying something obvious.

I’m overweight.

I know it. My scale knows it. My doctor knows it. The jeans in the back of my closet that I keep hoping will magically fit again definitely know it.

I could probably stand to lose fifty pounds. Maybe more.

But here’s the part that frustrates me: I have never had a medical conversation that didn’t eventually circle back to my weight.

Not once.

When I’m sick, we talk about my weight.

When I’m healthy, we talk about my weight.

When I ask a question about something unrelated—my joints, my sleep, my headaches, menopause symptoms—the conversation eventually loops right back around.

Weight.

It’s like every road in women’s healthcare leads to the same destination.

And this morning was no exception.

Good Numbers, Same Conclusion

Here’s the ironic part.

My numbers are good.

My blood pressure is good. My labs come back normal. My cholesterol behaves itself. Nothing in my chart screams emergency.

Yet despite all that, the recommendation remains the same.

Weight loss medication.

Diabetes medication “as prevention.”

Weight loss surgery.

Those suggestions come up again and again, even when the tests don’t actually point in that direction.

Now, let me clarify something important: there is nothing wrong with those treatments. For many people, they are life-changing and necessary.

But when they become the only conversation?

That’s when the problem begins.

Because eventually you start wondering whether anyone is listening to anything else you’re saying.

Are Women’s Bodies Still a Medical Mystery?

Maybe I’m wrong about this. Maybe it’s unfair to say it.

But sometimes it feels like men’s healthcare has progressed further than women’s.

Maybe that’s not because men’s bodies are simpler.

Maybe it’s because for decades medical research focused more heavily on men.

Historically, clinical trials often excluded women because researchers believed hormones would “complicate the data.” As a result, huge portions of modern medicine developed using male bodies as the default template.

Even today, many conditions affect women differently. Symptoms present differently. Pain gets interpreted differently.

And yet we still find ourselves in exam rooms explaining the same things over and over.

Or worse, being told the same solution regardless of the question.

The Family Tree of “Short and Fluffy”

Another thing doctors don’t always account for is genetics.

There’s not really a thin woman in my family.

We weren’t built that way.

My family tree is full of women who are strong, short, and—let’s call it what it is—fluffy.

We’re sturdy. Solid. Built like we could carry groceries, grandkids, and emotional baggage all at the same time.

Could we all benefit from healthier habits? Sure. Who couldn’t?

But there’s a difference between encouraging healthy lifestyle changes and reducing someone’s entire medical experience to a number on a scale.

Because weight alone doesn’t tell the full story of a human body.

And yet far too often, it becomes the only story doctors read.

The Anxiety Nobody Talks About

Here’s something I realized this morning while getting ready for my appointment.

I have developed anxiety about going to the doctor.

Not panic attacks. Not anything debilitating.

Just that quiet, persistent dread.

The kind where you already know how the conversation will go before you even walk through the door.

I know the moment I step on the scale.

I know the look.

I know the notes that will get typed into the computer.

And I know the conclusion waiting at the end of the appointment.

“Lose weight and come back in six months.”

That’s it.

Conversation over.

When the Investigation Ends Too Soon

Here’s the real problem with that approach.

It stops the investigation.

Sometimes I have aches and pains. Nothing severe. Just the random annoyances that come with getting older and possibly entering the rollercoaster known as menopause.

But when I bring them up, the conversation often stops before it really begins.

“You probably wouldn’t have that pain if you lost some weight.”

Maybe that’s true.

But maybe it’s not.

Maybe there’s inflammation. Maybe there’s arthritis. Maybe there’s something hormonal happening that deserves attention.

Yet the moment the weight explanation appears, the curiosity disappears.

And curiosity is supposed to be the heart of good medicine.

The Shame Cycle That Helps No One

Ironically, the constant focus on weight doesn’t always motivate change.

Sometimes it does the exact opposite.

The guilt creeps in.

The shame follows right behind it.

You leave the appointment feeling like you failed a test you didn’t even know you were taking.

Then six months pass.

You didn’t lose the weight.

The pain still exists.

And now your mental health feels worse than it did before the appointment.

So you go back, bracing yourself for the same conversation again.

Round and round it goes.

The Myth That Fat People Caused Healthcare Costs

At some point in my life, someone actually said this to my face:

“You know, people being overweight are the main reason healthcare is so expensive.”

Apparently, I personally destroyed the American healthcare system by enjoying bread.

The wild part is that statement usually comes from people who know nothing about my health history.

They don’t know my labs.

They don’t know my lifestyle.

They don’t know my genetics.

They just see a body and make a judgment.

And unfortunately, sometimes that same judgment slips into medical spaces too.

A Simple Request: Listen

Let me be clear about something.

I am not asking doctors to ignore weight.

Weight absolutely can affect health. It would be ridiculous to pretend otherwise.

But it should not be the only lens through which my health gets evaluated.

Because bodies are complex.

Pain has causes.

Hormones fluctuate.

Joints wear down.

And sometimes symptoms deserve investigation even if the patient happens to be overweight.

The Truth That Needs to Be Said

So let me say this clearly enough for the people in the back.

Fat women deserve proper healthcare.

We deserve to be heard.

We deserve real conversations, not automatic conclusions.

We deserve tests that search for root causes instead of assumptions that stop the investigation.

We deserve doctors who see a whole human being, not just a number blinking on a scale.

A Better Future for Women’s Healthcare

Women’s health has come a long way, but clearly we still have work to do.

We need more research that includes women of every body type.

We need medical training that addresses bias—both conscious and unconscious.

And we need healthcare environments where patients feel safe asking questions without fear of being dismissed.

Because when patients feel heard, they engage more in their care.

When they feel respected, they trust the system.

And when they trust the system, everyone benefits.

The Ending We All Deserve

I walked out of my appointment today thinking about something simple.

Healthcare should not make people feel small.

It should not make people feel ashamed.

And it certainly should not make people feel invisible.

Instead, healthcare should start with listening.

It should continue with curiosity.

And it should end with partnership—two people working together to figure out what a body needs in order to thrive.

So here’s my closing thought.

If you work in medicine, please hear this:

The number on the scale is not the whole story.

Behind that number sits a woman with a history, a family, a body, a mind, and a voice that deserves to be taken seriously.

And until every woman—no matter her size—can walk into a doctor’s office without fear of being dismissed, the conversation about women’s health is far from finished.

Photo by me. @vikkilynnsorensen All rights reserved.

Moments and Musings

Scrolling Through My Childhood, One Listing at a Time

Posted on March 10, 2026March 10, 2026 by Vikki Lynn Sorensen

Every once in a while—usually when I’m bored, procrastinating, or feeling that specific kind of quiet nostalgia that sneaks up on you when you least expect it—I open the Mercari app. I don’t browse trends. I don’t check recommendations. I don’t even really know what I’m looking for.

Instead, I go straight to the search bar and type two words: vintage Avon.

And just like that, I’m not on my couch anymore. I’m transported to my childhood home.

A Portal to the Past

The listings load slowly, one after another, and each thumbnail feels like a small portal. There are perfume bottles shaped like animals and flowers—delicate and a little impractical. There’s milk glass, glossy compacts, powder tins with fading gold lettering. Lipsticks in shades that feel deeply rooted in another era. Things I haven’t seen in decades, yet somehow recognize instantly—like my brain never let go of their shapes.

Scrolling feels less like shopping and more like remembering.

Avon as a Way of Life

My mom sold Avon for over 25 years, and she wasn’t just casually involved—she was successful. Avon wasn’t a hobby; it was a business, a routine, a constant hum in the background of our lives. Avon boxes arrived like clockwork. Brochures were stacked on tables, tucked into bags, spread across the house. There was always a campaign happening, always an order deadline approaching.

As a kid, I understood that Avon was important, even if I didn’t fully grasp why. What I did understand were the chores:

Stamping the order forms by date—thump, thump, thump—until my hand felt tired.
Stapling an order form into every single brochure, lining them up carefully, trying not to miss a page.
Counting, sorting, organizing things that felt incredibly serious and very boring.

At the time, those tasks felt endless. I dreaded them. I complained. I dragged my feet. In my memory, they take up entire afternoons, even if they probably didn’t.

Waiting for the Next Brochure

But here’s the thing I didn’t realize then: even while I hated those chores, I was always waiting for what came next—the next brochure.

Because the arrival of a new Avon catalog was an event. The second it appeared, everything changed. Suddenly, the work felt lighter. Suddenly, there was something new to explore.

I’d flip through those glossy pages again and again. The makeup felt impossibly glamorous—lipsticks with names that sounded like confidence, eyeshadows arranged in neat little squares, compacts that snapped shut with authority. I didn’t even wear makeup yet, but I studied it like it was a promise of who I might become.

Fantasies in Jewelry and Décor

Then there were the necklaces and earrings—sparkly, dramatic, sometimes wildly impractical. I imagined wearing them to places I didn’t go, as versions of myself that didn’t exist yet. Avon had a way of selling fantasy alongside function, and I bought into it completely.

The home décor was its own category of wonder: figurines, decorative plates, seasonal items that only appeared briefly before disappearing again. They felt grown-up and important, like the kinds of things you owned once you had your life together.

Christmas Magic

And Christmas—Christmas was pure magic.

Holiday Avon was something else entirely. Those brochures felt thicker, heavier, bursting with possibility: ornaments, gift sets, candles, little collectible figurines that seemed designed specifically to become memories. Everything sparkled. Everything felt special. Even now, seeing a vintage Avon Christmas item listed online makes my chest tighten in the best way.

I can still picture certain pieces exactly where they lived in our house. I remember the weight of them, the way they caught the light, the quiet ceremony of taking them out once a year. Those items weren’t just decorations—they were markers of time, proof that the holidays had officially arrived.

More Than Shopping

So when I scroll through Mercari now, I’m not really shopping. I’m revisiting all of that.

Each listing brings back something different: the smell of paper brochures, the sound of staples clicking shut, the sight of Avon boxes stacked neatly and ready to go. I think about my mom—organized, determined, building something of her own campaign by campaign. I think about how much work went into it, how much pride she took in doing it well.

I didn’t understand it then. I just knew Avon was always there.

Seeing the Bigger Picture

Now, scrolling through “vintage Avon,” I see it differently. I see a woman running a business long before “side hustle” was a buzzword. I see a household shaped by routine, effort, and small rituals. I see how much of my sense of nostalgia is tied to those ordinary, repetitive moments.

Sometimes I buy something—a bottle, a trinket, a little piece of glass that once lived in someone else’s house but feels like it belongs with me. Sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I just scroll, letting the memories surface and settle.

The Power of Two Words

It’s funny what stays with you: a phone app. A search bar. Two simple words.

And suddenly, I’m a kid again—waiting impatiently for the next brochure, unaware that one day I’d miss it this much.

Moments and Musings

Commit. Align. Establish.

Posted on March 4, 2026December 11, 2025 by Vikki Lynn Sorensen

Proverbs 16:3
“Commit to the Lord whatever you do, and He will establish your plans.”

There are two powerful words in this verse: commit and establish.
To commit means “to carry into action deliberately.”
To establish means “to institute permanently by enactment or agreement.”

In other words, commit is an action word. It requires intention. God isn’t asking us to drift through life hoping things fall into place—He’s asking us to deliberately include Him in what we do. When our plans align with His Word, He honors that alignment by establishing them—making them steady, secure, and lasting.

Several years ago, I was in a relationship with a man who openly admitted he had a difficult relationship with God. He had walked through deep pain, and that pain had shaken his belief in God’s love. On the surface, everything looked solid. We planned to get married. He loved my kids, I loved his, and he was even willing to have my mom live with us after the wedding.

But one day, I heard the Holy Spirit whisper,
“Are you ever going to include Me in this?”

And I knew exactly why I hadn’t.
My honest answer to God was, “No… because I already know what You’re going to say.”
I knew I was unequally matched. I knew the compromises I had made in my heart. I knew this relationship wasn’t built on the foundation God desired for me.

God didn’t argue.
He didn’t force.
He simply waited—like the gentleman He is.

While He waited, He gently reminded me again and again:
“My plans are higher. My ways are better.”

And as time went on, the relationship started to fray. Things that once felt certain began to unravel. Eventually, I went to God and said,
“I yield, Father. I commit this relationship to You. Direct me. I want to please You more than I want to please myself.”

I prayed for myself, for him, for our children, and for healing where it was needed. And then I ended the relationship.

The moment I did, I felt shackles fall.
The enemy lost.
God spared me from what would have surely become another heartbreak—and possibly another divorce.

Friends, when we align our lives and our plans with the Word of God, the hardest part is already done. God honors His Word. When we commit our plans to Him, He begins to shape, strengthen, and establish them. He opens paths where there were none. He gives wisdom and ideas. He provides for what He Himself has approved—because ultimately, they become His plans too.

If you want to know God’s plans for your life, look to His Word. The Bible isn’t just a love story—it’s a blueprint. A guide. A light that never fails.

So let me ask you:
What plans are you making for your life right now?
Have you included God in those plans?
And can I pray with you today?

Prayer:
“Heavenly Father, thank You for the good, hopeful plans You have made for me. Jeremiah 29:11 reminds me that Your plans are not for my harm but for my future and my hope. As I align my steps with Your Word, I thank You that You are establishing my plans and causing them to succeed. Give me continued wisdom, clarity, and a heart that stays sensitive to Your guidance. Let Your Word remain a constant light to my path. I thank You for all of this, in Jesus’ name. Amen.”